Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (8 page)

“On the first date? That seems quick.”

“You’re so naïve, Brennan,” she said, shaking her head.

“I’m heading home to shower. You should get one, too,” he added. “You smell awful.”

She punched him playfully on the arm. It hurt a little. “You try being fresh after juking and jabbing for the better part of an hour.”

“I am always fresh,” he said, earning another smile from Bishop.

“Straight out of the hood. And you wonder why you’ve been single for so long. All right, I’m going to let you get out of here, but one more thing.” Bishop rose up on her toes, and Brennan inclined his head to hear her whisper. “If I catch you sniffing around this case again,” she said, her voice deadly soft in his ear, “I am placing you on suspension. I don’t know what you’re doing here and I don’t want to know. It ends now. Nod if you understand me.”

His chin dipped shallowly.

“Good,” Bishop said, resting back on her heels. She had switched from friend to lieutenant and back again in less than a minute. “Go on, get ready for your date.”

Brennan watched as she walked away. He was too stunned to move. His partnership with Detective Bishop had been a relatively short one, ending when she received her office and the promotion it signified, but he thought they had developed a fairly good rapport in that time. She’d been hard as nails, true, but not without a measure of kindness.
Lieutenant
Bishop, on the other hand, was an entirely new woman.

Or maybe the same woman with new trappings of power,
Brennan thought sullenly.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you!” A loud voice drew Brennan from his thoughts. It was Cassius. He walked up level with Brennan and followed his gaze at Bishop’s retreating form. “She’s one hell of a fighter, that one. You two have history?”

Brennan grunted. “Not the romantic kind.”

“Shame. No big loss, though. You’re not her type.”

“You’ve known me all of five minutes and suddenly you’re Mister Insightful?”

Cassius shrugged his enormous shoulders. “I call it like I see it.”

“You were excited to catch me?” Brennan prompted.

“Right. I got to thinking about what you said, and one of my regulars hasn’t shown up in a couple weeks. Big guy, mostly kept to himself. He had tats on his arms, but not the kind you get from doing time or running with gangbangers.”

“You didn’t notice when one of your regulars went missing?”

“Hey, someone comes in every couple of days, maybe once a week, you don’t pay too much attention.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Been almost two weeks now since I’ve seen him, though.”

“Does this big guy have a name?”

“Johnny Appleseed.”

Brennan gave him a level look.

“What? That’s the name he gave, and he paid in cash. I didn’t ask any further.”

“Who runs a clean business but deals in cash?” He ignored Cassius’s scowl and sighed. “I’m not here to shut you down, just looking for our killer. Do you have a photo of Johnny? I can’t look around the city for a bruiser with ink, not unless I’m looking for a fight.”

Cassius chuckled. “I don’t have a photo, but I think I know where you can find him.”

“Home address?”

“Hah, if only. No, there was a pub he used to talk about. It was called The Tap, or something like that. He talked about it like it was his second home.”

“And you’re fine with just turning in your friend?”

“If he’s a murderer, he ain’t my friend. But as a business owner, I have to worry if one of my clients isn’t going to be around next month. If you find him there, let me know, one way or the other.”

In spite of himself, Brennan found himself liking Cassius. He was a straightforward enough guy who didn’t tolerate nonsense in his gym. He clasped hands with him again before stepping out into the cool, relatively fresh air of the open city street.

Brennan pulled his phone out and checked his inbox. He felt a tingle in his stomach as he read through the new message. Clara Thompson had responded to him through CopAFeel. She was delighted to hear from him and invited him to have dinner tonight.

I’ll be damned, it actually worked.
His stomach butterflies beat their wings a little more forcefully. It had
worked
. The last date he had been on was with his wife, Mara, who—

He shook his head. His left fist clenched, and he felt the band of metal that still wrapped around one finger. It had been years since she was lost to him, but Brennan still wore the ring in her honor. It was his only tie to her now, the most enduring remnant of his departed wife.

