Black In White

by J. C. Andrijeski

  Then I realized it was from me speaking to him in his mind at all.

  He felt the emotion there, too.

  Let me send a car at least...

  I fought back and forth with that. Then I shook my head. No. I need my car.

  A ride to the parking structure then. My people can follow you home...

  Black, I warned. I’ll be fine. You know Nick’ll have people here... people who’ll see me leave. They’ll follow me home.

  I swallowed as the truth of that sank in, and the fact that Nick would know already that I’d spent the night here, at Black’s penthouse. I wondered if he’d tell Ian. Shoving that out of my mind, I shook my head.

  No one’s going to try and break into my place, all right? Not now. Not with half the cops in the city watching me and you...

  I’ll lock myself in the bathroom, he offered, even as that pulling sensation strengthened in my chest. I’ll masturbate. His desire worsened, enough that I felt my heart stutter. I’ll hire a fucking prostitute. Don’t leave, Miriam... please. Please...

  But I was already standing in front of the door to his penthouse apartment.

  Gripping the purse against my chest with one arm, I fought to control my breathing.

  At his mention of hiring a prostitute, I gritted my teeth.

  Then I reached out with my hand and grasped the handle, jerking open the door.

  That time, I didn’t look back.

  Thirteen

  LOSING MY RELIGION

  DRIVING WAS HORRIBLE. I’d forgotten about needing my leg to work the clutch, which was its own kind of hell. For the first time in my life, I wondered why in name of all that is holy I still drove a manual stick-shift car. I’d always driven one, but until now, it never struck me as having some real disadvantages.

  But every time I used the gear shift and clutch on the way back to my apartment, fire shot up my whole leg, making me grit my teeth in agony.

  The fact that it was San Francisco meant I couldn’t exactly avoid upshifting and downshifting for long periods of time, either.

  On the plus side, I actually found parking.

  I lucked out, managing to get back to my neighborhood right at the end of street cleaning in front of my building for that day. Because of that, most of the slots weren’t yet re-filled from people moving their cars to avoid the expensive tickets.

  Well, apart from one unlucky truck owner who had the tell-tale yellow envelope stuck under his wiper blade already.

  Limping up to my building, I sorted my keys in one hand even as I kept my eyes trained on the pavement, skirting around broken glass and anything else that might slice open my bare feet. The sidewalk was relatively clear, thank goodness, and I stuck my key into the front lock a minute or so later, pausing only to stare at the unmarked white van I saw parked on the corner.

  Nick’s people? It had to be.

  I only hoped they hadn’t bugged my place.

  Remembering I’d promised Ian I was going to stop by his place that morning, a wave of depression fell over me. I was dreading talking to Ian, and not only because I had no idea if he’d continue the charade he’d begun last night.

  I guessed he probably wouldn’t. He’d likely talked to Nick again by now.

  Either way, I don’t think I’d ever felt so bad about myself. I knew I wasn’t always the best girlfriend in the world, but I’d never cheated on one of my partners before. Truthfully, I’d never even come close before today.

  I wondered if Nick knew by now that he’d been lied to by Ian as well, that Ian really had been in San Francisco last night.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know all the cloak and dagger logistics though.

  At this point, I felt like I was on pretty shaky ground in terms of yelling at Ian for much of anything, no matter what lies he’d told. Still, it was pretty clear we had a lot bigger problems than I’d realized, and about a lot more serious, foundational things than Ian’s overly-frequent business trips. That depressed me as much as the actual cheating, I think.

  More, maybe.

  I sighed as I jerked the key inside the sticky lock, jiggling it a few times before I managed to turn it counter-clockwise to open the outer security door. Once I got through it, I checked my mailbox in rote, emptying it out before I began to trudge up the stairs to my two-bedroom flat on the fifth floor. I found myself thinking mostly about a shower now.

  A really hot shower... to be followed by bed.

  Well, maybe a really hot shower, a cup of coffee, a call to Ian, and then bed.

  I really couldn’t put off calling Ian any longer.

  I was still pulling myself laboriously up the stairs, using the bannister, when something else occurred to me. I no longer had my phone. Truthfully, I had no idea where my phone even was at this point. It could have been burned in the fire. Black might have it from when he collected me from the police station. Or Nick might have it in an evidence bag somewhere, to be examined by his tech team when they got to it.

  I hadn’t had a land line in years.

  That meant I’d either have to go pick up a burner phone somewhere, probably at one of the corner drug stores, or drive by Ian’s house to talk to him in person.

  Either option sounded exhausting.

  Even so, I found myself thinking maybe it was better. I needed to talk to Ian in person, given everything. I’d planned to ask him to come by my place later, since I wasn’t overly mobile, but maybe it was better if I went to him.

  Maybe it was better if I did it soon, too.

  I’d just reached the top landing as I made up my mind to go immediately after I showered and changed. I knew enough about injuries to know it was probably better to keep moving if I wanted to do it today. If I let my leg stiffen up too much, it would be agony to get out the door again later.

  I was standing at the top of the landing as I thought it, pulling out my keys. I stared at the set, looking for the smaller, silver one for my front door...

  When someone cleared their throat.

