Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery #5) (10 page)

Black quirked an eyebrow at him, not answering.

Truthfully, the shirt pulled a bit around his shoulders. The pants fit, which he cared about a lot more, but he found himself rolling his shoulders in some discomfort when the fabric didn’t seem to be stretching to accommodate him.

“You know,” Rodrigo continued, nudging Hawking with an arm. “Maybe we should hire this fucker full time. Get him to stare down some of those shit-heels in S-C with those weird-ass eyes of his. They wouldn’t know
what
to make of him.”

Mozar just stood there, arms folded, as he looked Black over critically.

“You still stand out,” he observed. “You’re not exactly the typical Black Ops profile... but I think the uniform will keep most of them from looking at your face.”

“Not most pros,” Black said.

Mozar shrugged, but didn’t answer.

Black heard his thoughts though.

It’ll be dark. We’ll probably leave him in the car for most of it anyway. I can’t have him working directly with the SWAT guys, and given how big that place is, the chances of him being seen are minimal...

Black agreed. He also knew Mozar wasn’t worried about the shooter ID’ing him, despite what he’d said. He was worried about their mole in the F.B.I. or Homeland Security having some kind of tail on him or Hawking. He didn’t want them wondering who the new detective on staff was, or worse, finding out who Black really was and using that information to try and kick Mozar’s task force off the case.

He and Hawking suspected their mole was relatively high up the food chain, given some of the information that had leaked and where that information ended up. High enough to find some way to claim F.B.I jurisdiction over the whole case.

Putting Black in a uniform was supposed to hide his role here, not keep him safe, per se.

Truthfully, Black didn’t really care. Mozar’s logic made sense. The only irritating thing was him pretending he gave a shit. Even so, his uneasiness didn’t dissipate as he stretched his arms, still trying to find give in the stiff uniform shirt.

Maybe Miri’s paranoia was rubbing off on him.
 

Thinking about her made that sick feeling worse, though.

He knew both of them had to move past this Templar thing, but he still couldn’t help feeling like a bastard for leaving her the way he did.

She hadn’t wanted to get out of the car when they dropped her off at the hotel. She’d hesitated, gripping the door handle, going back and forth in her head about arguing with him, about insisting he take her along. He finally felt her telling herself she was being stupid, forcing herself to be quiet. Eventually, she’d opened the door, and he’d watched her leave. He could feel on her that she wouldn’t be hanging out at the bar that night, gawking at celebrities... or masturbating in the hot tub, like he suggested.

She was genuinely worried.

As much as some more primal part of him liked it, he hated doing it to her, much less letting her leave without really saying anything to her about it.

He’d called out that he’d be back soon, trying to get her to turn, but she didn’t.

So he just sat there, watching her walk back into the hotel.

He knew if she’d dismissed him like that, while he was scared for her, he’d be ready to break things. That is, if he didn’t follow her outright.

Hell, he was doing that already, although he hadn’t had the nerve to tell her just yet. Two of his crew were staying at the hotel to keep an eye on her when he wasn’t around. He’d pinged them with his watch before he dropped her off, so one of them was probably already waiting for her in the bar by the time she left the car.

Solonik had done that to him.

So had the Templar killer, if in a different way than it had with her.

Pushing Miri from his mind with an effort, he stretched his arms out, swinging them a bit to try and stretch out the fabric. It didn’t help much, in terms of relieving the pinching around his shoulders, but he did it again anyway.

“You ready?” Hawking said, when Black dropped his arms back to his sides.

“I need a gun,” Black said.

Mozar looked up, his mouth pinched. “You don’t get a gun.”

“Beat cops carry guns, Mozar.”

“You don’t,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’re here in strictly an advisory capacity, Black. We can’t approve you for a firearm.”

Black considered pushing him, then decided to play nice.

“Stop by the hotel,” he said, making a conciliatory gesture. “I’ve got two concealed carries there. With permits. Nothing to do with the department.”

Hawking shook his head. “We don’t have time. Really, you don’t need it tonight. And SWAT is waiting for us now.”

After another pause, Black nodded.

He followed behind Hawking when the blond detective and Mozar turned down the cubicle-lined corridor, aiming their feet for the front door of the precinct building. He couldn’t help taking another pass at both of their minds as they walked.

Some part of him wanted to ease Miri’s mind, even now.

It irritated him to find he wasn’t the only one thinking about his wife.

He’s a fuck of a lot quieter without her,
Hawking mused, even as he glanced over his shoulder at Black.
It’s easy to forget the guy’s a spook when Miri’s around... I wonder if she knows how different he is, when she’s not there...

Mozar’s thoughts were harder, more annoyed.
A fucking gun. Is he serious? If he gets out there and starts smarting off or talking shit, I might shoot him myself...

“Why didn’t you warn him?” Black spoke up.

He aimed the question at Mozar’s back. They’d just left the building and now walked through the parking lot. Rodrigo led them straight to an unmarked police car, one of those heavy American sedans that looked like they could run into a wall at eighty miles per hour and everyone would survive.

“Sterling,” he clarified. “You’re using him as bait, but you didn’t tell him?”

Mozar looked at him like he’d just suggested they shoot Sterling themselves. “We strongly suspect he’s working for one of the syndicates, Black.”