The phone’s screen powered down from inactivity as Brennan’s mind raced. Technically, now his lie to Bishop was a perfect truth; he just hadn’t known it at the time. If he tracked down The Tap now, though, she would almost certainly find out and have his badge. Besides, he didn’t know how long it might take, and now he had plans for the evening. It was still early afternoon, but the sun was setting earlier with each passing day. He had enough time to make it up to St. Agabus’s, though, to speak with Father Dylan. That would gain brownie points with Bishop and possibly get her off his back for a while.

Brennan made a quick call. “Sam, you’re still on retainer, right?”

“For the next thirty hours, I’m all yours. What do you need?”

“Two things. I need you to look for a bar, tentatively named The Tap. I just got a source that says one of his usual clients has gone underground, and that’s where we’re most likely to find him.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said, repeating the name at half-speed as he wrote it down. “And the second thing?”

The heat rose in Brennan’s cheeks. “I need you to recommend a good place for dinner for two. Not too formal, but somewhere nice.”

Sam oohed over the phone. “You got a date?”

“Don’t sound so surprised!”

“I know a few places, partner, let me make a few calls. Do you know what time tonight?”

“Make it for eight o’clock.”

“You got it.”

Brennan hung up and started walking to the nearest shuttle station heading north.

Alex sensed the
men’s ill intentions from a block away.

She ordered the taxi to wait here and got out, holding a heavy silver briefcase in one gloved hand. In the other, she held a small cube of plastic and wiring. She could only hope the palm-sized block of explosives wouldn’t be necessary. The wind pushed at her back as she approached the building where she was meeting her client. It was a large structure of sheet metal and concrete, a broad warehouse with large windows lining the upper sections of the outer wall. There was a certain air to the neighborhood, a general miasma of seediness that gave off a sickly feeling. It had attitude, the kind that subconsciously steered away normal, well-adjusted people from casually strolling through.

Alex didn’t fall into that category. She felt over a dozen sets of eyes watching her from alleyways and catwalks, accompanied by gray sensations of detached wariness. If they were shocked that their employer was a woman, it didn’t show in their emotions. She could appreciate that kind of professionalism. Her father had good sense when it came to choosing his employees.

The men she was meeting with were responsible for helping her father find test subjects for his medical research. Alex knew that their work was largely illegal, and she doubted that many—if any—of the recipients of his serum had been volunteers. Still, they were a means to an end in finding a cure for her mother, and her father kept a discretionary fund solely for their payroll. Alex was convinced that they could be hired for an afternoon of relatively mundane target practice.

“That’s far enough, Ms. Brüding.” She looked up and saw a bald man standing on an upper level of the warehouse’s fire escape. He spoke with a patient voice, if not an entirely respectful one. “Mr. Brüding didn’t mention any new assignment. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Alex met his eyes confidently. “I have some business to discuss with you, Heinrich. Perhaps we could speak inside?”

Heinrich nodded to his men on either side, and their postures instantly relaxed. “Of course, Ms. Brüding. Open the gate,” he called to someone inside. The corrugated metal door to the warehouse floor slid on rollers, allowing Alex to enter with briefcase in hand. It closed again once she was inside, and two more men took up positions beside her.

The interior was sparse. Two large, foldable tables had been pushed together in the center of the room, surrounded by half a dozen cheap chairs. Additional guards milled about by the doors and windows, and every one of them wore a mask of feigned disinterest on their faces. Still, their eyes tracked her movement as she approached the metal table.

Heinrich came down to greet her, his footsteps heavy and loud on the iron steps. He gestured to a pair of empty chairs, and they both took their seats. Alex noted with satisfaction that even though the room was full of men, the guards kept far enough away that their conversation would be relatively private.

“Thank you,” she said, placing the briefcase on the table. “I appreciate you meeting with me.”

“I normally work with your father.” Heinrich’s accent was more pronounced now that she could hear him up close.

“This is my own business. I need you to stage a hit on someone.”

He rubbed his jaw. “A job like this takes proper time to plan.”

Alex shared her plan with him, and Heinrich’s frown deepened when she got to the part about keeping the target alive.

