“Work around?” I started to pull out of his lap, but he only gripped me tighter. After a pause I realized he was right, that I was avoiding. I rested my weight on his thighs, exhaling in frustration. “I know you say I’m putting some kind of human judgment on all this, but it’s really not healthy, Black. And according to you, you’re not even telling me what’s happening on your end... which isn’t exactly healthy, either.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said, sharp. “I just said I’d tell you anything you want to know, Miriam. What do you want to know? You mean the sex? The wanting to fuck all the time? Or the rest of it?”
I pressed my lips together.
Truthfully, I was having trouble thinking past the intensity I felt coming off him again. I tried to hear what he was saying, that it was like some kind of hormone surge, not something we could totally control.
I believed him. But it scared the hell out of me, truthfully.
Black sighed. “Look, I know the possessiveness thing bothers you. And the controlling stuff. But it’s not working, is it? For either of us? So what difference does it make?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Seriously? You think I shouldn’t worry about our controlling behavior because our attempts to control one another aren’t working?”
He frowned, studying my eyes. “Yes. It helps, right?”
Thinking, I sighed, rubbing my face with a hand. “Maybe a little. But I hate it. I really do.”
Gripping me tighter, he massaged my leg, sending me another pulse of warmth.
“It’s temporary, ilya. And please believe me when I say this... it’s affecting me a lot more than I’ve been telling you. I got a lot of fucking warnings from your uncle about this, which made me even more paranoid, truthfully. I didn’t want to freak you out... so I just didn’t say anything. But I realized today it’s not just paranoia I’m feeling on you. You really do think I have some handle on the situation that you don’t. I’m telling you that you’re wrong... I just haven’t been communicating with you very well.”
I stared at him. “Just how much have you been talking to Uncle Charles?”
He grunted, glancing at me, then clicked under his breath.
“Not as much as he’d like.” At my silence, he waved off his words, taking another sip of wine. “The point is, I’m not trying to hide anything from you. I was trying to be considerate, but I’m worried it’s backfiring, so I’m going to try transparency instead.” He rubbed my thigh harder. “As long as we’re both conscious of what’s happening, we’ll be fine. We can ride this out, Miriam. Both of us.”
When I looked up, skeptical, he made another of those vague, graceful gestures with the hand holding the wine glass, then used the same hand to set the glass on the table behind me. I found myself watching him do that too, noting the way his muscles slid under his skin.
Forcing my eyes off him––again––I bit my lip, then took a sip of my own wine.
Still thinking, I shook my head in annoyance, primarily at myself.
“I just don’t understand why it’s worse now.” I glanced at him, flushing a little. “You know. Worse than when we first got together.”
“We’re still bonding.”
“But why is it worse?” I repeated.
“We still don’t know each other that well.” When I looked down at his face, he smiled reassuringly, caressing my neck with one hand. “We kind of had a crash marriage and now we’re doing some things backwards. The more we get to know one another the more intense that bonding impulse gets. Also...” He shrugged apologetically, making another of those graceful gestures. “Well, you know... the more we get into this, the more we’re forced to deal with our own intimacy issues. And commitment issues... and sex issues. And whatever else.”
I stiffened. “Sex issues?”
He shrugged, his voice neutral. “Seers are weird about sex.”
“Weird in what way? And what commitment issues?”
I started to pull away, but his hand tightened on my leg.
“I was talking about you with the commitment thing, Miri,” he growled. “Not me.”
“Me?” I stared down at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m fucking serious...” Stopping, he clenched his jaw, as if forcing himself to be silent. Before I could argue, he clicked under his breath, waving away his own words. “...Look. I’m just saying it’s likely going to happen in stages. Traditionally, seers went into seclusion for the worst of this... and probably would have held off on the fucking part until they knew each other better. But it doesn’t matter now. And it’s temporary, like I said.”
Pressing my lips together, I regarded him skeptically.
“Ilya, please hear me on this. It’s fine. It really is.” He smiled. “Honestly, if I could stop being distracted constantly by sex, it would be a lot easier... as it is, I keep meaning to tell you things and then I forget five minutes after we’re alone together.”
I snorted at that in spite of myself, shaking my head.
Before I could think of a reply, he wrapped his hand into my hair, bringing my mouth back down to his. Enough of his light hit me that time, it slanted out my vision when he leaned up into me. I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him back, opening my light to coax him deeper into me. When I did that, I felt Black’s breath stutter in his chest, right before he pulled away, gasping a little.
He glanced over my shoulder while I combed his hair with my fingers.
I’m really going to fucking kill that guy, he murmured in my mind.
Or, you know, we could not be doing this in public, I murmured back.
I got the private booth. What the hell else are these for?
I laughed, pushing at his chest, but he kissed me again, flooding me with more liquid heat. I felt him wanting to do more again, then pulling back, his light coiling around me in frustration. When he finally ended the kiss a few seconds later, my hands slid back into the open collar of his shirt, caressing his bare chest.
More pain shivered through him as I massaged his muscle and skin.
