Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man (9 page)

“Cory.” Finn scribbled a few notes. “He was with that girl who worked in Asda, but I swear he was gayer than me.”

Fred sniggered and the moment passed. Finn finished the page of composition. He was about to flip to the next when he felt Danny shift and realized Danny was in a world of his own.

Finn nudged him. “All right?”

The words were mouthed and silent, but Danny looked startled all the same. Finn took pity on him. Danny didn’t seem to have much more interest in football than Finn. “Come downstairs. I want to show you something.”

They slipped away from the living room with little commotion. Only Jack seemed to notice them leaving. Finn led Danny down the cellar stairs and opened the door to the only place in the house—sometimes the only place at all—he could truly call his own. Unless he was fritzing out and needed help, no one else ever ventured down there.

Danny took in the racks and racks of instruments and musical paraphernalia, and the bright, colorful walls. “It’s like Aladdin’s cave down here.”

Finn grinned. “That’s the idea. I got it soundproofed when I bought the house. I just need a fridge and a bog and I’d never come out.”

Danny caught the hidden reference. “This is your safe place.”

It wasn’t a question, and Danny didn’t seem to expect an answer. He drifted to the back wall and squinted at the only platinum disc Finn had ever put up. “Bloody hell. You wrote the soundtrack to
Dead Beat Soul
?”

“Yep.” Finn felt a faint warmth flush his cheeks.
Dead Beat Soul
was an indie cult film that had hit the big time, and perhaps the work he was most proud of.

“Fucking hell.” Danny shook his head. “More to you than meets the eye, eh?”

“If you say so.” Finn reckoned it was probably the other way around. Danny had an honest smile, but Finn still felt like he knew nothing about him.

“Are you going to help Ben with the rest of that nativity?”

“Help? Nah, I’ll probably just end up writing it for him.” Finn gave in to temptation and wound his arms around Danny from behind. “You could be my test case. See if you can play my pieces.”

“That would be a pretty short experiment.”

“That’s what Will said when I started teaching him, but he played keyboards at every festival we played last summer.”

“Festivals?” Danny leaned into Finn and closed his eyes. “I used to like festivals. Haven’t been to one in years, though.”

“Easily fixed.”

Finn left it at that. Danny seemed to be pondering something, and Finn was content to make himself at home in the crook of Danny’s neck until he’d figured it out.

L
ATER
THAT
afternoon, Finn finally forced himself to stop molesting Danny. “I’m hungry.”

Danny laughed. “You just ate a jumbo sausage roll.”

“That was ages ago.” On cue Finn’s stomach rumbled, a forlorn and empty sound, like it knew his fridge contained nothing but raw chicken, beer, and a jar of pickled onions. “Maybe we should go out.”

Danny raised his head from Finn’s chest. “Out?”

“Yeah. My fridge is bare and there are no decent takeaways around here.”

Danny sat up. “How bare is your fridge? Bet it’s not as hopeless as you think.”

Finn took the challenge and let Danny haul him off the couch, where they’d been messing around since the rest of the guys had left.

They shuffled into the kitchen, Danny attached to Finn from behind, arms around him, lips in that devilish hollow behind Finn’s ear. Danny pointed at a photo of Finn and Jack on the fridge door. “When was that taken?”

Finn looked closer at the image of him jumping on Jack’s back while Will looked on, bemused. “Glasto ’05, so six years ago. We’d only just met that day.”

“You look so young.”

“I was young. I was twenty-one.”

Danny pondered that a moment, perhaps counting back the years to work out if Finn had been diagnosed by that point. Finn wondered if he’d have the same reaction most others did when they figured out Finn had been living with schizophrenia for two years by the time that photo was taken.

But you look so happy.
Finn stifled a long repressed growl of frustration
. I am happy, goddammit.

Danny opened the fridge. “You’ve got chicken.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “There’s fuck all else.”

“Liar.” Danny rummaged around the neglected vegetable drawer. “You’ve got garlic and ginger. Is there any rice?”

“Dunno. Have a look.”

Danny let go of Finn and opened a few cupboards. “You’ve got loads of food. Look, you’ve got three types of rice.”

