Ghosted

Chapter Seventeen

Archie put his cell phone away.

“You can relax,” he told Beau. “No need to investigate further. The Twinkleton Paranormal Society is going to ask John who killed him.”

Beau laughed, did a doubletake. “You’re…not kidding, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Are you attending the séance?”

“I don’t know. Actually, yes. Probably.”

“Actually, yes ?”

Archie’s smile was lopsided. “The truth is, my being there probably would—would’ve made, John happy. But also, if they really are going to ask…John about the homicide, that could be the catalyst for some interesting conversation. Between the living guests, I mean.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Beau thought it over. “But remember, if you do find anything out, the next step is to contact me. You don’t investigate on your own.”

Archie sighed. “Yep. Got it.” He couldn’t help adding, “You do know that even if I wasn’t personally invested in this case, the Bureau wouldn’t be trying to take over your investigation? The Bureau wouldn’t have any role at all unless you specifically asked for support. That’s not how we operate.”

“I know. But you are personally invested, and I know you don’t like standing on the sidelines.” Beau abruptly changed the subject. “Do you plan on checking out of Fraser House tonight? Do you want me to give you a ride over there?”

Archie considered, shook his head. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I’m beat.”

“Well, you had a busy evening.” Beau’s smile was not a really a smile. “Besides checking out of the inn, what’s your plan for tomorrow?”

Archie rose and came around the desk. “I’ll lock the door behind you.” He led the way to door. “Tomorrow? I have a meeting with John’s lawyer to go over some of the particulars in his will. That’s at eleven. And then nothing until drinks and dinner at nine. The séance is at Leo Baker’s house.”

“Drinks and dinner? How festive.” Beau’s tone was dry as he followed Archie out of the study and down the hall to the front door.

“Those ghost hunts and ghost walks were always as much social gatherings as fieldwork.”

“That’s the truth.”

They reached the front door, Archie turned the deadbolt, and opened the door. He glanced at Beau—glanced again.

Beau’s eyes were dark and serious as his gaze found Archie’s. So dark. So serious. Archie’s heart skipped a beat.

What was that look about? Was Beau—?

He did not want to be wrong.

He was not sure he wanted to be right.

At random, he said, “Any leads on the hit-and-run driver?”

To his astonishment, Beau laughed. “Oh, I recognized the driver. That was Wendell Pendleton.”

Archie’s jaw dropped. “Mr. Pendleton? You mean our eleventh-grade American Lit teacher? The Let’s-Just-Assume-I’m-Always-Right guy?”

“Yep.” Beau’s expression was sardonic. “The same Mr. Pendleton who used to stuff the school creative writing zine with his godawful poems.”

Archie’s astonished gaze locked onto Beau’s, and just for an instant they were grinning; Archie remembered Beau’s mercilessly funny renditions of Mr. Pendleton’s more florid literary efforts.

Beau sobered, said seriously, “Yeah, but it’s actually not funny. In fact, this time it’s his license. He’s a menace on the road and has been for years. I should have dealt with it sooner. You could have been killed tonight.”

True. That potentially dangerous leniency sounded a lot like the old soft-hearted Beau Archie had once known. The guy he had believed was too kind to be a cop.

Beau moved past him and stepped out onto the porch.

Archie gazed at Beau’s face in the golden haze of the porch light, and felt another of those painful washes of past and present, the reality of this hardened, slightly cynical Beau slowly but surely diluting the soft, shadowy contours of that funny, kind boy who had privately agonized about disappointing people, of not living up to all their plans for him.

He wished…

It didn’t matter.

Too late now.

“Good night.” Archie said.

Beau drawled, “Don’t forget to lock the door, Special Agent Crane.”

Just like that Archie’s moment of nostalgic melancholy evaporated.

He said evenly, “Call me that one more time in that tone of voice and I’m going to deck you, Langham.”

Beau’s head snapped back as if Archie had attempted that very thing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You worked hard enough for the title—”

“I sure as hell did, but that’s not a compliment and you goddamn well know it!”

“ The hell .” Beau was as close to flustered as Archie had ever seen. “It wasn’t—I’m not—”

Archie said fiercely, “You think I don’t have regrets?”

Once again, Beau seemed taken aback. “I know you have regrets. We both have regrets. I was trying to be funny.”

“No, you weren’t. And you know what, Beau? I get it.” Archie’s voice shook. “I didn’t understand what you were going through. I didn’t appreciate how difficult everything was for you. You said you were fine and I went with that. I wanted to believe it. I should have been there for you. I should have realized— But for Christ’s sake, I was a kid, too . It’s not like I had any experience. I didn’t have my mom and dad. I couldn’t talk to John about us. You wouldn’t have wanted me to talk to John. You know who I talked to? You . You were the person I turned to. Talked to. About everything. And you weren’t talking to me anymore!”

