Sake Bomb (17 page)

“Now please…” Toru whispered, “out of my
shop.”

Xander wasn’t quite appeased. Kizzie placed
her hand on his back. The coiled muscles were ready to unload.
“Let’s go.”

Xander dropped the meaty arm sans breaks and
Toru cradled the injured paw to his sizable belly. The poor woman
with half-an-ass tatt would probably have to get that finished up
another day…

They made it to the street without further
incident, Xander’s mood still lethal. Sweet as it was for him to
stick up for her—though she
could
take care of
herself—Kizzie needed to ditch Protective Dom and fast. And she
didn’t have time to explain. Better to ask forgiveness than
permission—not that she needed to ask Xander for either.

Tamping down the urge to include him in her
plan Kizzie muttered, “Be right back,” and then darted away,
getting lost in the crowd.

* * * *

A
fter several deep
breaths Xander shrugged off the quick surge of anger. The incident
might
go down as a wave; a ripple, at the very least, but
even that could be a problem. They’d have to find Sumi before all
of these waves reached the shore.

The crowd separated around him, a river
around a rock. Xander headed against the current, grinning at
Kizzie’s absence. He knew exactly what she was doing. She didn’t
know he knew; didn’t know he was testing her and she’d aced the
exam.

He’d tagged the broom boy on one of the many
trips past the parlor’s glass front. The thin man floated from
station to station, always watchful while himself trying to go
unseen. He looked uncomfortable in his skin, wearing clothes so big
he drowned in them. Even his motions with the broom were careful,
timid. Soft. He might have been intimidated talking to either
Xander or Phil.

No image on the live feed on his phone meant
Phil was in motion. Kizzie would have made it to the alleyway
behind
Ink-Scribed
by now. If she found anything, she’d tell
him. They had an uneasy trust. Though he would prefer something
more concrete—at least from her—given their circumstances, that was
unrealistic. Stupid. Dangerous. “Uneasy” would have to do.

Across the street, Phil stood head and
shoulders above the pedestrians. He lingered near a food cart,
sunglasses down over his eyes, slurping noodles from a container.
One whiff and Xander’s stomach rumbled.

“Any luck?” Phil asked.

“Maybe.” They fell into the flow of foot
traffic, passing fashion stores and an electronics depot. A toy
robot danced to music blaring from a speaker, and a group had
gathered to watch the furry yellow gizmo go. “Somebody knows
something, nobody wants to talk. Expected that. What’d you get on
the dead girl?”

Uneasy trust. Kizzie didn’t know Phil was
looking into their Jane Doe. Xander wanted to see what results she
and her CIA contacts came back with, and whether or not she’d be
honest with him.

Phil relayed the details between another
bite of food. “Chiho Losu. 23. Tox came back positive for cyanide
and trace amounts of oleandrin, among other things. Negative for
the neurotoxin TTX, which is what would be found in a fugu
overdose.”

“Murder.”

A curt nod from Phil. “Tattoo’s an In-Yo
with characters in the tiger and dragon positions.” He slowed to
drain the container and then tossed the empty into a nearby bin,
kept moving. “In dragon: ‘resistance to bending.’ Tiger slot reads
‘clay.’”

Clay? They floated to a stop at the corner,
turned and strolled back in the direction they’d come.

“Telling Kizzie?”

Xander hadn’t decided. But the tension he’d
picked up on the night before was still in Phil’s tone, and he made
up his mind about his buddy’s attitude. “What is it you want to
say?”

“Short version?” Phil grunted. “You don’t
get Harvey like this. The job is pear-shaped, but if we do manage
to save it, what’re the odds Agent Baldwin will let you just stroll
away with a nuke?”

Slim, closer to none. Xander knew that. Same
way Phil did. Same way they both knew letting Kizzie walk with it
wasn’t ideal either. Saying any of that would be redundant. “You
got it all worked out...”

“Bring her on, X. That’s the only way—”

“Connolly.”

“Handy crutch, isn’t he?” They stopped near
the cart again, Phil turning what Xander assumed was an intent gaze
on him behind the dark shades. “We could use a talent like
Kizzie’s. She can get in where we can’t, and given Naima’s current
situation…”

Like Xander hadn’t thought about that.
Kizzie was, at this very moment, getting in where they couldn’t.
“Nai’s not my only option. Amalia’s close—”

“Why can’t you trust Kizzie?”

