Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery #5)

by Andrijeski, JC

  I nodded, glancing at Black. He was frowning slightly, looking at Mozar in a way that made me think he was reading him.

  Which is probably why he was needling him––to distract him.

  Very good, doc. Black sent a pulse of liquid heat, his fingers tightening on my leg. So glad you are paying attention. I admit it really turns me on when you notice things like that. Keep it up and I’ll let you practice more interesting things on me later...

  I let out a low snort, covering it by taking a sip of the wine.

  Still, I couldn’t help wondering how much I missed, in terms of Black’s mind and how he used the psychic thing. It also reminded me that he was right––I still didn’t know him very well. When it came to some things, I barely knew him at all.

  Frowning at me slightly, Black turned towards Mozar. “So why tonight?”

  Hawking leaned over the table, tapping the photo of the puffy, older man.

  “Our shooter left detailed maps of this guy’s home and place of employment,” he said. “He’s done the prep work already... has his routine down in detail from the past three weeks. He highlighted tonight’s night shift, and there’s a printout of a flight schedule leaving at three o’clock in the morning for Hong Kong.” Shrugging, he leaned back. “It could all be bullshit, of course, especially given how we got it. He also might have changed his plans the instant he realized he had to leave the car. But we have to check it out.”

  “So you need me on the ground tonight?” Black said.

  Mozar nodded. “Strictly in an advisory capacity.”

  “Advisory?” Black grunted. “You want me to find your mole for you, Mozar? Or just tell you where to aim your gun?”

  “I want you behind the lines, consulting with me to run the logistics of the op,” Mozar said, his voice colder. “I want you to tell us anything you can about tactics, probable approaches, and anything else you can think of that might help us catch him before he kills again.” Mozar’s voice grew a touch harder still. “Tanaka told me you were in the business. I thought your expertise would be an asset on the ground.”

  “People have different styles,” Black said, taking another sip of the wine. He glanced at Hawking. “Evan must have told you that.”

  “There must be some constants,” Mozar said. “Rules. Safe approaches.”

  “Sure.”

  “Then, yes,” Mozar said, frowning. “We want you on the ground. Is that a problem?”

  I felt Black hesitate, focusing on me again.

  He glanced up when the waiter returned with the new bottle of wine and fresh glasses for me and Black. The waiter smiled warmly at Black behind a perfectly manicured black mustache, wearing a jeweled, matador-like jacket. He presented the new bottle of red to both of us, and after Black glanced at the label, he poured us both a few fingers for taste.

  I’m not really a wine person, so I just watched Black as he swirled the blood-red liquid at the bottom of the glass. He paused to inhale a few breaths before nodding and taking a sip.

  “Damn,” he said, grinning at me. “Like liquid fucking.”

  Mozar winced. Hawking let out a disbelieving snort.

  The waiter poured both of us real glasses, then left the bottle, disappearing back through the opening in the curtain.

  “Black?” I said worried, watching the waiter leave. “Is this the best idea? Drinking if you’re going to be on the ground with them?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Mozar muttered.

  Black gave Mozar a brief glance then leaned closer to me, kissing me on the cheek.

  “I’ll only have a few swallows,” he murmured softly, in my ear and only to me. “We’ll bring the bottle back to the hotel, okay? Drink it when I get back.” I’m just screwing with him a little, he added in my head. Don’t worry, ilya. It’s an act...

  The drinking part isn’t, I sent back, annoyed. Does your need to piss off Mozar really have to include you being half-drunk while you’re out hunting yet another professional killer?

  I bit my lip as my own words sank in.

  Black kissed my neck. Don’t worry about me, ilya.... please. I plan to eat a lot of food when our meal comes. I’ll be cold sober. Promise.

  I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t help gritting my teeth.

  I’d promised myself I’d stop acting insane with him, though.

