High Stakes (15 page)

‘Kimchi is one hundred per cent dog.’

‘Oh.’ He seems slightly disappointed.

‘He has photophobia, which is probably why he doesn’t like going out during the day. The red in his eyes is nothing more than pigmentation.’

‘You can keep him.’

I keep my expression blank. I was afraid this was going to happen. ‘He’s your dog, Mr Brinkish.’

‘The wife wants a cat.’

‘All the same, I don’t live the sort of lifestyle that’s conducive to having a dog.’ Actually, despite the destruction of my belongings and the slobber, I’d quite like to keep Kimchi. He’s a great dog. That would, however, make it too easy on the couple, especially considering they now want to get another animal. If you want to be a pet owner, you can’t change your mind a few years down the line. It’s a lifetime commitment. ‘You can’t just dump him, Mr Brinkish. He’s your responsibility.’

He starts to say something but the expression on my face changes his mind and he backtracks. ‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘Get in here,’ he says to the dog.

Kimchi gives me one last forlorn look and pads inside.

‘Three months,’ I tell him. ‘Keep Kimchi for another three months. Try to remember why you got him in the first place.’ I’m not about to let the poor dog be ignored or thrown into the nearest shelter. ‘If you can’t manage that, then I’ll take him.’ My eyes harden. ‘In the meantime, if you don’t look after him properly we will talk again.’

To remind him that I can enter his property now whenever I wish, I step into the porch. I’m barely an inch inside but my point is made. Brinkish swallows.

‘There’s one other thing,’ I say.

He glares at me. ‘What?’

‘Your tooth. Where did you get it done?’

For a second, he looks confused then he touches his gold molar. In one swift movement he yanks at it and it comes off. He holds it out to me in the palm of his hand. ‘Go on,’ he smirks. ‘You can touch it if you want to.’

I look at the tooth, then at his mouth. There’s no missing tooth: it is nothing more than a removable gold cap. Shit. I’d no idea such things existed. If Corinne hadn’t confessed that her attacker was human, he could have been a bloodguzzler after all. It would be a pain in the arse to keep taking a gold cap on and off, but it would be possible. What Brinkish has is nothing more than jewellery.

‘Where did you get it from?’

‘Shipped from the States. I bought it via a local distributor.’

‘Can you give me their name?’

‘Some internet company.” A flicker of pride crosses his eyes.  “They custom made it to fit my tooth exactly.’

‘How lovely,’ I murmur. And what a waste of time. Both his, in getting the damn thing made in the first place, and mine for thinking he could help us track down the serial rapist. I didn’t need to trek all this way, I could have gone downstairs and spoken to Drechlin. He’d no doubt have told me how easy it is to get hold of such things.

I try to recover. ‘Thank you. And remember, three months, Mr Brinkish. You need to treat Kimchi like a king or there will be consequences.’

I step backwards, keeping my gaze fixed on him. He mutters something under his breath and slams the door shut. I cross my fingers and hope I’ve done the right thing.

*

It’s late by the time I get back to my flat. I’d been forced to piggy back on a delivery van heading into the city in order to make it home before sun up. I’m tired and grouchy, so when I reach the top of the stairs and realise my door is wide open, my mood doesn’t improve. I tense and crouch low, ready to face the idiot who has decided to break in. I needn’t have bothered; he’s already heard me coming.

Michael steps out of the doorway and my stomach drops. I genuinely intended to offer my apologies to him for going overboard with my accusations, but I wanted to be prepared first. Instead, I’m covered in dirt and dust from the delivery van and my hair is sticking up as if searching for a satellite signal. Michael is wearing an immaculate, midnight-blue, v-necked t-shirt that clings in all the right places. He doesn’t have a single hair out of place; the only suggestion that he is tense is the hooded expression in his eyes.

‘Bo,’ he murmurs. It sounds like an invitation.

I keep my voice steady but my reaction to his presence is clear from my words. ‘How the fuck did you get into my apartment?’ As soon as I’ve spoken, I berate myself. It’s hardly the cautious opener I should have aimed for.

‘You left your window open,’ he responds smoothly. ‘I wouldn’t have used it normally but you weren’t in. I figured you’d prefer if it I was inside rather than hanging around in the corridor where your colleagues might see me.’

I think of the anxious faces I’d dealt with earlier. He’s probably right.