  I dropped the keys, startled. They hit the mottled brown rug.

  Bending down, the bannister clutched in one white-knuckled hand, I didn’t take my eyes off the man standing there.

  He gave me a faint smile. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Miri.”

  “Ian.” Grasping the keys off the floor, I straightened, wincing as I did. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Pity not enough to call me.”

  I frowned, letting my eyes drop back to my key set as I limped towards where he stood in the alcove by my doorway, leaning against the wall.

  “I don’t have my phone,” I said, deciding not to explain further.

  I heard him frown, but I didn’t look up to confirm.

  “I brought coffee,” he said, his voice artificially light, although I clearly heard the edge. “Of course, I got here two hours ago, after giving up on you coming to visit me... so it’s likely cold as fucking ice.”

  I pressed my lips together, but didn’t answer as I inserted the key into the deadbolt of my door.

  “What happened to your leg?” he asked, his voice colder.

  “Shrapnel from a bomb,” I told him flatly.

  He didn’t speak as I finished turning the stiff lock with my silver key. When I glanced up at him as I swung the door inward to my Victorian apartment, I saw him staring at me. The hostility in his eyes hadn’t disappeared, or even faded much.

  “Shrapnel?” he said. “Is that a joke?”

  I exhaled in anger. “Are you seriously going to pretend you haven’t been talking to Nick?” I said. “Jesus, Ian. I thought you’d drop the act by now.”

  “Nick?” He stared at me. Then his blue eyes narrowed. “Why would I have been talking to Nick? Is that where you were all night? With Nick? Because I thought...”

  He cut off his own words, as if biting them back.

  “...I assumed you were with that other fellow,” he said, folding his arms tightly across his chest. His voice came out more
subdued that time, but also colder, almost gruff. “The ‘client’ I met last night. Whatever his name was. Black.”

  Exhaling more in weariness than anger, I entered my apartment, leaving the door wide open behind me for him to follow.

  Combing my fingers through my tangled hair, I dumped my purse on the low table by my coat closet along with my mail and limped towards the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” I said.

  “Tea.”

  I glanced over as he dumped two coffees in a cardboard holder into my trash, taking his foot off the lid pedal so that the cover fell down with a smack.

  Averting my gaze, I filled the kettle all the way to the top and put it on to boil. Then I walked to the fridge and opened the freezer door, pulling out my cache of espresso beans. Dumping a bunch in my scuffed and grounds-dusted coffee grinder, I wrapped the rubber band back around the bag and tossed it in the freezer before fitting the cap over the top of the grinder.

  By the time the tea kettle began to whistle, I had the filter set up over my cup, the beans ground to a fine, moist powder. Another cup held a bag of Ian’s high-end brand of Earl Grey, which I kept a box of in my cupboard.

  It was low-tech, but it worked for me, living alone.

  A few minutes later, I hobbled over to the kitchen table with both cups, setting the tea down in front of where Ian sat. He’d already taken his usual seat staring into the living room behind me, versus the one facing the windows that I always preferred.

  I remembered the two of us joking in the past that we were perfectly suited because our instincts always drew us in opposite directions.

  The joke struck me as pretty hollow now.

  I took a sip of the strong coffee I’d already laced with milk.

  “So?” Ian said, his voice holding impatience now. “Who goes first?”

  I looked up, realizing only then that I’d been twisting the engagement ring around my finger in a nervous tic. One of the oldest tells in the world, according to my psych books. I saw Ian’s eyes locked on my fingers where I’d been doing it and stopped at once.

  Realizing that the rest of it was just song and dance, I cut to the chase.

  “I don’t think we should get married,” I told him.

  Silence. I felt my jaw harden as I stared out the window, right before I looked back at his face. His expression had gone utterly cold, like a wooden mask.

  When I didn’t say anything else for a few seconds longer, he met my gaze.

  “That’s it?” he said, his voice even harder. “Do I get to know why?”

  I felt my fingers tighten as I stared down at my mug of coffee.

  “I almost slept with Black,” I said. Then, remembering his mouth on me, my hand fisted in his hair as I came violently against him, I felt my jaw harden more. “I did sleep with him,” I amended, feeling a curl of shame. “More or less. I imagine you’d view it as more.”

  The silence between us turned almost physical.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I stared down at my hands wrapped around the mug. Staring at the ring I still wore, I felt that sick feeling of shame in my gut worsen. “I didn’t plan on it. It wasn’t...” I waved vaguely over my mug. “...planned. It wasn’t planned, Ian.”

  Realizing how inadequate that was, I bit my lip, if only to force myself to stop talking.

  It occurred to me that I might be being crueler about this than I’d ever intended. I didn’t want to hurt him. I felt like hell about hurting him, but I also didn’t know how to soft-pedal this and still be honest.

  I probably shouldn’t have tried to talk about this at all right now, truthfully. My brain wasn’t operating on all four cylinders, and I knew it. Especially with how tired I was. Especially after everything that had happened in the last three days.

  In the same breath, I realized I was angry with Ian too.

  “Why did you lie to me?” I said, looking up. “Can you tell me that, at least?”

  Ian continued to stare out the window, his eyes focused blankly to his right.