“Why do you?” Xander narrowed his gaze, eyes
darting from one dark lens to the other. Phil turned away and a
knot formed in Xander’s gut. Did… Did Kizzie get to Phil?

Phil stepped back to allow a line of
preschoolers to pass, the front and tail flanked by teachers. Each
child held on to a ring linked to a rope so they couldn’t wander
away. Yellow brims of their white hats were flipped up, ducklings
following their mother. Innocent gazes took in the many legs around
them, the buildings, the street, the colorful signs.

Shit, life used to be so simple. “Innocent”
wasn’t a title either could claim, but Xander and Phil had known
each other since they were young enough to be ducklings. Brothers.
And uncertainty between brothers usually ended with black eyes and
busted lips.

The kids gone, Xander closed the gap.
“There’s more than just whatever has Kizzie wrapped around
Connolly’s finger.”

Phil twisted his head so the shades faced
Xander again, poker face in place. “Like?”

“Like it’s not just my ass or yours I’d be
risking. You weren’t even
thinkin
’ about Nai,” Xander said,
practically growling the words. He kept his voice low, but the
intensity relayed his frustration. “Photo-capable binocs in
Kizzie’s bag. Which means, while you were playing that stupid prank
in Paris, she probably got several shots of Naima and I
together.”

“Worried that might ruin your chances?” Phil
asked, tilting his head. The laughter had returned to his tone,
like nails on a chalkboard. Xander clenched his jaw. Phil lifted
his shoulders, paused, let them drop again. “Kizzie probably did
get pictures—in fact, I’m positive she did. She’s a good agent, X.
We both know the effects are negligible.”

“
Really
?” Xander said, heavy on the
sarcasm.

“We’re probably on half a dozen live streams
right no—”

“That doesn’t give you the go-ahead to put
everyone else in jeopardy,” he snapped. “We discussed this when she
left Oman. The Helsinki job—getting her to come along was a fluke.
We—”

“—caught her off guard. Forced her to go
solo,” Phil finished.

“If you were her, ‘a good agent,’ would you
take that chance twice? Or would you have someone covering your
six? Her coming back means Connolly having a tracker on
us
—you,” Xander pointed from Phil’s chest to his own, “and
me. Not Stix. Not Nai and her baby. Not anybody else.

“Until we crack Kizzie, or her phone, we
assume she’s updating him about our movements. And if not Connolly
directly, then
somebody
. Don’t you think she’s playing me,
same way I’m playing her?” He
was
playing her, right? He
pushed the thought aside and exhaled. “Use your head.”

“Then you use yours,” Phil shot back.
“Kizzie’s not the agent to play with, not like this. Either bring
her on or cut her loose, ‘cause you can’t keep walking this
tightrope.”

Uncertainty and ultimatums. Too many
U
s, too short a time. Xander balled his fists, contemplating
thrashing Phil in public. “Which means?”

A long pause. “You ran after the kid.”

Kid? What kid? Xander’s brow knit, and it
took him a minute to puzzle it out. Phil nodded.

Xander hadn’t thought about it. When Koji
took off running, he just reacted. Same as in the tattoo shop
minutes before. Someone threatened one of his and he snapped. A
reflex, to quote one sexy CIA agent. And, dammit, wasn’t he was
supposed to be getting under
her
skin?

“In the future,” Phil said, face an
emotionless mask, “try and remember I’m here for a reason. And it
doesn’t have to be Harvey
or
Kizzie, Xander, but there’s
only one way you get both.”

Phil backpedaled two steps, jerked his chin
toward a spot over Xander’s shoulder and then spun on his heel and
stalked off.

Turning, Xander watched Kizzie approach, a
little bounce in her confident gait. She waded through the sea of
bodies like they weren’t there. Her energy had shifted—definitely
excited. Definitely had info.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his
elbow in stride and propelled him along. The contact was
unexpected. It felt natural. Enough so that Xander
almost
decided Phil might be on to something. They slowed at the
crosswalk, surrounded by nattering tourists and locals. “So?”