That was news to Finn. His kitchen was big on fry-ups, toast, and bizarre gadgets no one ever used. He watched Danny retrieve a few other things and a pan and set it all out on the side. “Those stock cubes aren’t mine. You bought them when you made that roast dinner.”

Danny grinned. “I remember, and I also remember how pants your cooking skills were. Come here. Maybe
I
can teach
you
something.”

Turned out he could. Chicken, rice, ginger, and soy sauce became Nana Wu’s magic one-pot dish, and just about the best thing Finn had ever eaten.

After, Finn washed up and wandered into the living room to find Danny asleep on the couch. Finn crouched by his side and considered pulling a blanket over him and leaving him to it, but the house got cold at night, and the lure of coaxing Danny into his bed was too strong to ignore.

He tapped Danny’s cheek until his eyes fluttered open. “Wanna go to bed?”

“Hmm?” Danny blinked sleepily. “Shit, did I conk out on you?”

“Little bit.”

Danny sat up. “I should go.”

“Working tomorrow?”

“Hope not—”

Finn cut Danny off with a kiss that felt lazy and rousing, all mixed together in a crazy pot of something he’d never felt before. “Then stay.”

Danny didn’t take much persuading. Finn guided him upstairs, pushed him down on the bed, and straddled him, clothes long forgotten, littering the stairs.

They kissed, biting and bruising. Finn felt Danny hard beneath him, pressing… wanting, and, fuck, Finn wanted him too. They grappled and rolled a few times. Finn found himself close to the bedside table and grabbed what they needed.

Danny lay on his back, hands behind his head, legs parted, watching as Finn squeezed lube on his fingers. He looked so relaxed Finn wondered what would happen if he eased his fingers into Danny instead of himself. If he rolled the condom on his own cock and drove inside Danny….

Wow. It was a thought Finn couldn’t finish, and one, perhaps, for another day. He climbed over Danny and kissed him, absorbing his gasp as he slid down, slow and sure, inch by inch, until there was nothing between them but heaving chests and stuttered gasps.

Finn waited for his body to accept the burning intrusion. He hid his face in Danny’s neck and counted his breaths.

Danny rubbed his back. “Okay?”

Finn rocked his hips in answer, and the pain dulled to an amber warmth that wrapped around his spine and spread like creeping wildfire.

Danny sucked in a harsh breath and gripped Finn’s hips. Finn bit his lip. He’d learned Danny was a quiet lover… but lethal, and it wasn’t long before Finn’s dominance faded and Danny had him undone.

Finn held the headboard as Danny thrust up into him. Bottoming always turned him inside out, but Danny was something else, the way he dug his fingers into Finn’s back, pulled him down, and held him in an embrace so tight Finn could hardly breathe. Finn couldn’t count his sexual partners, never tried, but he’d never been with anyone who’d held him as close as Danny. Never felt so wanted, even just for a moment.

He’d never come so quick either, or so hard and out of the blue. A brush of Danny’s hand was all it took, and Finn was done. White spots danced in his eyes and he cried out into the crook of Danny’s neck.

Danny picked up the pace. He slammed into Finn over and over, forcing every pulse and tremor from him before he stilled and Finn felt a rush of heat where they were joined.

“
Fuck.
” Danny’s exclamation was growly and low, but the flush on his chest gave him away.

Finn shivered, though not from cold. How could he be cold with Danny’s arms around him? “That was epic.”

Danny hummed. Finn climbed off him and made a quick, halfhearted effort to clean up. But not quick enough. Danny was fast asleep by the time he came back to bed. Finn drew the duvet up the bed and burrowed as close to Danny as he dared without waking him up. Danny looked different when he slept—younger… freer. Finn traced his high cheekbones and perfect skin, kissed his ink-black hair, and fell asleep dreaming of what life would be like if he had Danny in his bed forever.

Chapter Eight

D
ANNY
STOOPED
and scrutinized the dead girl on the autopsy table, equal parts apathetic, sickened, and oddly fascinated. It had always struck him strange how the skin of a human cadaver became almost translucent. He’d never seen anything else like it. The blue-gray color was a shade unique to the dead, and it had haunted his dreams for weeks after he’d seen his first corpse.

He straightened up. The dead girl looked familiar, but her faded characteristics didn’t match up with any of the toms in his notes. “Can you tell if she’d had intercourse before she died?”

