by Jo Davis
Earlier in the week, she’d told him about her parents’ loving three-way partnership. It had made sense to him then, how she could be so accepting of alternative lifestyles. She was a wonderfully sexual woman, open even to exploration and play with other partners, and he felt like he’d won the fucking lottery.
“But I’m willing to bet your parents don’t work together,” he pointed out. “And one of them isn’t the boss at work over the others.”
“True. But I still don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”
“That’s my baby.”
He’d worried about the work angle, but if any of his people didn’t like it, they could hit the road. SHADO didn’t even officially exist, for fuck’s sake, so who were they going to complain to? The president?
At the corridor that led them in opposite directions, he gave her a kiss and went to tackle the pile of crap waiting in his office. The stack was twice as big as normal with both Bastian and Michael out for the past few days, and Bastian’s return on hold indefinitely. Common sense would dictate getting a temporary replacement to handle Bastian’s load — either Ozzie or Blaze would do a fine job — but he couldn’t bring himself to make the call.
Cursing himself for going soft, he dove into the pending cases on his desk. Checked top secret status reports from the FBI and CIA on some of America’s most-wanted criminals, spoke to the agents in charge for updates. Three of the fugitives had been captured by SHADO, two more busts were imminent, and the president had phoned to check on Bastian’s recovery and praise Michael again for “neutralizing” Tio. All of which heralded a good day in store.
He’d worked through half of his 146 e-mails when Blaze walked into his office without knocking. He peered at his friend around his computer monitor and immediately tensed upon seeing the man’s serious expression. “What’s up?”
“Randall Burns wants to talk,” he announced. “He’s decided our accommodations aren’t up to his standards.”
Michael snorted. “Poor little felons just don’t get a fair shake these days. I assume he has a sad story to share in hopes of improving his future?”
“So he says, but he won’t spill it to anyone but you.”
“Fantastic. I knew this day was going too well.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “And I suppose he wants a golden ass wiper installed in his cell in exchange for this tidbit? Maybe a steak dinner thrown in?”
“He wants to walk.”
For about two seconds he stared at Blaze, then burst out laughing. “Sure. Right. I’ll put that on my agenda, right next to launching my ‘Hit Men Are People, Too’ campaign.”
It took him a few more seconds to realize Blaze wasn’t laughing. And that he’d closed the door.
Cold washed over him and he sobered, studying his friend. “Okay. You know more than you’re saying. Tell me.”
Blaze remained standing, one hand gripping the back of the guest chair in front of him. “He claims he can give you Maggie’s killers.”
The breath left Michael’s lungs with the force of a blow from a sledgehammer. He sagged in his chair, one palm pressed to his chest. Maybe then he could hold his heart together, keep it from finally falling apart. His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. “He’s a fucking liar.”
“Could be. But you’re the only one who can find out because he won’t say jack to us. We’ve tried, believe me. Nobody wanted to come to you, upset you, if he was spouting a load of bullshit.”
He took a few deep breaths, tried to compose himself. “I appreciate that. You guys did what you could. Where is he?”
“In the interrogation room.”
“All right. Let’s go hear what this asshole has to say.” He stood on shaky legs.
“Michael… what are you going to do if he’s telling the truth?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? He had no answer, and Blaze didn’t press him as they rode the elevator down and strode through the maze of corridors to reach the small, sterile space where Burns was waiting.
The man was sitting at the sole table, hands folded on top. To Michael, he looked like any average man — a coach, a car salesman, a teacher, your next-door neighbor. There wasn’t much remarkable about him, save for the fact that he’d been hired by Dietz to kill Bastian and had attempted to follow through. Burns was an amateur, and as Michael slowly approached the table, flanked by Blaze and Ozzie, he got the impression that’s all the man would ever be. A loser looking for a quick buck.
Michael took a seat at the table, folded his arms on top. He stared dispassionately at Burns for several long moments, letting the man sweat. As most dogs do, Burns looked away first, unable to hold his stare. Michael took grim satisfaction from the telling body language.
“Talk,” he ordered Burns.
“What are you going to do for me?” The man’s attempt at bravado was spoiled when he wiped the perspiration from his upper lip.
“Doesn’t work that way. You’re at a disadvantage. You want something from me, not the other way around. You want to deal, give me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, you can rot in your cell for the rest of your miserable life — where nobody can hear you scream.”
Burns licked his lips nervously. He seemed to consider, but must’ve known his captor wasn’t bluffing. “You had a wife who got mugged last year. Stabbed to death for her purse.”
He longed to crush the man’s throat in his bare hands. Wait for the correct target.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How about this — it wasn’t no mugging. It was a job.”
The statement blasted through him, left a ragged, bleeding hole. Old grief and helplessness washed over him, through him. Rage. Some shred of the steely agent clung to the necessity of finishing this interview. Because now he had a chance to learn what had really happened to Maggie.
“Don’t you think I considered that possibility? No evidence of a higher plot was ever found.”
“That’s because you weren’t supposed to find it. There’s proof.” He paused, appearing a bit more confident. “Did you know the gas station next door to where she was killed has a security camera pointed at the parking lot?”