  “Black?” Mozar said, his voice holding an edge. “Are you with us or not? I don’t really want the Feds knowing we hired an outsider for this... not yet, anyway... so I need to make a few arrangements if you’re coming. I need an answer...” He checked his watch. “...preferably in the next ten minutes.”

  I stared at Mozar. “What kind of arrangements? Why don’t you want the Feds knowing you hired him?”

  Black squeezed my thigh under the table. I refused to soften, looking only at Mozar.

  Mozar glanced between us and sighed.

  “We don’t think the mole is in our department,” he explained. “We think it’s one of the Feds.” Pausing at Black’s grunt, he glanced at Hawking before continuing. “I’d prefer to keep them out of the loop on a few things until we can confirm that.”

  “Why would a rival organization tip you off at all?” I folded my arms, still thinking over everything I’d heard. “Why not just break into the car themselves? Pull the files and take out the killer with their own people? Or hell, move the target before the killer can get to him?”

  “Because it’s probably better for them if we do it,” Hawking said, interrupting Mozar. “It also directly exposes their competition to law enforcement scrutiny.” Grunting, he added, to Black as much as me, “These bastards throw one another under the bus all the time, Miri. Sometimes they do it formally to get immunity from the Feds, but mainly they do it to grab market share.”

  Mozar glanced at Hawking. “Assuming the mole works for a rival organization, there’s a good chance they want to take over some portion of the import market in Los Angeles.”

  I frowned, looking at Black. He didn’t look surprised.

  He was definitely reading these guys.

  “As far as the specifics of the arrangements for your husband,” Mozar added. “I was hoping to get him in a uniform for the night.” Mozar motioned towards Black’s chest with one hand, scowling. “I thought it would be the easiest way to make him invisible. Given his height and build, I need to work on that right away, though, if he’s in.”

  “A uniform?” I blinked. “Like a police uniform?”

  “Yes.”

  Black chuckled, nudging my shoulder when I glared at him. Maybe I can bring that back to the hotel with me, doc. Along with a few sets of handcuffs... maybe a night stick.

  “People get shot in uniforms,” I said, turning my glare back on Mozar.

  Mozar shook his head.

  “Unlikely, in this case. I think it’s much more likely to protect him, Miriam, which is why I proposed it.” He gave Black a harder look. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the paid mercenary community is relatively small, is it not? I don’t want our shooter looking too closely at Mr. Black, on the off-chance they might have crossed paths before.”

  That definitely didn’t reassure me.

  “Who’s the target?” I said, frowning again as I refolded my arms. “The second one?”

  Mozar sighed, then pulled over the relevant file on the table, opening it. “Ronald Kenneth Sterling is the head of customs and inventory oversight for The Konstantin Group, one of the biggest shipping companies operating out of the Port of Los Angeles. Which again goes along with the F.B.I. theory that the people being eliminated were likely greasing the wheels for one of the crime syndicates... in this case by facilitating certain shipments from overseas. If so, the rival group might be looking to replace both men with bought officials of their own.”

  Mozar smoothed his tie again, gesturing in a short wave without meeting my gaze.

  “It’s a pretty common practice for the larger organizations,” he explained. “They likely
have someone working on the customs side, too, but if so, we haven’t yet determined who. Not only does it protect them, having locals on the inside who know the laws and the loopholes here... they can also use those same bought officials to harass rivals. Or even steal shipments.”

  I glanced at Black. “Do you really need him on the ground for that?”

  Mozar didn’t roll his eyes, but I felt the impulse pass through him before he gave me a short nod.

  “We do, Miri. We need his eyes on the environment. This really could go down tonight, based on what we found in those files.” He nodded down at Sterling’s file. “We need someone there who can tell us what the killer is likely to do. We already have a car on Sterling. He’s been with his family all night, but he’s going to work in three hours, and we plan to be there before he is.”

  “And Hawking can’t do that?” I said, glancing at the other man. “Be the eyes on the ground person, I mean?”

  That time, it was Hawking who answered. His voice was a lot softer than Mozar’s had been.