“There were no traces of semen, but she has scars and abrasions that suggest she had frequent, multiple partners.”

The pathologist remained impassive, like he’d seen it all before. Perhaps he had. And Danny was beginning to feel the same. The young redhead was the second dead prostitute in as many weeks, and though the women had been found two miles apart and there was still no evidence to suggest foul play, there
were
some similarities—age, build, the place they’d been found. Coincidence, perhaps, but Danny’s gut whispered not. What were the chances of two toms lying down in a ditch and dying of natural causes?

“You’re sure she didn’t OD?” Danny asked.

“Sure as I can be. She had high levels of heroin and barbiturates in her system, but not enough to kill a hardened addict.”

That was good enough for Danny until he heard otherwise. The pathologist was approaching retirement and one of the best in the business. There wasn’t much he hadn’t seen.

Danny bade him good-bye and left the morgue, a depressing place at the best of times, let alone before breakfast on a Monday morning. And even now he’d seen the body, he didn’t have much to go on. It had hardly been worth the predawn freak show, and it definitely hadn’t been worth leaving Finn in bed.

Danny walked back to his car, half his mind still on the dead girl and the other in that cozy place he reserved for Finn. That place where it was all too easy to forget the outside world existed, at least until the phone had rung at 5:00 a.m., summoning him to the mortuary. Waking Finn so early had proved no easy feat, and Danny still wasn’t convinced he’d understood why Danny had left him in bed.

Left him
naked
in bed….

Danny suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the frosty morning air, fished his phone from his pocket, and tapped out a message:
Sorry I snuck out on u. Work. Ring u latr

He didn’t expect a response anytime soon. It was still only just past seven, and Finn had been out of it when Danny had left him. He was a little startled when his phone flashed before he could drop it back in his pocket.

Thought I’d dreamt you.

Danny frowned. The comment would be benign from anyone else, but from Finn….

His phone buzzed again before the thought got away from him.

In the studio till late. Mite not hear phone. Ring u when I’m done.

Danny’s heart gave a little flutter. Somehow Finn always made a simple phone call something to look forward to.

He pocketed the phone and wove his way through the early morning traffic. He reached his desk at 8:00 a.m. and hardly had time for a cuppa before the DCI came looking for him.

“My office, Danny.”

Good morning to you too.
Danny abandoned his tea, followed the DCI into his office, and shut the door. Most of CID would know about the latest dead girl by now, but he doubted anyone had seen the memo from Manchester, and he wanted to keep it that way until he’d established a cause of death for both women.

The DCI poured himself a coffee from the well-stocked machine in the corner. He offered Danny a mug as an afterthought.

Danny waved it away. Coffee made him jumpy. “I’ve brought the pathologist’s preliminary notes back with me. Not much to go on. They put a rush on the toxicology tests, but the level of junk in her is consistent with a long-term addict.”

“COD? Rape? Defense wounds?”

“Cause of death is inconclusive,” Danny said, and then he repeated the briefing he’d received from the pathologist.

The DCI said nothing for a moment, and then he sighed. “And no ID either. What happens to these people that they can just disappear and no one notices?”

Danny didn’t answer. It felt a little late for the DCI to begin empathizing with the toms on his patch. “I’m going to canvas some squats today. See if anyone’s missing a mate. I’ll head out tonight too.”

“Good idea. Take Lanes. If this turns into something, you’ll need someone decent with you.”

Danny nodded. Jen Lanes was a good detective, and he’d worked with her before. “Was there anything else?”

“Actually, yes.” The DCI opened a drawer and retrieved an issue of the
Manchester Evening News
. He tapped his finger on the main headline: “Street Girls Vanish.” “The press knows something’s up in Manchester. None of their missing persons have turned up dead yet, but if the media links them to ours, we’re going to have a circus on our hands.”

Danny agreed. He’d worked high-profile cases before—one of the cons of working Vice—and they were a nightmare. “One of ours could turn out to be theirs, though. We should touch base, at least.”

“Okay. Do it. Samms is the bloke running their investigation. He’s a bit of a bastard, but gets the job done. I’ll forward you his contact details. In the meantime we need to hold a press conference here. Lay some foundations. You in?”