Tilting his head back on the padded booth, he smiled, but his eyes remained predatory. You’d better eat a lot tonight, Miri. We might not be leaving that room for awhile.
I let out a snort. Someone’s feeling confident.
Just determined... and whatever that other word is, the one you said you’d use instead of spoiled.
Entitled? I teased. Self-absorbed?
Unwilling to compromise. He pulsed another line of liquid fire at me, making my skin flush. He wrapped his hand around my thigh under the table. I already told you I’m going to take my time tonight, Miriam. That little twinge of jealousy about the hostess... the one you’ve been trying to hide from me? It’s only going to make things worse for you.
I rolled my eyes. You’re imagining things.
Oh? Am I? He smiled. That just made things worse for you, too.
I leaned my face towards his, about to answer––
When someone above us cleared their throat.
Four
DINNER GUESTS
THE SOUND MADE me jump about a foot. It wasn’t loud, which only made me realize just how quiet it had been in that secluded booth. It also made me realize that whoever stood there, they’d likely been waiting for us to stop kissing before they tried to get our attention.
When the man spoke, his words were unerringly polite.
“Apologies for the interruption. And thank you, again, for allowing us to meet you here...”
Trailing, he cleared his throat a second time, as if not sure what else to say.
Still fighting that sharp spike of adrenaline from our being interrupted, I turned my head. I knew who was speaking by then. Pretty much as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew.
Even so, I flinched when Mozar’s light blue eyes met mine.
His gaze remained shrewd as he adjusted his tie, smoothing down the front of his light brown dress shirt and centering the tie ove
r it with one hand. In his other hand, he carried a leather satchel crammed full of files and papers.
Tearing his stare off my face when I glanced up a second time, Mozar looked at Black, his expression significantly more uncomfortable. He continued to stand there while Black and I separated from one another on the booth seat.
He was clearly waiting for an invitation before he sat down.
Someone moved just behind him then, twitching the dark curtain. I couldn’t see his face until he maneuvered the rest of the way into our little enclave, but once he had, I found myself relaxing.
“Hawking,” I said.
Mozar’s partner appeared much less embarrassed than Mozar. Smiling faintly, he raised his hand to me in a brief salute.
“Hey, Miri.”
Glancing over his shoulder at the taller man, Mozar swiveled his eyes back to me.
“I really do apologize,” he said. “These developments were... unexpected.”
“Fucking criminals,” Hawking said cheerfully. “No sense of timing.”
I laughed––I couldn’t help it. Hawking so rarely spoke the first time I met him. Apparently this was Hawking after he’d decided someone was on the right side of things.
Mozar shot an annoyed glance at his partner, right before he aimed a more polite one at me. I distinctly got the impression he didn’t like that I was addressing Hawking and not him, or that I was more friendly to Hawking than I was to him, either.
“I wouldn’t have dreamt of bothering the two of you here otherwise,” Mozar continued, clearing his throat as he smoothed the tie again. “When I spoke to Mr. Black about the case this morning, I expected to be with forensics all day and at the morgue tonight. I thought we’d have plenty of time to get both of you up to speed tomorrow morning...”
“So what changed?” I looked between him and Black, wary.
Black wrapped a hand around my thigh under the table. I felt a pulse of possessiveness there, and gave him a puzzled look.
He kept his eyes on Mozar, though, not returning my glance.
“Have a seat. I’ll let you tell my wife what you told me.” He glanced at Hawking, his eyes significantly less friendly. “You, too, of course. It’s Evan, right?”
Hawking smiled, as if he found the question funny.
Or maybe he just noticed Black hitting the word wife a little harder than necessary.
I slid further away from Black as they approached, adjusting my dress swiftly as they dropped their respective weights onto the stressed leather seat across from us. I fought the embarrassment out of my expression as I moved my wine glass closer to where I now sat. Taking a sip of the expensive wine, I closed my eyes briefly in spite of myself.
It really was mind-blowingly good.
Feeling another pulse of possessiveness off Black, I glanced at him, frowning.
What is going on with you?
He didn’t answer, but I saw his mouth firm.
I didn’t invite them here, I reminded him.
Neither did I.
But you knew. A little warning would have been nice, I murmured back.
You were in the shower. I got distracted.
Too distracted to tell me we wouldn’t be dining alone?
Apparently you’ve never seen yourself in the shower...
Mozar cleared his throat, and both of us looked over.
“Have you eaten already?” Mozar kept that same polite tone, folding his hands on the table. “You won’t mind if we get some food? We haven’t been out of the office all day.”
Black shook his head, taking a longer drink than I had from his own glass of wine. Peering between the opening in the curtains towards the bar, he motioned with a hand for the waiter.
“We haven’t ordered,” he said, finishing his swallow. “I was just entertaining Miri here, while we waited for you...”
When I kicked him under the table, he stifled a grin, but didn’t glance over. Still facing Mozar, he slung his arm around the back of the booth and partway around me. Something in that felt distinctly proprietary as well, but I pretended not to notice.