  “We could really use him, Miri,” he said.

  After a pause, I nodded, hearing the sincerity in his words. I also clenched my jaw, partly to force myself to stop arguing with them.

  I didn’t have to read either of the two homicide detectives to know they both thought I was having some kind of PTSD reaction from Black being shot before.

  They weren’t really wrong.

  I didn’t look at Black himself, even after he sent a pulse of heat at my chest, massaging my leg under the table.

  Hey, he sent to me softly. Consider it a night off. You can gawk at celebrities in the hotel bar while I’m gone. Just take pictures so I don’t feel too left out. A harder pulse of pain left him, even as he slid his hand deeper between my legs. Or if you really want me to hurry back, think of me and masturbate in the hot tub. That’s what I’d be doing...

  When I glanced up, giving him a flat look, he grinned wider.

  Either way, expect to be woken up. With enthusiasm.

  I didn’t smile that time, either.

  Before I could think of a response, the curtain parted and two waiters walked in, both of them carrying armloads of food. For the next few minutes, they arranged giant platters of what looked like expensive cuts of steak in a deep black mole sauce, along with side dishes of grilled vegetables, green sauces, puffed tortillas, honey and cilantro.

  I didn’t get a chance to talk to Black much after that.

  Not privately, anyway.

  Between bites of the mouth-melting steak and spicy sauces, the three of them continued to talk about the case. Mostly, it was Mozar doing the talking, updating Black on the small bits of information they’d gleaned from the F.B.I. on both crime families and the shipping company where Sterling worked, The Konstantin Group.

  I watched Black go through the schematics of the Port Authority buildings and surrounding areas from the files as Mozar talked, pausing to read notes presumably written by the killer about security protocols, guard schedules, labels on various items of the map, and whatever else.

  For most of that time, I found myself watching Black.

  That, and trying to decide just how much of my fear about him was just random craziness, like he said all seers suffered from, and how much of it was based on something real. As much as I tried to tell myself they were all right, that I was just being crazy... I couldn’t quite make myself believe it.

  I watched his eyes flicker back and forth, felt him concentrating on the information in front of him even as he nodded periodically to things Mozar said.

  I watched him and I wanted to tell him not to go.

  I even considered asking him if he would bring me with him.

  In the end, though, I only watched him, silent.

  5

  MAPPING THE GROUND

  HAWKING SMILED WHEN Black emerged from the precinct locker room, his blue eyes lighting up in a wry humor Black could feel without using his sight.

  Next to him, another plainclothes detective, a man named Rodrigo, whistled. Then, gawking up at Black’s height, he clapped his hands and laughed aloud.

  “Damn, hombre,” he said. “You make one hell of a scary cop. It’s a good thing we had that uniform left over from the last big-ass motherfucker who worked out of here.”

  Black quirked an eyebrow at him, not answering.

  Truthfully, the shirt pulled a bit around his shoulders. The pants fit, which he cared about a lot more, but he found himself rolling his shoulders in some discomfort when the fabric didn’t seem to be stretching to accommodate him.

  “You know,” Rodrigo continued, nudging Hawking with an arm. “Maybe we should hire this fucker full time. Get him to stare down some of those shit-heels in S-C with those weird-ass eyes of his. They wouldn’t know what to make of him.”

  Mozar just stood there, arms folded, as he looked Black over critically.

  “You still stand out,” he observed. “You’re not exactly the typical Black Ops profile... but I think the uniform will keep most of them from looking at your face.”

  “Not most pros,” Black said.

  Mozar shrugged, but didn’t answer.

  Black heard his thoughts though.

  It’ll be dark. We’ll probably leave him in the car for most of it anyway. I can’t have him working directly with the SWAT guys, and given how big that place is, the chances of him being seen are minimal...

  Black agreed. He also knew Mozar wasn’t worried about the shooter ID’ing him, despite what he’d said. He was worried about their mole in the F.B.I. or Homeland Security having some kind of tail on him or Hawking. He didn’t want them wondering who the new detective on staff was, or worse, finding out who Black really was and using that information to try and kick Mozar’s task force off the case.