Michael shook his head. “Already checked. The manager at the station claimed the camera wasn’t working during the week in question. The tapes were blank.”
“That’s what the manager, Gene, told you and the cops. Funny how he ended up dead four days later, killed during a home burglary. Bet nobody told you that.”
Nobody had. Michael’s hands clenched into fists. “Go on.”
“Gene’s place was torn up, but hardly anything was taken. Hell, he didn’t have nothing worth stealing, ’cept one thing. Three guesses.”
“A tape. With my wife’s murder on it.”
“A tape showing somebody’s murder, but I never saw it. Just know what he told me.”
“Why the hell should I believe you talked to this Gene guy about this tape? How do you know him?”
“Gene is — was — my cousin.” Burns leaned forward and lowered his voice, as though there was a reason to keep quiet. “He told me a woman was killed right next door to the station and that the deal smelled dirty to him. Turns out he was right. Some scary dude came to him, demanding the video that night before the cops even thought to talk to him. He didn’t want no part of that, see? To the scary dude and then the cops he says, ‘No tape.’ He takes the thing home, hides it good, and tells me all this the day before he’s whacked. Me, I don’t want no part of it, either, and I decide it’s healthier to forget all about it.”
“And at what point did you connect any of this to me?”
“Your guards were talkin’ about you. Ain’t shit down here to do but listen. I heard them sayin’ you seemed happier, and how worried they was about you when your woman got mugged and knifed to death last year over on Holland Drive. Couldn’t be two different women who done got killed over there in the same way.”
&n
bsp; The blood was rushing in Michael’s ears. He was vaguely aware of a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Where is the tape now?”
“I expect it’s still in my cousin’s house someplace. I don’t think the scary dude found what he was lookin’ for.”
“Have you ever killed anyone, Burns? Don’t bother to lie, because I’ll find out within the hour.”
“No. I took the job on Chevalier because I needed the money, pure and simple. But I fucked it up like I’ve done most everything else.”
That, he could believe.
“Mostly I provide a little weed, some blow, to a few clients to make ends meet. Or I did. I won’t do nothin’ like that again if you let me go.”
He seriously doubted that. “I’m going to need your cousin’s address.”
Burns rattled it off. “Gene’s sister lives there now.” He flinched as Michael stood. “What do I get if the tape has what you need on it?”
With a cold smile, he said, “You get to live, Burns.”
He walked out, his men on his heels.
Mae Burns was a thin woman in her mid-thirties with stringy, unkempt hair who looked like life had beaten her with a hammer, then shit on her for good measure. She granted them entry into the house with a minimum of fuss, considering she’d initially demanded to see their warrant. When Michael presented her with ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and a promise not to disturb so much as a dust bunny, she’d pocketed the cash, stepped aside, and offered them all a beer. Which they’d regretfully declined.
“Miss Burns, the item we’re looking for is most likely the same one your brother’s killers were after the night they broke in. We believe it could still be hidden here, and if so, you could be in danger.”
“What’s everyone so hot to find? My brother led the most average, boring life imaginable,” she said doubtfully. “He was hardly the type to inspire intrigue or passion.”
“Sometimes they find us.” Quickly, he related her cousin’s tale about the tape allegedly showing a murder, her brother being visited by dangerous men who wanted it, and his lie that the tape was blank. He left out the part about the victim being his wife.
“Randall claims your brother was frightened because of what was in his possession. I speculate he kept it from the cops partly out of fear of reprisal from the men who’d come calling. Though in the end, his silence didn’t buy his life.”
“Gene never said anything to me about any of this, but he wouldn’t have.”
“Why’s that?”
“He was a card-carrying member of the good-old-boy system. What women don’t know won’t hurt them and all that.”
Michael checked the urge to curl his lip in disgust. Maybe the man’s prehistoric attitude had saved his sister. They’d never know for sure. “If it’s all right with you, we’ll get started and be out of your hair in no time.”
She regarded them, head cocked like a bird. “Just out of curiosity, what will you do with this tape if you find it?”
“Hopefully identify the men who murdered the woman.” And make them pay hung in the air, unspoken.
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Go ahead,” she said with a shrug. “Never have seen any strange tape, but knock yourselves out.”
Michael, Blaze, Ozzie, and Willis spread themselves throughout the small house and began a methodical search. Michael started in the kitchen, opening every drawer, peering into the pantry. He looked in the cereal, flour, and sugar, knowing that it could be stashed inside a container, sealed in a plastic bag. He even searched in the freezer and refrigerator. Any nook or cranny of the appropriate size to hold a security video was fair game.
Next was the living room. Their searches would overlap, but that was okay. One person could see something another missed. On it went. The hall closet, the two small bedrooms and one bathroom, and the rest of the closets. Boxes and drawers were checked. The mattresses. They were out of options and standing in the deceased brother’s bedroom when Ozzie blew out a frustrated breath and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Damn, what a waste of…” Ozzie trailed off, brows rising.
