Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery #5) (9 page)

“Our shooter left detailed maps of this guy’s home and place of employment,” he said. “He’s done the prep work already... has his routine down in detail from the past three weeks. He highlighted tonight’s night shift, and there’s a printout of a flight schedule leaving at three o’clock in the morning for Hong Kong.” Shrugging, he leaned back. “It could all be bullshit, of course, especially given how we got it. He also might have changed his plans the instant he realized he had to leave the car. But we have to check it out.”

“So you need me on the ground tonight?” Black said.

Mozar nodded. “Strictly in an advisory capacity.”

“Advisory?” Black grunted. “You want me to find your mole for you, Mozar? Or just tell you where to aim your gun?”

“I want you behind the lines, consulting with me to run the logistics of the op,” Mozar said, his voice colder. “I want you to tell us anything you can about tactics, probable approaches, and anything else you can think of that might help us catch him before he kills again.” Mozar’s voice grew a touch harder still. “Tanaka told me you were in the business. I thought your expertise would be an asset on the ground.”

“People have different styles,” Black said, taking another sip of the wine. He glanced at Hawking. “Evan must have told you that.”

“There must be some constants,” Mozar said. “Rules. Safe approaches.”

“Sure.”

“Then, yes,” Mozar said, frowning. “We want you on the ground. Is that a problem?”

I felt Black hesitate, focusing on me again.

He glanced up when the waiter returned with the new bottle of wine and fresh glasses for me and Black. The waiter smiled warmly at Black behind a perfectly manicured black mustache, wearing a jeweled, matador-like jacket. He presented the new bottle of red to both of us, and after Black glanced at the label, he poured us both a few fingers for taste.

I’m not really a wine person, so I just watched Black as he swirled the blood-red liquid at the bottom of the glass. He paused to inhale a few breaths before nodding and taking a sip.

“Damn,” he said, grinning at me. “Like liquid fucking.”

Mozar winced. Hawking let out a disbelieving snort.

The waiter poured both of us real glasses, then left the bottle, disappearing back through the opening in the curtain.

“Black?” I said worried, watching the waiter leave. “Is this the best idea? Drinking if you’re going to be on the ground with them?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Mozar muttered.

Black gave Mozar a brief glance then leaned closer to me, kissing me on the cheek.
 

“I’ll only have a few swallows,” he murmured softly, in my ear and only to me. “We’ll bring the bottle back to the hotel, okay? Drink it when I get back.”
I’m just screwing with him a little,
he added in my head.
Don’t worry, ilya. It’s an act...

The drinking part isn’t,
I sent back, annoyed.
Does your need to piss off Mozar really have to include you being half-drunk while you’re out hunting yet another professional killer?

I bit my lip as my own words sank in.

Black kissed my neck.
Don’t worry about me, ilya.... please. I plan to eat a lot of food when our meal comes. I’ll be cold sober. Promise.

I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t help gritting my teeth.

I’d promised myself I’d stop acting insane with him, though.

“Black?” Mozar said, his voice holding an edge. “Are you with us or not? I don’t really want the Feds knowing we hired an outsider for this... not yet, anyway... so I need to make a few arrangements if you’re coming. I need an answer...” He checked his watch. “...preferably in the next ten minutes.”

I stared at Mozar. “What kind of arrangements? Why don’t you want the Feds knowing you hired him?”

Black squeezed my thigh under the table. I refused to soften, looking only at Mozar.

Mozar glanced between us and sighed.

“We don’t think the mole is in our department,” he explained. “We think it’s one of the Feds.” Pausing at Black’s grunt, he glanced at Hawking before continuing. “I’d prefer to keep them out of the loop on a few things until we can confirm that.”

“Why would a rival organization tip you off at all?” I folded my arms, still thinking over everything I’d heard. “Why not just break into the car themselves? Pull the files and take out the killer with their own people? Or hell, move the target before the killer can get to him?”

“Because it’s probably better for them if
we
do it,” Hawking said, interrupting Mozar. “It also directly exposes their competition to law enforcement scrutiny.” Grunting, he added, to Black as much as me, “These bastards throw one another under the bus all the time, Miri. Sometimes they do it formally to get immunity from the Feds, but mainly they do it to grab market share.”

Mozar glanced at Hawking. “Assuming the mole works for a rival organization, there’s a good chance they want to take over some portion of the import market in Los Angeles.”

I frowned, looking at Black. He didn’t look surprised.

He was definitely reading these guys.

“As far as the specifics of the arrangements for your husband,” Mozar added. “I was hoping to get him in a uniform for the night.” Mozar motioned towards Black’s chest with one hand, scowling. “I thought it would be the easiest way to make him invisible. Given his height and build, I need to work on that right away, though, if he’s in.”

“A uniform?” I blinked. “Like a police uniform?”

“Yes.”