  From the direction of his stare, he appeared to be focusing on the row of apartment buildings opposite mine, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything. Truthfully, I doubted he knew where he was focused.

  From his face, I couldn’t be sure he’d heard me, either.

  “You told Nick you were still in Bangkok last night,” I prompted, gripping my coffee mug tighter in my hands. “You pretended with me that you didn’t know who Black was... that you’d never heard his name before...”

  “What makes you think I had?”

  His voice startled me into silence.

  Then I shook my head, feeling my frown deepen.

  “Ian,” I said. “Nick told me. He told me you said you were in Bangkok last night. He said you claimed to be working––”

  “Working,” he said. “Yes. I suppose I did say that.”

  He folded his arms, leaning back in the wooden chair. He stared at me, and still, his eyes were so distant I couldn’t read anything in his face.

  I couldn’t be sure he was seeing me, even now.

  “I suppose I wasn’t,” he said. “...Working. Not in the way I implied.”

  The silence returned.

  For some reason, I was getting more angry with him, not less.

  Maybe that was just defensive, too.

  “Meaning what?” I said finally.

  His gaze sharpened as he stared at me. I still didn’t see much of him in it though.

  “Meaning I did go to the Cliff House for business,” he said, abrupt. “...Unlike what I told you last night. At the time, I thought it was to assess an enemy agent, whose phone I’d traced back to that location. Rather, that business ended with me watching my fiancée...” He hit the word hard enough to make me flinch, right before he glared at me from across the table. “...being openly seduced by that same person. A man I now know to be a spy.”

  “A spy?” I let out an involuntary laugh. “Black? A spy?”

  “You heard me.” His voice grew colder as he leaned towards me. “He’s a traitor, Miriam. So I wouldn’t grow too fond of him, if I were you. You know what they do to traitors, don’t you?” Pausing deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, firming his mouth. “You’re not a stupid woman. Given that, perhaps you have your own theories about why he might have targeted you?”

  I felt my shame turn into something else.

  Something a lot closer to real anger, even as my hands curled into fists.

  “First he’s a serial killer... now he’s a goddamned spy?” I said. “Are you kidding me right now? Did Nick put you up to this?”

  “I’ve always told you there was a danger someone would use you to get to me.”

  I found myself turning over his words, fighting to think about them.

  Nick said Black was overly interested in Ian. That he seemed to know too much about him, and about what he did for a living. Further, Black had a background in intelligence. I’d never doubted that, even apart from all of his gadgets and his ability to get gun permits at a moment’s notice from the DOJ.

  Even so, something about Ian’s explanation struck a different kind of warning note in me.

  “Are you threatening him?” I said incredulously. “Black?”

  “It wouldn’t be me making the decision, Miri.”

  “That’s not what I asked!”

  “I’m not a threat to Black,” he said coldly. “But my employers might be. They don’t tend to look very favorably upon traitors and terrorists.”

  Still giving him a faintly disbelieving look, I shook my head, lowering my coffee cup after taking a long sip. “I’m sorry, Ian. I don’t believe that. I don’t know what you were really doing at the Cliff House last night, but––”

  “Are you seriously going to tell me there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, Miriam?” Ian’s eyes met mine when I turned, so cold I barely recognized the man I knew there. “Really? Is that what you’re telling me? That Black’s just a run of the mill private dick... ?�
�� His voice grew even more biting. “...Just like you’re a run of the mill psychologist?”

  I stared at him. Wariness slid through me, enough that I studied his face openly.

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He leaned over the table, his eyes ice-blue.

  “You just had to fucking sleep with the bastard, didn’t you?” he hissed, planting his hands on the table. “You just couldn’t help yourself, is that it, Miriam? How did it happen... being as ‘unplanned’ as you say? You just accidentally fell on his cock after you accidentally found yourself in his bed? Is that how it went?”

  I felt my fingers tighten once more on the mug.

  Even so, that thread of distrust I’d felt the night before, the one I’d ignored in favor of trusting the man I’d thought I would spend the rest of my life with, grew prominent in my mind again. That trust unraveled further the longer I looked at him.

  Distrust wound through me around Black too, but it was different with him. Weirdly, when it came to some things, I trusted Black more.

  Something else hit me in the same set of seconds.

  Black hadn’t wanted me to come here, to my apartment. He’d practically begged me to stay there with him, to wait until his people found the location of the killer before I returned home. And sure, he’d wanted sex, but that hadn’t been all of it.

  Black really seemed to think it wasn’t safe for me here.

  But why? Why would Black have thought that? Why would Black think the killer even knew who I was, much less where I lived?

  A cold finger pricked down my spine.

  I knew why.

  The truth of it stared me directly in the face. Really it had been there all along, ever since Black entered my life, only I’d been too dense to see it.

  Ian.

  Black had been tracking Ian.

  Even as I thought it, my breath stopped, stuck in my chest as the puzzle pieces drifted down, falling into place behind my eyes. Black hadn’t only been asking questions about me that day at the police station. He’d been asking questions about Ian. Moreover, Nick told me that Black had known things about Ian––things he shouldn’t have known, not if Black’s only connection to Ian was through me.