  He and Hawking suspected their mole was relatively high up the food chain, given some of the information that had leaked and where that information ended up. High enough to find some way to claim F.B.I jurisdiction over the whole case.

  Putting Black in a uniform was supposed to hide his role here, not keep him safe, per se.

  Truthfully, Black didn’t really care. Mozar’s logic made sense. The only irritating thing was him pretending he gave a shit. Even so, his uneasiness didn’t dissipate as he stretched his arms, still trying to find give in the stiff uniform shirt.

  Maybe Miri’s paranoia was rubbing off on him.

  Thinking about her made that sick feeling worse, though.

  He knew both of them had to move past this Templar thing, but he still couldn’t help feeling like a bastard for leaving her the way he did.

  She hadn’t wanted to get out of the car when they dropped her off at the hotel. She’d hesitated, gripping the door handle, going back and forth in her head about arguing with him, about insisting he take her along. He finally felt her telling herself she was being stupid, forcing herself to be quiet. Eventually, she’d opened the door, and he’d watched her leave. He could feel on her that she wouldn’t be hanging out at the bar that night, gawking at celebrities... or masturbating in the hot tub, like he suggested.

  She was genuinely worried.

  As much as some more primal part of him liked it, he hated doing it to her, much less letting her leave without really saying anything to her about it.

  He’d called out that he’d be back soon, trying to get her to turn, but she didn’t.

  So he just sat there, watching her walk back into the hotel.

  He knew if she’d dismissed him like that, while he was scared for her, he’d be ready to break things. That is, if he didn’t follow her outright.

  Hell, he was doing that already, although he hadn’t had the nerve to tell her just yet. Two of his crew were staying at the hotel to keep an eye on her when he wasn’t around. He’d pinged them with his watch before he dropped her off, so one of them was probably already waiting for her in the bar by the time she left the car.

  Solonik had done that to him.


  So had the Templar killer, if in a different way than it had with her.

  Pushing Miri from his mind with an effort, he stretched his arms out, swinging them a bit to try and stretch out the fabric. It didn’t help much, in terms of relieving the pinching around his shoulders, but he did it again anyway.

  “You ready?” Hawking said, when Black dropped his arms back to his sides.

  “I need a gun,” Black said.

  Mozar looked up, his mouth pinched. “You don’t get a gun.”

  “Beat cops carry guns, Mozar.”

  “You don’t,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’re here in strictly an advisory capacity, Black. We can’t approve you for a firearm.”

  Black considered pushing him, then decided to play nice.

  “Stop by the hotel,” he said, making a conciliatory gesture. “I’ve got two concealed carries there. With permits. Nothing to do with the department.”

  Hawking shook his head. “We don’t have time. Really, you don’t need it tonight. And SWAT is waiting for us now.”

  After another pause, Black nodded.

  He followed behind Hawking when the blond detective and Mozar turned down the cubicle-lined corridor, aiming their feet for the front door of the precinct building. He couldn’t help taking another pass at both of their minds as they walked.

  Some part of him wanted to ease Miri’s mind, even now.

  It irritated him to find he wasn’t the only one thinking about his wife.

  He’s a fuck of a lot quieter without her, Hawking mused, even as he glanced over his shoulder at Black. It’s easy to forget the guy’s a spook when Miri’s around... I wonder if she knows how different he is, when she’s not there...

  Mozar’s thoughts were harder, more annoyed. A fucking gun. Is he serious? If he gets out there and starts smarting off or talking shit, I might shoot him myself...

  “Why didn’t you warn him?” Black spoke up.

  He aimed the question at Mozar’s back. They’d just left the building and now walked through the parking lot. Rodrigo led them straight to an unmarked police car, one of those heavy American sedans that looked like they could run into a wall at eighty miles per hour and everyone would survive.