“Still hungry?” He nodded and Kizzie hugged
his arm tighter, a smile playing at the corners of her lush mouth.
“So…take me to dinner.”

Xander held her gaze, watched one dark brow
pop up. In the glittering brown pools of her irises, the traffic
light glowed green. Her hand still in his elbow, he lead her across
the street.

Almost wasn’t good enough.

“
I
was thinking
sushi, maybe Kobe beef…” Xander said, holding the door open. “Dab
smack in the heart of a city with a plethora of epicurean delights,
and
you
want to eat at an American restaurant.”

“I’m a cheap date.” Kizzie shrugged as she
strutted by, the rich smells of meat and potatoes rushing past her
nose and making a beeline for her stomach. It might be a wasted
trip, but better to get a free meal than pass out free shows to all
and sundry in some spank club in Harajuku. Xander mentioned
checking out said clubs, and Kizzie’s suggestion that Phil wear the
corset and hooker heels didn’t even get a giggle from the peanut
gallery. Literally showing her ass on every continent wasn’t what
she envisioned when joining the CIA.

“For two?”

Xander nodded to the hostess. “Somewhere in
the back.”

The bright-eyed girl traced her gaze over
his body from head to toe. She nabbed two menus and started toward
the main dining area, so much sway in those narrow hips her head
rocked with each step.

Kizzie rolled her eyes and followed behind
Xander. A table to the far left drew her attention. Male, eating
alone, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. Neck craned, Kizzie
squinted to see if he fit the description. Couldn’t be quite sure
from the distance, but—

She slammed into a human wall with an
oomph
, braced her hands on Xander’s waist to keep from
falling over.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Half-turned to help
steady Kizzie, Xander winked at the hostess, who graced him with an
animated giggle. Without offering Kizzie the seat, he slid onto the
bench facing the door.

One final, gurgling exhale and chivalry
flatlined.

The hostess reached around Kizzie to hand
Xander a booklet. “Our specials tonight are—”

Kizzie snatched both menus and shot the girl
a smile that said, under no uncertain terms, if you want to keep
breathing now’s a good time to leave. The hostess scurried away
without the hip-swing and Kizzie’s smile dropped. “You’re in my
seat.”

Xander tipped his chin toward the opposite
bench and shrugged out of his coat. “Guess you’ll have to trust me
to watch your back.”

“Which one of us is the agent here,
Duquesne?”

“Pulling rank on a Dom. Let me know how that
works for you.” He casually opened a menu and muttered, “The hell
is a bloomin’ onion?”

Her glaring gone unnoticed, Kizzie slid onto
the bench.

“I’d be hurt at the message that sends if it
didn’t get you closer to me.” Draping his arm around her shoulder,
Xander scooched the menu over so she could see it.

“All right, Stumpy,” Kizzie warned.

He pulled her closer, tucking her firmly
under his wing. “You said this is a date.”

“Maybe we don’t like each other,” she
scanned the dinning area, “maybe I’m being polite and any minute
now I’ll escape to the bathroom, call a friend and dish about how
horrible the night is going with this wretched troll of a
man….”

Xander chuckled. “If it’s not going well
why’d you sit next to me? Nope, we’re on a date—a very
vanilla
date—at a restaurant of your choosing, and
everything’s perfect. Going so great, in fact, I’m rounding third
and heading for home.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t get lucky tonight if this
were a date, which it’s not.”

He hooked her wrist and kissed a sweet path
from her palm to her fingertips. “What are you having?”

Fighting the smile was useless. Kizzie
stared at the menu but didn’t see it, too focused on the heat
radiating from his body. A deep breath brought his cologne into her
lungs and she chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from
cursing.

“So this is you on a date, huh? What will
your wife think about it?”

Xander flipped the laminated page and
continued perusing the offerings. “We have a really,
really
open marriage.”

“Open marriage…” Kizzie repeated, making the
two words sound like “bullshit.”

“Don’t believe me?” She shook her head. “I
think you want to believe me.”

“You also think you’re gettin’ some ass on
this non-date. Can’t trust your own judgment, chief.” He pulled a
slow breath through his nose and Kizzie shrugged. “Just odd. Your
file didn’t mention a wife, so it has to be fairly new.”

“And what do the fine folks at Langley have
to say about me?”