“What?” Michael and the other two men followed his gaze.
Straight to an air-conditioning vent high on the wall, near the ceiling. Ozzie fished a pocket knife from his pants and flipped out a blade.
“No way,” Willis said.
Ozzie grabbed a chair from a small desk and positioned it under the vent. “Why not? Nobody ever thinks to look up.”
He climbed on the chair, reached up, and used the blade to work at the screws, dropping each one into Michael’s hand. Then he used it to pry the vent frame from the wall and lifted it out, handing it to Blaze.
He stuck his hand in the hole and made a face. “Nasty. They need a duct-cleaning service.”
“They need to bulldoze the place and start over,” Willis suggested.
“They need — wait.” He twisted his arm deeper into the hole, and something rattled. “Hey, what do we have here?”
The rattle came from a plastic grocery bag. As his hand emerged, they saw it was wrapped around a small, rectangular object.
“Bingo,” Ozzie crowed, climbing down from his perch. After putting away his knife, he unfolded the bag and drew out the object.
The black videotape seemed to glare at them all, daring them to learn its secrets. Michael’s stomach did a slow roll. Very soon he might well learn the truth of what had happened to Maggie the night she never came home.
Ozzie studied the tape. “Jesus, the camera at the gas station must be, like, fifteen years old or more. Do we even have anything that will play this?”
Michael nodded. “Katrina will have the necessary equipment to get this on digital. She can probably get a better picture than these old things have, too.”
The question was, now that he had the tape in his hand, could he stand to watch it?
On the way out, he thanked Mae Burns and handed her another four thousand. “Do you have other family, Miss Burns?”
The woman’s eyes bulged at the unforeseen extra windfall. “I got a cousin in Seattle; she’s been wanting me to come out for some time.”
“Go visit her,” he said. “Indefinitely.”
Her mouth tightened in understanding. Beaten down she might be, but not stupid. “I’ll do that. But… why so much money? I didn’t ask for any.”
“The woman on that tape was my wife, Miss Burns,” he said quietly. “And she would’ve given you the shirt off her back if she could have. To catch her killers? It’s a small price to pay.”
Her wary expression softened. “She was one lucky lady. I hope you get them.”
Michael nodded, though he knew Maggie hadn’t been lucky at all. She’d loved him and had died knowing she didn’t own Michael’s heart. Nothing he ever did could make up for the pain he’d caused her.
But maybe, if he caught and punished her killers, he’d finally be free to love with his whole being. Without any lingering reservations.
And maybe he’d deserve for the two people he loved most to love him back.
Katrina was peering at a pinhole camera, wrestling with the tiny device to get it properly installed in a ballpoint pen, when her cell phone chirped a greeting from its spot on her worktable. Gingerly, she laid down the small parts of her project and bit down on a spurt of annoyance. Why did the phone always ring when she was in the middle of the most delicate tasks?
Looking at the display, however, jump-started her pulse. Michael. Wasn’t he out of the building on a job? She hurried to pick up.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said shortly. “I’m bringing in an old VHS tape of questionable quality that supposedly contains important footage. Can you transfer it to digital and enhance it?”
“Of course I can. You’re bringing it now?”
“Yes.”
His tone was off. Something was wrong. “What’s on the tape?”
“When I get there.”
With that, h
e disconnected. Scowling at her phone, she did the same. Sometimes working with a boss who was also your lover wasn’t all fun and games. She was just reaching for the fake pen again when the phone rang a second time. “Dammit. Hello?”
“It’s Blaze,” he said. “Has Michael called you?”
“He just did,” she said in a tone that betrayed her irritation. “He wants me to copy and enhance some old tape. Where are you?”
“I went with them to find this tape. I’m riding in a different car than Michael, and we’re on our way back. Has he given you any details about it?”
“No, and I’d appreciate if you let me know what the hell is going on.”
“The footage is from a security camera positioned outside a gas station and allegedly shows his wife’s murder.”
Stunned, Katrina fell back in her chair. “How did you guys get this tape?”
“Long story. The thing is, one of our prisoners downstairs tipped us off, and he claims Maggie’s death was a hit, not a random mugging, and that the film will support his claim.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. Michael’s putting up a badass front, but I know the man. He’s one thread away from completely unraveling the sweater.”
“And if it’s true…”
“He’s gonna lose his shit.”
“I hate to say this because Michael’s going to be pissed, but I think Bastian needs to be here,” she suggested.
“As long as he’s well enough to come, I agree. Besides, he’s going to be ticked if he finds out Michael had to see what went down on this tape and we didn’t tell him so he could be there.”
“True. Okay, I’ll call him. I know he’ll come.”
“Good. See you soon.”
Quickly, she placed another call. Bastian answered on the second ring. “Hey, are you busy?”
He made a noise. “Sure. I’m sitting by the pool watching John swim naked, after which he’s going to rise from the waves like a sea god, come over here, and have his nasty way with me. Not.”
Any other time, she would’ve laughed at his apparent boredom and teased him about the fantasy scene. “Are you feeling well enough to take a ride to the compound?”