Black said, “So what’s this big evidence you wouldn’t tell me over the phone?”
Mozar and Hawking exchanged looks.
Then Mozar faced us, giving me what looked like a faintly apologetic look.
“It appears there might be another hit planned... by the same group... possibly tonight. We’re hoping to intercept them before that happens.” He gave me another faintly nervous look, which was weird enough to make me wonder if he’d talked to Nick about me. He returned his eyes to Black. “We’d like you to be there... if you’re willing.”
Black gave me a fleeting look too, then leaned over the table.
“What makes you think this is going down tonight?”
Hawking tossed a manila folder across the table to Black. “We found this in a rental car parked across from the alley where the first vic was found. We didn’t find it right away... the car wasn’t parked illegally, and no one reported it missing.”
“The shooter left their car behind?” I said, puzzled.
I watched Black open the folder, and pull out two separate clipped-together files. Both had pictures on front, head-shots of men. One of those men I recognized as Ambassador Volkov, the man who had been shot behind the Los Angeles Theater the night before. The other was an older man with white hair and a red, puffy face that indicated possible alcoholism.
I looked back at Mozar. “How did you know the car was his?”
Mozar gave me a measured look. “We got a tip.”
“A tip?” Black let out a humorless laugh.
He glanced at Hawking, who grunted. I definitely got the sense Hawking agreed with whatever he heard in Black’s tone.
I looked back at Mozar. “Why would the shooter leave his car behind?”
Mozar gave Black and Hawking annoyed looks, then returned his gaze to me.
“The gunshot was overheard by two people passing by the mouth of the alley. Forensics suggest the killer hopped the fence at the other end, where the vic was shot, then entered the theater from the back, likely to avoid being seen. Our working theory is that he heard the witnesses, realized he was in danger of either being ID’d or having to take out more people, and opted to go around. We’re still mapping out his escape route, but the most logical thing is that he left through the front doors of the theater. Police got there shortly after... likely before he could retrieve the vehicle... so he likely disappeared into the crowd, then either caught a cab, walked, or took a bus. We’ve pulled surveillance all over the area and talked to the cab companies, but so far haven’t been able to ID anyone out of place.”
I looked at Hawking, who shrugged.
“He likely wouldn’t look out of place,” Hawking said.
I bit my lip. “So this person leaving the tip? Who was that? A concerned citizen?”
Hawking smiled at me, glancing at Black. “That’s one theory.”
“What are the others?” I said, my voice now holding an edge.
Mozar sighed, reweaving his fingers together on the table. “It’s possible he left the car for us to find, but Hawking thinks someone from the other crime family may have been casing the scene after the murder, and found the car before we did.”
“Did you trace the tip?” Black’s eyebrow rose.
“We tried,” Hawking said. “But interestingly, we couldn’t isolate a cell tower ping to even get a rough location from where the call originated.”
“That is interesting,” Black said, lifting an eyebrow.
Mozar gave Hawking an even more irritated look. His mouth firmed when he turned his attention back to Black.
“We’ve got a few reasons to be worried about a leak. Internally, that is.”
Black looked utterly unsurprised. “You don’t say. How upsetting.”
He leaned back from the table, then looked up when the waiter poked his head into the opening in the curtain. Black didn’t wait for the man to speak, bu
t looked at Mozar and Hawking, motioning with the hand holding his wine glass.
“You two okay with spicy? What about meat? You’re not vegetarians, are you?”
“No,” Mozar said.
Hawking rolled his eyes, which apparently Black understood.
He looked up at the waiter. “Four of the usual. And more wine. We’ll take the Domaine de la Romanee-Conti this time...”
“The Romanee-Saint-Vivant?”
“No, the Grand Cru, I think...”
“Black––” Mozar began.
“It’s on the department, right?” Black said, looking back at him.
I coughed, fighting to cover a laugh.
Mozar looked openly annoyed. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”
Apparently he’d seen the wine list, too.
Black grinned. “Really? I was kidding. You know that’s a $1400 bottle of wine, right?”
Hawking hacked out a harder cough, probably in shock.
“Look, Black,” Mozar said, leaning over the table. “We don’t have much time... if we could speed this along a little, that would be great.” Scowling at the waiter, he added, “Hawking and I won’t be drinking. We’re on duty.”
“Suit yourself. But I promise you’d be kicking yourself for that... if you knew enough to know what you were missing.” Black looked back up at the waiter, flashing one of those killer grins of his. “The Cru is good. We’ll fight over the bill later,” he winked.
The waiter aimed the barest hint of a smirk at Hawking and Mozar. “Very good, sir.”
When the waiter finally left, I glanced at Mozar.
His face had darkened a few shades.
“As I said on the phone...” Mozar adjusted his tie again, his voice colder. “In terms of the potential connection to trafficking and international crime syndicates, this is mainly a federal show. F.B.I. and Homeland Security are calling the shots.”
“What about vice?” I said. “Are they involved at all?”
Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery #5) Page 5