Hard Target (26 page)

“You there?”

Uzi focused his gaze on Leila. “What?”

“You were spacing out on me.”

“Sorry.” He turned his attention to the menu. “I’ve never been able to eat Caesar salad in restaurants.” He glanced up and noticed the confused look on Leila’s face. “My wife made the best Caesar in the world. Ordering it in a restaurant would always be second rate. Or worse.”

“You’re married?” Her question carried the tone of an inquiry, not an accusation.

Uzi buried his face again in the menu. “Used to be.”

“Oh.” After a moment, she said, “Nasty divorce?”

His eyes shot up. “No, no. Nothing like that. She was...murdered.”

Leila’s face remained impassive. “Murdered.”

“Murdered.”

“How long ago?”

“Six years.”

She seemed to examine his face a moment, then said, “It still carries a lot of pain for you.”

Uzi didn’t respond.
If only she knew
.

“That’s a long time to suffer.”

Uzi closed the menu. “It’ll be with me the rest of my life. That kind of pain never heals.”

The waitress turned from the adjacent table and asked if they were ready to order.

“Caesar salad for the attractive young woman, and the falafel sliders for me.” He looked at Leila. “Bottle of—”

“How about a Pinot Noir?” she asked.

“We’ve got an ’09 Acrobat from Willamette Valley,” the waitress said. “Cherry and blackberry, firm tannins, with a silky mouthfeel. One of my favorites and reasonably priced.”

“Sold,” Uzi said.

The woman collected the menus and headed off.

Uzi dipped his chin. “Dena liked Pinot.”

Leila smiled. “She had good taste.”

“Yeah, she did.” Uzi lowered his eyes.
All this talk about Dena
— After his session with Rudnick, the old can had been opened and he was now sloshing around amongst the worms. Too many emotions to deal with now. He had a job to do, and walking around with a heavy heart and drudging up old feelings of guilt were affecting his focus. Maybe he should talk to Shepard, ask for a temporary reprieve on his counseling sessions. If he could make the case that it was impacting his performance in running the task force, he might allow him to forego treatment for a while. Then again, could he face Shepard after conspiring with Knox?

“You’re doing it again.”

Uzi shook his head.
A beautiful woman is talking to me and I’m zoning out on her.
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. This investigation, other things...”

“I lost a loved one, too,” she said. “My only brother.”

Uzi looked at her, and instantly saw the pain in her eyes. Why was she telling him this? To make him feel better—as if that would help his pain?

“Murdered, too.”

Uzi tilted his head. “Really.”

She nodded. “In Gaza.”

The waitress appeared with the bottle of Pinot Noir and two glasses. She placed them on the table and seconds later had twisted the cork from the wine. She poured an inch and waited for Leila to taste it and nod her acceptance. Leila did and the two glasses were filled.

Uzi took a sip and let it float over his tongue. Memories of Dena again. Sitting in Venice on their fifth anniversary, sipping Chianti and watching the water taxis depart for Murano. They had taken one themselves, wandered the glass galleries and finally bought a bud vase that still sat on his dresser today, filled with a desiccated red rose. A constant reminder of their trip together. A constant reminder of her.
Dena got pregnant with Maya on that trip—

He realized he had been staring at the table. “Spacing again, sorry.”

Leila was refilling her glass with more wine. “I’m beginning to think I’m poor company.”

Uzi forced a smile. “If anything, I’m the poor company here.”

She set down the bottle and swirled her glass. “You’ve hardly touched your wine.”

“Brings back memories.” He lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

“You’re thinking about your wife.”

Uzi’s eyes drifted down again. “And my daughter. She was killed too.”

Leila leaned forward. “Same time?”

Uzi nodded.

Leila reached out and touched Uzi’s right hand, which was resting on the table near his glass. The contact made him flinch.

“I understand the pain,” she said.

Uzi gently pulled his hand away and lifted the glass for another sip. “Did your brother live in Gaza?”

“Live there?” Leila snickered. “He was part of an IDF patrol.”

“How did you deal with his death? If you don’t mind me asking.’