Beau heard him out in startled silence. His face twisted and he reached for Archie, pulling him into a rough hug. “Jesus, A. I was teasing you, that’s all.”

Archie, rigid with anger and hurt, resisted, almost lost his balance, but then, abruptly, he gave up, gave into what he’d secretly longed for. For so long he’d wanted this, wanted Beau. Beau and nobody else.

Beau’s arms locked around him, and Archie leaned into him, instinctively adjusting to that particular body, that particular embrace. Ten years and it was uncannily, excruciatingly familiar. It made his eyes sting, and his breath shudder in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Beau’s breath was warm against Archie’s ear.

Archie didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It had been a lifetime since he had hugged another person like this. Shared this cradle of arms and shoulders and chest; heartbeats and breathing finding quiet rhythm in togetherness. Beau smelled comfortingly familiar, the same shampoo, the same aftershave, the same laundry detergent—though now there was the underlying scent of gun oil and leather.

Neither said anything; the night sounds filled in the silence. A car passed by. A dog barked a couple of streets over.

Beau’s arms tightened and then relaxed. He said softly, “Listen. I did blame you.” He drew in a hard, sharp breath. “For things you couldn’t change. Things you couldn’t even know. Things I didn’t understand. It wasn’t fair. I was having a hard time and I wanted you to prove… I wanted proof that I mattered. To you.”

“Beau. Christ.” Archie could feel the hard raised edges of Beau’s badge through the soft cotton of his T-shirt. Feel Beau’s holstered sidearm against his hip. The softness of Beau’s hair brushed his face.

“Let me say this.” Beau’s voice was muffled. “I should have said it a long time ago. You were always honest about what you wanted and what your plans were. It was practically the first thing I knew about you: you were leaving Twinkleton and joining the FBI. But because you…became important to me, I just assumed it was the same for you. And that your plans would change.”

Archie raised his head. Stared into Beau’s long-lashed eyes. “It was the same for me,” he protested. “But it wasn’t fair to expect me to give up everything I was working for. And you never asked .”

“How the hell could I ask that? Even back then I knew it wasn’t right.”

No, it wouldn’t have been right. Or fair. It would have been a terrible thing to do. But even so, Archie felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to make that sacrifice.

He said with painful honesty, “I didn’t think I’d have to. I thought we’d figure it out together.”

Beau’s eyes were dark with regret. “I don’t know, maybe if we’d been older? And a hell of a lot wiser. Maybe we’d have managed. What I do know and what I’ve known for a long time, is…” He drew a breath. “I wasn’t fair to you. And afterwards, I wasn’t honest with myself. Because I didn’t want to face the fact that I did blow it all up. Me . I ended it. I was so angry, so afraid…that I ended up causing the exact thing I was afraid of.”

Archie closed his eyes. He’d waited so long for this, for some explanation, apology, acknowledgement that he had not been the only one responsible for everything that happened between them, that he also had been wronged.

“I…got used to blaming you.” Beau’s voice resonated; Archie could feel those halting words in his own chest. “It was easier, more comfortable than admitting I’d fucked up. Me.” Beau sighed. “And then when I finally got around to facing the fact you weren’t the reason everything went wrong between us, I got outraged all over again because you didn’t pick up the minute I got around to phoning you.”

Archie shook his head.

The first time Beau had phoned, John had already warned him that Beau was getting married. It had been hard enough to hear from John. No way could Archie bear to hear it from Beau. The second time Beau phoned had been before their class reunion, and Archie had assumed Beau, already married and a father, wanted to know what his plans were so he could prepare for an unwelcome visit from his past. Again, not something Archie had felt up to hearing. Not from Beau.

What would have—could have—happened if he’d had the guts to pick up the phone?

Neither spoke. They held each other, breathing quietly, heart-to-heart.

“I’m sorry,” Beau whispered again.

Archie answered, equally quiet, “Me too.”

This did mean something. Understanding what had happened, and why, was important. Validation was important. Having the opportunity to explain, express regret, even forgive, it was all important. But it didn’t change the fact that Archie had lost someone he loved with all his heart, lost one of the most significant relationships in his life—along with everything that could have been. That until this moment he had felt unable to move on.

And honestly? He still wasn’t sure he could ever—

It was just so fucking sad .

He shook his head, started to step back, but Beau’s hands clenched on fistfuls of his T-shirt, and instead of turning away, Archie’s fingers dug into Beau’s muscular shoulders. They pulled each other into a rough and clumsy kiss.

Not gentle. Not tender. Not elegant.

Hot and desperate. Water to a man dying of thirst, fire to a man dying of cold.