“Yeah,” Black said. “I got that. But he works for the one that wants to help you
catch
the shooter, right? They obviously trust the guy, or they’d be a lot more worried about you picking him up. That, or they think he’s untouchable. They wouldn’t lead you to a hitman’s kill sheet on the guy, and then stand around and wait for you to stop his murder if they thought he’d roll on them under interrogation...”

Or they’d kill him themselves before that could happen...
Hawking’s mind muttered.
Or they want us involved for some other reason...

Black glanced at him, in spite of himself.

Frowning, he looked between the two of them.

“I guess the ethics of leaving the guy out there with his ass in the wind never crossed either of your minds?” he said. “Or are you so cocky you think there’s no way you won’t get there first?”

Mozar gave him an annoyed look. “We discussed it. It’s a calculated risk... and one I hope we’ve taken appropriate precautions to minimize. If we told Sterling there might be a hit out on him, the whole thing would be off.”

When Black shook his head, refolding his arms in the too-tight uniform shirt, Mozar added, sharper, “We’d have to bring him into protective custody. Inform the F.B.I... the shooter would disappear. We’d never learn anything about him or who hired him.”

Black let out another grunt, but didn’t answer.

Mozar was right. It still irritated him.

Even if this jackass at the shipping company was crooked, he was a civilian. Civilians couldn’t handle paid contract killers. That was kind of the point.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him there was still something they weren’t telling him. He almost wondered if that voice was Miri’s, but it didn’t feel like it––not exactly.
 

Either way, if they
were
keeping something from him, why the hell wouldn’t they be thinking about it? In Black’s experience, people who were actively trying to deceive someone tended to obsess on that deception. They obsessed on it even more when in close proximity to the person they were lying to.

Black hadn’t noticed anything, and he’d been looking.

So his logical mind told him he was being paranoid.

He spent the better part of the ride to the Port of Los Angeles looking over maps on Hawking’s tablet, mainly of the Port and the building where Sterling worked, comparing Hawking’s more official maps to what he’d found in the killer’s files on Sterling. Hawking sat with him in the back while Rodrigo and Mozar sat up front. Rodrigo drove.

“And you confirmed this is his exact office?” Black said, pointing from his memory of the operator’s files. “Northwest corner of the fourteenth floor? Way the hell out here on the island?”

Hawking nodded. “That furthest building, yeah.” He looked up at Black. “You think he’d wait until he got inside? That’s a long drive... easy for us to spot-check any cars or trucks on his way in, especially this time of night.” He pointed to the long strip of highway leading out there. “Only way in and out, by land.”

“Do you have drones?”

Hawking frowned at him. “What? No.”

“And you’re sure it’s only one guy?”

“We only found fingerprints for one. Witnesses only saw one in the alley.” Hawking looked up, still frowning. “Sterling doesn’t strike me as a particularly difficult target. Why do you ask?”

Black shook his head, not answering. “You said you have fingerprints. He didn’t show up in any databases you ran them against?”

“No.”

Black exhaled. Looking over the layout, he tried to decide. “Do you think he knows we’re looking for him?” He glanced at Hawking again, then towards Mozar in the front seat. “Was the car moved? The one by the theater. Or did you leave it there?”

“We left it,” Hawking said. “We made copies of everything that seemed relevant and left it, after dusting and looking through everything. We returned all the originals, and even used photographs to get the placement right.”

Black nodded. “If you dusted the inside of the car, he’ll know.”

“We cleaned it. We didn’t leave anything.”

“He’ll know.”

Mozar glanced back over his seat, frowning.

Hawking seemed more resigned. He sighed, nodding. “Okay. Well? What if he does know?” He watched as Black continued to go over the different entrances and exits to the building, widening his view to include the storage yard and parking areas. “Do you think he’s not going to show up? That he’d just cut out?”

“It’s possible,” Black muttered. “Do you have a version of this map that shows all of the security provisions for the docking area itself? The one the shooter left wasn’t complete.”

“Like surveillance cameras, you mean?”

“Cameras, check points, locked gates, water access––”

Mozar turned his head a second time, gazing at them both over the seat. “Show him, Evan. The schematics the Port Police gave me this afternoon.”

Black glanced up, frowning. “So they
do
know about this?”

Mozar shrugged. “I have a contact there. We asked him to keep it quiet for now, so officially, no, they don’t know... but we have access to some of their data, including work schedules, security layout... and a keycard.” Mozar held up the latter, which hung around his neck on a lanyard. “We also have a small contingent of Port Police standing by to help us with locking down that part of the island, if we need to.”

“Who’s actually going in?” Black said.

“We’ve got sharp-shooters set up inside already, and a SWAT team that’s prepping in one of the storage container areas not far from the main admin building.”

Black’s frown deepened. “You managed to keep a deployment of SWAT quiet with the Feds?”

Mozar looked over his shoulder at him, frowning. “We aren’t required to regularly update either the F.B.I. or Homeland Security on the nature of our case operations occurring within LAPD jurisdiction. My captain knows we’re pursuing a lead out here. That’s all that matters.” Mozar and Hawking exchanged looks before he added, “He’s trying to find the mole from our side. So he’s giving me some discretion on how I coordinate with the federal agencies for the time being. He’s also running interference, but you didn’t hear that from me.”