Black chuckled, nudging my shoulder when I glared at him.
Maybe I can bring that back to the hotel with me, doc. Along with a few sets of handcuffs... maybe a night stick.

“People get shot in uniforms,” I said, turning my glare back on Mozar.

Mozar shook his head.

“Unlikely, in this case. I think it’s much more likely to protect him, Miriam, which is why I proposed it.” He gave Black a harder look. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the paid mercenary community is relatively small, is it not? I don’t want our shooter looking too closely at Mr. Black, on the off-chance they might have crossed paths before.”

That definitely didn’t reassure me.

“Who’s the target?” I said, frowning again as I refolded my arms. “The second one?”

Mozar sighed, then pulled over the relevant file on the table, opening it. “Ronald Kenneth Sterling is the head of customs and inventory oversight for The Konstantin Group, one of the biggest shipping companies operating out of the Port of Los Angeles. Which again goes along with the F.B.I. theory that the people being eliminated were likely greasing the wheels for one of the crime syndicates... in this case by facilitating certain shipments from overseas. If so, the rival group might be looking to replace both men with bought officials of their own.”

Mozar smoothed his tie again, gesturing in a short wave without meeting my gaze.

“It’s a pretty common practice for the larger organizations,” he explained. “They likely have someone working on the customs side, too, but if so, we haven’t yet determined who. Not only does it protect them, having locals on the inside who know the laws and the loopholes here... they can also use those same bought officials to harass rivals. Or even steal shipments.”

I glanced at Black. “Do you really need him on the ground for that?”

Mozar didn’t roll his eyes, but I felt the impulse pass through him before he gave me a short nod.

“We do, Miri. We need his eyes on the environment. This really could go down tonight, based on what we found in those files.” He nodded down at Sterling’s file. “We need someone there who can tell us what the killer is likely to do. We already have a car on Sterling. He’s been with his family all night, but he’s going to work in three hours, and we plan to be there before he is.”

“And Hawking can’t do that?” I said, glancing at the other man. “Be the eyes on the ground person, I mean?”

That time, it was Hawking who answered. His voice was a lot softer than Mozar’s had been.

“We could really use him, Miri,” he said.

After a pause, I nodded, hearing the sincerity in his words. I also clenched my jaw, partly to force myself to stop arguing with them.

I didn’t have to read either of the two homicide detectives to know they both thought I was having some kind of PTSD reaction from Black being shot before.

They weren’t really wrong.

I didn’t look at Black himself, even after he sent a pulse of heat at my chest, massaging my leg under the table.

Hey,
he sent to me softly.
Consider it a night off. You can gawk at celebrities in the hotel bar while I’m gone. Just take pictures so I don’t feel too left out.
A harder pulse of pain left him, even as he slid his hand deeper between my legs.
Or if you really want me to hurry back, think of me and masturbate in the hot tub. That’s what I’d be doing...

When I glanced up, giving him a flat look, he grinned wider.

Either way, expect to be woken up. With enthusiasm.

I didn’t smile that time, either.

Before I could think of a response, the curtain parted and two waiters walked in, both of them carrying armloads of food. For the next few minutes, they arranged giant platters of what looked like expensive cuts of steak in a deep black mole sauce, along with side dishes of grilled vegetables, green sauces, puffed tortillas, honey and cilantro.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to Black much after that.

Not privately, anyway.

Between bites of the mouth-melting steak and spicy sauces, the three of them continued to talk about the case. Mostly, it was Mozar doing the talking, updating Black on the small bits of information they’d gleaned from the F.B.I. on both crime families and the shipping company where Sterling worked, The Konstantin Group.

I watched Black go through the schematics of the Port Authority buildings and surrounding areas from the files as Mozar talked, pausing to read notes presumably written by the killer about security protocols, guard schedules, labels on various items of the map, and whatever else.

For most of that time, I found myself watching Black.

That, and trying to decide just how much of my fear about him was just random craziness, like he said all seers suffered from, and how much of it was based on something real. As much as I tried to tell myself they were all right, that I
was
just being crazy... I couldn’t quite make myself believe it.

I watched his eyes flicker back and forth, felt him concentrating on the information in front of him even as he nodded periodically to things Mozar said.
 

I watched him and I wanted to tell him not to go.

I even considered asking him if he would bring me with him.

In the end, though, I only watched him, silent.

Five

MAPPING THE GROUND

HAWKING SMILED WHEN Black emerged from the precinct locker room, his blue eyes lighting up in a wry humor Black could feel without using his sight.

Next to him, another plainclothes detective, a man named Rodrigo, whistled. Then, gawking up at Black’s height, he clapped his hands and laughed aloud.

“Damn,
hombre
,” he said. “You make one hell of a scary cop. It’s a good thing we had that uniform left over from the last big-ass motherfucker who worked out of here.”