They bumped noses before their mouths landed, slightly off mark, bumped foreheads, too, as they adjusted instinctively. Beau laughed unsteadily, muttered, “I’ve got the old map,” pressed his mouth insistently, urgently to Archie’s, and Archie opened to that kiss, meeting heat with heat, hunger with hunger. His lips tingled, stung a little.

Beau moaned softly and Archie tasted that moan, echoed it—a protest, not against the here and now, but at all the time wasted. Their lips melded, the kiss lengthened, deepened… Until the blood began to sing in Archie’s ears and he had to tear his mouth away, panting. Beau murmured something, his lips trailed across Archie’s jaw, as he kissed and nibbled his way down Archie’s throat, playfully nipping that vulnerable curve of neck and shoulder. Archie gulped, his entire nervous system lighting up, as though the aurora borealis suddenly unfurled, sending shimmering bands of colors across a black and lightless sky. His hands slid through the silky strands of Beau’s hair and he tugged Beau’s head down to kiss him more deeply.

“Beau…” He felt desperate, desperate for more of Beau, all of Beau, desperate that this might be the last time, the last kiss.

Beau’s hands tugged at Archie’s T-shirt, dragging the soft folds up. Archie’s trembling fingers fumbled over the buttons of Beau’s uniform.

This is going to complicate things…

But weren’t things already complicated? Anyway, Archie didn’t care. He ground his hips against Beau’s erection, shoving against the constriction of his jeans. Years after everything had been said and done between himself and Beau, he still dreamed of this, still yearned for this. It simply wasn’t in him to call a halt, even if this just made it all more painful later.

It was already off the chart as far as pain scales went.

Anyway, if the huge straining hardness thrusting back at him meant anything, Beau was of the same mind, and that would be like trying to stop a freight train.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Beau groaned.

Archie nodded. Tears stung his eyes; he blinked them away fiercely. “Same.”

Always.

He could not imagine a time would come when he would not miss Beau.

Beau’s hands slid warmly, caressingly down Archie’s torso, homing in on Archie’s ass, kneading him through the worn denim, hiking Archie still closer, urging on that frantic friction, as Archie clutched Beau’s shoulders, helpless sounds tearing out of his throat.

Beau made a strangled sound, tore his mouth from Archie’s, and gasped, “Wait. Wait, A. Stop.”

Archie stopped, panting, blinking at Beau.

“I shouldn’t have—I can’t stay. I have to go.”

He felt dazed. Like he’d been shaken out of a dream state. “You…”

“I know. I was forgetting.”

“Forgetting what ?”

“I want to stay. Believe me. I can’t believe you’re—I can’t believe I’m —”

Archie said, “What in the… I’m so confused.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Beau kissed him hurriedly, apologetically. “I can come back tomorrow night. Can I come back tomorrow night?”

Archie, his entire body tight and pulsing with frustration, managed a bewildered, “I-I guess so?”

Beau hugged him tightly, kissed his mouth, and let him go. Archie staggered a little, and sat down on the nearest chair. He tugged his T-shirt down. This was turning into one of the weirdest nights of his life—and he’d had some pretty weird nights in his time.

Beau opened the front door, pausing while he did his uniform buttons up with the apparent speed of much practice. “Lock this door.”

Archie nodded automatically. He leaned forward, rubbing his temples.

“Hell.” Beau wavered in the doorway, muttered, “I can’t believe this. Lock the door!”

He stepped onto the porch, dragging the door shut, and was gone.

Archie stared at the closed door. “ You can’t believe this?” He rose and locked the door, then stood there, trying to work out the last hour. He heard the engine of Beau’s SUV start up.

Beau was almost certainly still on duty, so…

Maybe?

Was he still married? Because of the partial argument he’d overheard at Restaurant Roma and the fact that Beau didn’t wear a ring, Archie had concluded that Beau was, at the very least, separated. Maybe that was more wishful thinking than a logical deduction.

Anyway. No point standing here feeling frustrated, disappointed, confused. And very lonely.

Maybe Beau would be back tomorrow night.

Maybe better not to pin too much hope to that.

Either way, they had finally talked, finally explained, finally had a chance to express regret, and that was the main thing. Right?

Like hell.

But it would have to do. So, take the win.

He reached for the wall switch, and went immobile as someone thumped on the front door.

“It’s me.” Beau’s voice was muffled.

Was that Beau’s voice?

Archie moved to the window, warily checked the porch, and sure enough, Beau stood motionless in that haze of yellow light, gaze pinned on the front door.

Hastily, Archie unlocked the door, opened it, and Beau stepped inside, handing him a Glock 43 in a side holster. “Here’s my backup piece.”

Wordlessly, Archie took the holstered weapon.

Sounding a little out of breath, Beau said, “Is it too late to change my mind?”