Leila sucked in some air and blew it out slowly. “Anger, anger, and more anger. Some grief thrown into the mix somewhere along the line. Guilt, then more anger. The usual, I guess.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Remember back in 2001 when Hamas killed a bunch of IDF soldiers? He was one of them.” She studied her wine. “Terrorist sons of bitches.”

Uzi tightened his grip on the glass. “I wish they could feel the pain they cause. I wish on them what I’ve had to live with the past six years.”

“They’ll get theirs,” Leila said. “Sooner or later.” She nodded, apparently lost in thought herself. She took a long drink of Pinot.

“When did you leave Israel?”

“Shortly after. I needed a change of scenery.”

I totally understand.
“Is that when you went to Jordan?”

Leila’s brow lifted. “How do you—”

“You CIA spooks aren’t the only ones with good intel.” He grinned.

“First I went through training at The Farm. Then, yeah, they placed me in Jordan.”

The waitress approached the table and set down their two dishes.

“I think I need this,” she said. “The wine, empty stomach...” She threw her hands out to her sides, swayed in her seat, forced a smile.

They finished their food, Uzi paid the tab over her objections, and they headed out to his Tahoe.

As he left the parking lot, he asked, “Back to the crime scene to pick up your car?”

“No, I got a ride there. Take me home.”

THEY ARRIVED AT LEILA’S Hamilton House apartment building on New Hampshire Avenue NW a few minutes before midnight. A doorman stood just inside the lobby, unsure if he should approach the car. Leila waved and he nodded back, understanding that she did not need his assistance.

Uzi pushed the gear shift into park and crooked his neck to gaze up at the nine-story, block-long monstrosity that looked more like a hotel than an apartment building. “Nice place.”

“I’ve lived in caves, tents, and the desert. Compared to that, this is the lap of luxury. But really, home is what you make it.”

Uzi knew she was right. He looked at her large brown eyes and felt something in his chest. He struggled to define the sensation. Warmth? “Your eyes are so beautiful.” He saw the pleased look on her face before he realized what he had said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I mean, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Do I look like I feel uncomfortable?”

Uzi turned away. “No. I think it’s me who’s uncomfortable.”

She pointed to the ignition. “Shut the engine.”

He craned his neck to look out at the No Parking placards at the curb. “I can’t park here.”

Leila tilted her head. “Alec and Jiri are my buddies. They’d do anything for me. Don’t worry about your car. Give Alec the keys. He’ll move it if there’s a problem.”

Uzi looked from Leila to the windshield, but still had not turned off the engine.

“Go on. Shut it off and come up with me.”

This was moving faster than he’d intended. Faster than he was prepared for. He had clearly indicated his attraction and the desire to get to know her better off the clock. She picked up on those signals—but now Uzi was unsure if this is what he really wanted. He was a healthy male and Leila was a beautiful woman; of course he wanted this.
But am I ready for it?

“Problem?”

“I... I’m not sure I should come up.”

“You don’t like good company? Do you think I’m inviting you up for sex?”

“No, I— I don’t know. No.”

“No, you don’t like good company?”

Uzi blew some air through his lips. He wasn’t used to being so flustered around anyone— let alone an attractive woman. “It’s not that.”

“Then let’s go.” She reached over, turned the key and removed it. She clutched the fob in her hand and popped open her door. She swung her feet out and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You coming?”

LEILA’S APARTMENT WAS an orderly one bedroom, generously appointed with a large living room and an equally small kitchenette. The parquet wood floor was well maintained, with an earth-toned Indian area rug providing warmth and muted color. Two loveseats sat around a glass coffee table, where a hand-carved matchbox rested alongside a couple of porcelain candlestick holders.

Uzi picked one up and examined it. “I recognize the artist. From the Old City?” he asked, referring to that section of Jerusalem.

Leila smiled. “For Shabbat. Hard to break old habits.”

“I lost interest after Dena’s death. Lost my faith, I guess.”

“You’ve always got to have faith, Uzi. No matter what happens, you need to believe in your cause. When things hit bottom, that’s the time to turn inward and renew your faith, not lose it.”

Uzi took a few steps into the hallway. A few carefully placed framed photos hung on the far wall, sporting images of people he didn’t know—but places with which he was intimately familiar: a younger Leila hiking in the Golan Heights, a few street shots from the artist colony, Tzvat, and Leila in a bikini on the beach in Tel Aviv.