“I work
with
your father,” Heinrich repeated. “My men and I are not his toys, and we are certainly not yours. Your father hires us, but we are not his employees, and our price is not cheap.” His speech was measured, his vocabulary carefully chosen, both the product of intense education in English as a second language.

Alex rapped her knuckles meaningfully against the briefcase. “I came prepared.”

Heinrich looked doubtful. Alex reached for the man’s thoughts, but they proved elusive.
Either he’s an empty-headed dimwit with excellent diction, or else…
She scanned the other men within reach. In each mind she touched, she encountered a brick wall. It was not a case of not being able to enter their thoughts, but rather that each one was actively engrossed in imagining a solid brick wall, endless in length and height.

These were her father’s men, despite what Heinrich said.
Did he train them…to
resist
me?
Aside from her father and now Benjamin, nobody knew of her telepathy. She could still access the sensory inputs of Heinrich’s men, but that was the limit. Beyond that, she was as helpless as a common person.

She had never felt so vulnerable.

Heinrich regarded her with a shrewd expression. “You want to hire Leviathan for this job? That is fine. But I wonder what Mr. Brüding would think of his daughter co-opting his resources.”

“Bullshit,” Alex said. She had been caught off guard by the mercenaries’ mental defenses, but she was well-prepared for Heinrich’s attempt at blackmail. “Your men and your guns are, as you say, not his toys. You don’t care who hires you so long as you get paid.”

“Correct.” Heinrich’s lips spread in the hungry grin of a shark. “But James Brüding would care very much to know why his own daughter is enlisting our services. His pockets are much deeper than yours, and I like money.”

“I have included an additional five thousand for your discretion,” she said, pushing the briefcase toward Heinrich.

“Double it.”

“You exaggerate your importance,” she said coldly.

“Yet you still come to me for help. Double it or no deal.”

Alex sighed, playing up her role as the naïve, blindsided girl. She knew walking in to the meeting that Heinrich would try something like this, and she came prepared. Still, she had to act the part. With a show of reluctance, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a stack of hundred dollar bills. “This makes ten thousand,” she said, placing the money next to the briefcase. “But you will follow my instructions to the letter. No deviation.”

Heinrich reached across the table, placing a large, meaty hand on top of the briefcase. “
Ja
, of course,” he said, pulling the money toward him. Alex felt his gaze turn critical, a swirl of hazel curiosity emerging from his thought patterns. “Who is this man you want us to shoot?”

“A homicide detective from OPD, Arthur Brennan.”

“Arthur Brennan,” Heinrich repeated flatly. He had stopped thumbing through the bound stack of bills. “This is the same man who shut down our operations here three months ago?”

For the second time since entering the warehouse, Alex found herself uncertain. She had never heard of Arthur Brennan until a few days ago, and now it seemed that he had already had dealings with Leviathan. Her father would almost certainly have known about this.

If these men know how to resist me, he
must
have trained them to do so. How much is he actually hiding from me?
Alex hadn’t believed it possible to conceal anything from her probing mind, but that certainty was being unraveled by the second.

“Whatever your history with the man,” Alex said, recovering her voice, “I expect that you will honor our agreement. He is
not
to be killed.”

“Absolutely.”

“Or seriously injured.”

Heinrich scowled. His frown deepened when he opened the briefcase and looked inside. “This is not the amount we agreed upon.”

“You’ll get the other half when the assignment is complete. This is a token of good faith,” she said, gesturing to the money he held. “Deviate from our deal and you will break that faith.”

“Your father taught you well,” Heinrich stated bitterly. “The detective will not be killed during this operation.” He extended his bear paw of a hand and shook Alex’s; his enveloped hers as easily as a clam concealing its pearl. Somehow, Alex felt that Heinrich had gained more from their meeting than just a lump sum of money.

As she left the warehouse, distinctly aware of the eyes silently watching her retreat, Alex replayed the exact words from her exchange with Heinrich. His training apparently prevented her from accessing his thoughts, but she hadn’t missed the fact that his parting statement had been carefully crafted to allow for an opportunistic loophole. If he harmed Arthur Brennan
after
Alex delivered the second part of their payment, then Heinrich could fulfill his end of the arrangement
and
enact his revenge.

