Page 87 of Oddly Fine

“In case you’re wondering—” Beckett said, as he stepped in front of Hayes, “—that fun little door opening trick was not in the curriculum.” Because Beckett could pick lots of locks, but biometric locks were way above his pay grade.

Hayes chuckled.

“I can get you a key card, if it would help—relations,” Matthew suggested, overhearing their conversation.

Beckett pointedly ignored him.

Matthew’s place was, in some ways, not entirely how Beckett had imagined it. It was expensively decorated, just not in the way he’d anticipated. Everything had been chosen and placed with great care. It was unusually warm and inviting for a space occupied by such a cultured, wealthy man. From the beige paint to the soft greens and blues used throughout the space, the condo was very welcoming. Beckett hated how much he liked it.

“You don’t live here,” Hayes said, having arrived at that conclusion while Beckett was wandering around aimlessly, admiring the décor.

“I don’t,” Matthew conceded, as he moved around the kitchen, pulling glasses, various ingredients, and several bottles from the cupboards. “But I—we—came here often. It’s a—neutral space, of sorts. We all need somewhere without cameras and bodyguards. Somewhere we can disappear. This complex is 100% legit and has amazing views during the fireworks in July.”

“You—the family? Or you—Franklin and you?” Hayes asked, pushing for specifics.

Beckett loved this man. He did. He always did, but right then—he worshipped him like he was a god. Partnership was not an equal sharing of burdens. It was the ability to complete each other in times of need. Beckett was barely functioning, a state he’d been in ever since his mother had called him about Franklin’s death. Fortunately, Hayes had stepped in and handled everything incredibly smoothly, completing him and providing safe harbor even when Beckett was going out of his mind. Right now, he felt completely out of sorts and off his game. Like he’d never held a normal conversation before. Hayes, on the other hand, was his usual self: as sharp as a tack.

“This complex is in my name alone. Hence, it is the Rose Complex,” he explained, aiming for total transparency.

Beckett wished he’d be a little bit more secretive. At least then, he would have a solid foundation for his mistrust.

“You know—I have an older brother, Jackson—he’d be realllll keen on this whole—I’m-rich-so-let’s-go-into-business talk. But since I was born a moron, I don’t give a shit,” Beckett said. Even though his words were harsh, he did not regret what he’d said. There was a part of Beckett—the same part of him that had done unspeakable things in distant lands—that just wanted to grab Hayes’ Glock and take aim. It would be easy, too. Infinitely more so than trying to dig his brother out of this mess.

“I am not trying to impress you, Agent Thérault—May I call you Beckett?—Your brother warned me not to try. Like tempting a wolverine with sour candy, he said.” Matthew chuckled.

“Good,” Beckett said, sneering. “And no—you can call me Your Highness, Agent Thérault, and sir, yes, sir. Anything else and I’ll shoot your ass,” he replied, perfectly deadpan, ensuring that he got his message across.

Matthew merely snorted, unfazed by Beckett’s threats and tough guy act.

“You mentioned an opportunity to help,” Hayes said, cutting to the chase. “Maybe we ought to start there.”

Matthew nodded his assent as he pushed two cocktail glasses towards them. Beckett had watched him make the Manhattans, of course, and he didn’t doubt the contents of his concoction were top shelf all the way, but he examined it suspiciously just to be spiteful.

“My uncle needs to go. Killing him won’t work—he’s too well connected, and the FBI needs a fall guy, which means the only thing we can do is hand him over with enough proof to get him indicted and convicted.”

“Which is why they’re sending someone undercover,” Hayes said.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “And while I agreed to it, it’s an absolutely ridiculous suggestion. This isn’t the 60’s anymore. Infiltrating an organisation takes years. Earning your patches was all well and good when we didn’t leave electronic footprints. Nowadays? Unless I can prove that you’re desperate, or from a similar background, then I’m keeping you miles from the action,” Matthew said, and Beckett respected his candor if nothing else.

“Alright, so why agree to work with the feds if you don’t believe in their methods?” Hayes asked.

“So they would agree to keep Franklin safe while I got to work on taking down Mario.”

“I assume you have a plan to catch your uncle?” Hayes asked, encouraging him to continue.

“I do—by being in the room with him to gather evidence,” Matthew said, with a shrug.

“You want to wear a wire?” Hayes asked, not at all sure Matthew could pull this off.

“A wire?” Matthew asked, as if he’d lost his mind. “Yes, because I’ve always dreamed of getting impaled slowly and painfully,” he said mockingly, shaking his head and flailing a hand dramatically. “No, Agent Monroe, nothing so ridiculous. You see, my testimony is worthless since I am well and truly implicated in my family’s legacy. Your testimonies, however, would be perfectly respectable. An ex-Navy SEAL and a former, highly-decorated Special Forces operative? Both honorably discharged after serving in war zones? The jury would eat up your testimonies.”

Hayes drew a shocked breath and had to cough to clear his throat.

“I’m sorry—are you proposing that we infiltrate your family’s organisation? Didn’t you just point out how ridiculous that idea was? That undercover agents never got very far with plans to infiltrate the family’s businesses in the past?”

“You’re quite right,” Matthew said with a nod. “But you wouldn’t be undercover agents. You would be my bodyguards.”

“And you expect your uncle to just—publicly 'fess up about human trafficking?” Hayes asked, openly skeptical of his plan.