“You still wear your star.” Leila motioned to the Star of David necklace peeking through his shirt collar. It was an unusual piece consisting of two separate gold triangles, one pointing up and one pointing down that, when they overlaid each other, formed a six-pointed star.

He touched the necklace. Most of the time he forgot he still wore it. Nevertheless, it had special meaning to him. “My wife gave it to me.”

“It’s very cool, very modern. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Do you know where the star comes from?”

Leila pursed her lips. “Never gave it much thought.”

“The triangles represent the Greek letter ‘D,’ or delta, for David. Archeologists say the layout of the two Ds was meant more as a design than a star or religious symbol. It was King David’s logo, which he wore on his shield whenever he went into battle.”

She seemed to study his face a moment, then took his hand. “Come,” she said, pulling him back across the room to the coffee table. She picked up the small carved wood box and removed a match. “It’s way after sundown, but it’s still Saturday.” She glanced at the wall clock, which had ticked past midnight. “Well, sort of. Let’s light the Havdalah candle, anyway,” she said, referring to the ceremonial prayer that signified the end of the Sabbath. She made her way to an armoire tucked into the corner of the room.

Uzi bit his lip. He felt terribly uncomfortable but found himself moving the few steps toward her.

Leila reached into the walnut cabinet and removed a silver tray that held a long, tri-braided candle and a brass spice box. With the match, she set the wick alight and began chanting the blessing.

She nudged Uzi with an elbow and he joined in. The melody, the pungent scent of fresh sulfur, and the flaring candle warmth on his face transported him back to the rare Friday and Saturday nights when he was home to share the beginning and ending of the Sabbath with Dena—and then, after she was born, with Maya, holding the little girl in his arms, teaching her how to recite the prayers.

The memories pained him like a hot poker in the pit of his stomach.

Leila lifted the candle and placed it upside down into the silver cup, extinguishing it.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, hoping to avoid more probing questions.

“About six months.” She walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Prager Tawny port from the cupboard. “I used to live in Georgetown, but I wanted to get into the city. Into the heart of things.” She pulled the cork and poured a couple of glasses.

Uzi took one and sipped it. “Mmm. This is very good.”

Leila took her glass over to the loveseat and settled gently into the cushion. “When did you move to the states?”

“A couple of months after.” That’s how he thought of his life: before death and after death. Two different lives—one enriched, the other hollow.

“What did you do in Israel?”

Uzi sat down beside her and set his glass on the coffee table. He was inclined to tell her the truth—but couldn’t bring himself to fight through the oath he had taken with Mossad so many years ago. He had caused Rudnick some pain for access to such info. For now, he took the safe road. “I was a design engineer for Intel. I spent a few months at the development center in Haifa, then moved to their fab in Kiryat Gat.” Technically, it was the truth—which was fine by him, because he didn’t want to base a relationship on a lie. Then again, he wondered how much she could find out by digging through the CIA database.

“Fab?”

“Manufacturing plant. I led the team that turned out the Pentium 4 chips.”

“That sounds very...serious. Long hours. No time for fun.”

Uzi shrugged. “It was intense, yeah. But we found time to mountain bike in the hills outside Tiberias. It’s beautiful there.” His thoughts drifted to Dena.

“I used to go rock climbing with my brother. In the ruins by the cliffs of Arbel.”

“I went climbing there, too. We used to bring a lunch, hike around a while, do some climbing, then hike back.” He laughed. “We had some great times.” His smile faded.

Both of them remained quiet. She placed a hand on his arm. “You’ve got a right to be happy, Uzi. It’s not like you have to be miserable for the rest of your life.”

“I know. I know you’re right. But it’s not that easy.”

“You just have to decide that life goes on and know that you’ve suffered enough.”

“Now you sound like my shrink.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the type to go for counseling.”

“Shepard’s idea. More like an order.”

Leila leaned forward to place her drink on the table, then slumped back on the couch. Her shoulder rested inches from his. “I talk a good game, I know. But I don’t always put my own advice to work. When my brother died, it took a while for it to sink in. I was numb for so long. Numb to the pain...but not the anger. All I wanted to do was get even. I still do.”