If Heinrich kills Brennan before he can find this serial killer, I’m a dead woman.

She would just need to find a way to keep the good detective alive past tonight.

ф ф ф

The taxi arrived
at her apartment with just a couple hours to spare until sundown. She quickly shed the formal dress suit she had worn to her meeting with Heinrich and pulled on an outfit consisting mainly of form-fitting leather and black wool. Alex took a moment to admire herself in the mirror before climbing back into the waiting cab.

“You do know that the meter is continuously running, yes?” the driver asked.

“That won’t be a problem,” Alex said. She handed him a handful of bills, each one of which could cover an hour of massage therapy. “One more stop to make, and then I want you to wipe today’s trip from your travel log.”

“It will look suspicious,” he countered, “if it looks like I did not have any passengers this afternoon.”

She handed him another bill. “Tell your boss that you took the afternoon off to celebrate your anniversary with your wife.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m psychic,” she said glibly. The driver looked at her for a moment before laughing.

“Whatever you say, lady.”

It was a peaceful drive, or at least as peaceful as it could have been, given the circumstances. Compared to the rest of her day, which had started so long ago with her early morning chat with Benjamin, the whiplash from weaving through inner city traffic was sublime. For some idiotic reason, Arthur Brennan had to live in the heart of the city, and across from OPD headquarters, no less. It was actually not too far from her own apartment, but the necessary evil of rush hour traffic was something she ordinarily only endured for her father. If her own life were not at risk, she would have been home now sipping from one of Sam’s bottles of Pinot noir and relaxing into the positively adequate physical comfort of his arms.

Alex frowned. Even now, while imagining her ideal stress-free scenario, she was incapable of dredging up some form of emotion. All of those things felt good, yes, but they lacked the actual sentiment of enjoyment that she knew she should be experiencing. A sudden lane shift caused Alex to jostle around in the backseat.

Damn you, Brennan.

“Did you say something?” The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at her.

“What?”

He waved a hand. “Sorry, I thought I heard something.”

Keep your attention on the road,
she thought bitterly.

“I swear, there it is again,” he said, looking around doubtfully. “Maybe I am hearing someone’s music? Yes, that must be it.”

Alex stared in disbelief at the back of her driver’s head. He had reacted, both times, in perfect sync with her thoughts. She reached out tentatively with her psychic probe, but there was nothing unusual about him. He was human. Average. Ordinary. Dull.
Not like me.

The driver rolled down his window and stuck his ear out. “Now I know I’m not imagining it,” he said. “It was clear as day in my head.”

“It’s an old song,” Alex stammered, covering for herself. She said a few of the lyrics aloud.

“
Hot
like me! That is what I must have heard,” the driver concluded, chuckling quietly.

With a deep breath, Alex forced herself to look out the window. Her eyes glazed over, and she felt the pounding pain of a migraine coming on. She opened her purse and unscrewed the prescription bottle inside; she tossed back three white pills and swallowed hard, silently willing the medicine to work quickly. She was dangerously aware of the private thoughts of all those around her, their collective psychic presence threatening to crowd her out of her own mind.

What was it that Benjamin said in his apartment? That I had called out to him with
my
thoughts?
Alex puzzled over it as the taxi took another turn. It was consistent with her observations, and it would explain the odd phenomenon that had just occurred with the driver. She had been in charge of her power for so long that it was jarring to imagine that the connection might work both ways.

Alex turned her attention to the driver. His bald spot gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, and she could see in the rearview mirror that his eyes were still darting around nervously. He was driving toward Arthur Brennan’s apartment, but Alex sensed that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She reached out again, enveloping his mind with her awareness and holding it there. A minute passed, then another, until she felt a kind of bond form between their thoughts. She was not in control of his mind, per se, but she held it in her grasp like a small hamster; his own thoughts squirmed around, unable to comprehend this new power that had taken over.