‘I’m going to be optimistic,’ he continues, ‘and think that your words about me never coming near you again were spoken in the heat of the moment. After all, it will be difficult for me to avoid New Order for the rest of time.’ He dips his head and I get the impression he’s suddenly nervous.

‘Um, yes.’ I shuffle my feet.

He throws me something that glints in the air and I shoot my hand up to catch it. I open up my palm and look. It’s a tarnished badge with the words Metropolitan Police inscribed around the outside. Puzzled, I look up at him.

‘Medici and I were in the police together.’ He says it stiffly, as if he’s uncomfortable. ‘We worked undercover. Chinese immigration was at its height and there were concerns about some of the more,’ he pauses, ‘criminal elements. Not to mention the long reach of the Kuomintang. We infiltrated their network and established ourselves as bootleggers. To prove our allegiance, we were asked to witness some executions. The smiles you see are part of our cover.’ His mouth curves upwards, entirely without humour. ‘Of course, I have no proof of this beyond the badge. The records are hidden away in some long-forgotten vault.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Do the press have the photo too?’

I’m confused then I realise what he’s getting at. ‘No. I got it from O’Connell, the ex-CEO of Magix. I burned everything else. There aren’t going to be any tabloid shocks.’ I look away. ‘At least not unless Magix does something with the originals. Their new CEO…’

‘I know him. I’ll sort something out.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you believe me? About the photo?’

‘Does it matter?’

He bunches his fists up. ‘Yes,’ he says quietly. ‘It does.’

‘I met Cheung. He’s…’

‘One of the Triad leaders.’

‘He was afraid of you, Michael.’

‘Our covers were blown. Mine and Medici’s. It’s the reason we both ended up being recruited as vampires – it was the only place left to hide. When the gangs realised they couldn’t get to us, they took their revenge elsewhere.’ Bitter anger flashes across his face. All this may have happened more than ninety years ago but I realise that, for Michael, it’s as if it were yesterday. ‘When I was strong enough, I went after them in return.’ He meets my eyes. ‘It’s not something I’m proud of. But some people have long memories and pass warnings along to subsequent generations.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ Whatever he did was no doubt bloody and brutal. I don’t need to know the gory details.

Michael lifts his chin. ‘I’m not going to apologise for what happened with the prostitute. I had to do what was best for us. For the Families.’

I nod my head. ‘I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand. I should have thought more about your obligations before I laid into you.’

He moves closer until he’s barely a foot away. ‘Is that an apology?’ he asks softly.

I shake my head. ‘No. But it is a peace offering.’

His eyes rake over me and a shiver runs down my spine. ‘I can live with that.’

‘Look at us,’ I say, trying to sound light-hearted, ‘all chatty and polite and getting along.’

He doesn’t smile. ‘Do you trust me, Bo?’

I can no longer meet his eyes. I’m not going to lie, though. ‘No,’ I eventually answer in a small voice.

He reaches out and brushes my bottom lip very gently with the base of his thumb. ‘I can be a patient man.’

‘I don’t think this is going to work, Michael.’ I take a deep breath. ‘You’re in a different place to me. We’re different people. The mutual attraction is just because you bit me. Or this is just that recruit rebound thing you were talking about before.’

I see a tiny flash of rage in his face. ‘Is this the part where you tell me you only want to be friends?’

I stare at him. I’m not sure we can just be friends but anything else simply won’t work. Not if I can’t bring myself to trust him. ‘Friends sounds good,’ I say eventually.

He watches me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. ‘Friends then,’ he agrees. ‘With benefits.’

I gape. ‘Um … I don’t think…’

‘Benefits of working together to achieve the same goals,’ he interrupts. ‘Peace across the Families.’ He gives me a wolfish smile. ‘Why, what did you think I meant?’

‘Nothing! Working together is good. Peace, yes.’ I nod, aware that I’m starting to babble. ‘Those kinds of benefits.’

He leans in. ‘Fucking friends,’ he mutters. Then he grabs my shoulders and pulls me towards him. His mouth descends in a hard kiss. Despite my better judgment, lust uncurls through my body and I squirm. The moment I yield and respond he breaks away, breathing hard. ‘For old times’ sake,’ he breathes. ‘It won’t happen again. Not now that we’re friends.’ He emphasises the last word so that I’m not sure whether he’s laughing at me or not. Then, before I can respond, he whirls past me and disappears in a flash.

I touch my bruised lips, suddenly no longer sure of anything at all.

Chapter Twelve: Practice Makes Perfect

‘So,’ Rogu3 says, sitting on my small sofa, ‘I’ve been through as many images as I can pull. Your guys stole the car from here.’ He shows me the first photo. It’s definitely the same two goons who tried to shoot me and O’Shea. ‘It was at a car park near Brent Cross shopping centre. It’s supposed to be one of those theft-proof cars. They had a handheld computer and were inside in about twenty seconds flat.’ He sounds impressed.

I purse my lips. ‘So they have some skills.’

‘Mad skills. You see the way they’re keeping their heads down? They knew where the cameras were and where to avoid looking. But my skills are better.’ He’s smug in the way that only a teenager can be. ‘I caught their reflection off this wing mirror, see? It was a simple matter to enhance it.’

I give him a quick round of applause but he holds up his index finger. ‘Just wait, Bo Peep. I can do much better. I backtracked through the other nearby CCTV and surveillance videos. London really is a godsend for this sort of stuff. I have them here,’ he pulls out another photo, ‘six minutes before they entered the car park. And here,’ he points to another one, ‘ten minutes before that.’

I squint. ‘That looks like Hendon Central.’

‘Well done. But they’re not coming from the underground. Check this out. I got it from the camera inside Subway. Pretty impressive, huh?’

‘Cooper Funeral Director’s,’ I read. ‘They’re coming out of the door.’

‘Yup. And it’s a tiny place. Even if they’re not associated with it personally and they were visiting because they’re both recently bereaved, they’re going to be remembered.’

‘Could you pull anything from surveillance inside?’

He shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately not. These places tend not to use CCTV. You know, respect for the dead and all that.’

I stare at the two of them. They’re wearing the same suits as when I met them face to face. And they have the same arrogant expressions on their faces. ‘Does the funeral director’s deal with Agathos daemons?’

Rogu3 grins. ‘Exclusively. I tried calling. You know, pretended to be looking for the body of a friend of mine. The person I spoke to was male and had what sounded like an American accent.’

I scratch my head. ‘That’s not my guy. It’s a huge help though, Rogu3.’

He beams. ‘Told you I’d do a better job than the Agathos court could.’

‘I had no doubt.’ I write him a cheque not only for these services but also for the previous ones I still have on account. For a second, I think he’s about to refuse it but when I frown he quickly pockets it.

He looks round my flat doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you can afford me?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

His eyes fall on the hand-drawn map I’ve tacked on the wall. I’ve only just started it but I’ve managed to draft out several key places already. ‘Where’s this?’ he asks.

‘London.’

‘It doesn’t look like London.’

‘It’s the underground,’ I tell him. ‘But not just the train lines. There are lots of tunnels and dead stations lurking down there.’

‘Cool.’ He points to an area I’ve shaded in red. ‘What’s that?’

‘Fort Knox.’ Rogu3 gives me a puzzled look but doesn’t pursue it. ‘It’s your turn now,’ I tell him. ‘Stand up.’

He does as he’s told. I look him over. His posture isn’t too bad, but there’s a lot of room for improvement. ‘Pull your shoulders back a bit.’ He makes a jerking movement and suddenly looks like a robot. I grin. ‘No, like this.’ I gently grab them and apply a bit of pressure. ‘You need to look relaxed and comfortable to pull this off.’

‘This position is not comfortable.’

‘I said,
look
comfortable. There’s a big difference. If I wanted you to be comfortable, I’d tell you to stay at home slumped in a chair.’ I move round to the front of him and gently nudge his feet apart a few inches. ‘Put your hands in your pockets. It can be hard to know what to do with your hands sometimes so if you have them resting there, you won’t have to worry. Just, you know, don’t go fiddling or fumbling or anything.’

Rogu3’s face screws up. ‘Bo! As if.’

I smile. ‘Okay, let’s try walking.’

Rogu3 takes a few steps. From behind his back, I wince. That’s not going to work at all. It takes half an hour of practice before I’m satisfied he’s got it right. ‘We’re going to try it in the real word,’ I say finally.

He blanches. ‘Shit.’

I cuff him round the ear. ‘How many times…?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. You know what I think next week’s word will be?’