I Spy a Dark Obsession

by Jo Davis

  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, he 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?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m about to fossilize here. When do you need me?”

  “Now.” After she finished explaining what was going on, he reacted pretty much the same as she had.

  “Oh, Christ. I’ll be there soon. Don’t let them start that tape without me.”

  “I won’t. I’ve got to transfer it to digital, anyway, so there’s plenty of time.”

  “Okay. ’Bye, sweetheart.”

  Michael and his three top agents arrived minutes later, her lover handing over the tape. His eyes were anxious, haunted. She couldn’t work with him and the others hovering, looking like accident victims, and she waved a hand at the group.

  “Wait here if you want. I’m going to take this to my office, and I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  Without waiting for their protests, she disappeared into her office, praying Bastian was there by the time she was ready. No sense in prolonging this more than necessary.

  At her desk, she stuck the tape into an old VCR and prepared to work her computer
magic. Transferring the film wasn’t really difficult, though. No, that part came when she had to enhance the images of Maggie Ross’s murder in cold blood.

  A hit. Not a mugging. Just as they’d been told by the prisoner below.

  This was going to kill Michael. Grabbing a tissue from the box on her desk, she dabbed her eyes. She had to be composed before she went out there again. Not only for Michael, but for all three of them. Michael’s seeing this would either tear them all apart or bring them closer than ever. A turning point.

  With the video saved to her computer, there was nothing left to do but bring them in. Standing, she went to get them. To her relief, Bastian had arrived and was sitting, holding his crutches, next to Michael. Michael’s expression was closed off, and everyone else’s anxious.

  “I was just telling Bastian how good he’s getting around, hardly needing those anymore,” Blaze remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I’m doing a ton better, ready to come back when the doc clears me. I’m hardly sore at all.”

  Bless his heart, he was trying, too. Unfortunately, their efforts fell on deaf ears. Michael stood and gestured toward the office.

  “Are we ready?”

  “Yes, but . . . this footage is very rough. Graphic. I wanted you to know before I play it.”

  “I figured it would be.” Holding her gaze, he softened his tone. “But thank you.”

  They trailed into her office like a funeral procession and crowded around the monitor. Willis produced a chair for Bastian, which he gratefully accepted. She sat down and laid her hand on the mouse, cursor hovering over the PLAY button. The one small thanks she could give was that there was no sound, only video.

  The film began with Maggie walking to her car about thirty yards from the camera, a purse over one shoulder, and carrying a sack of Chinese takeout. Since the camera was positioned under the eave of the gas station’s roof, the angle was good, giving a bird’s-eye view, but not so high that faces and other details couldn’t be seen.

  As the woman reached her car and pointed the little black box on her key ring to unlock it, two men approached from the right of the screen. One was a big man, holding an equally big knife.

  “Holy fucking God,” Bastian breathed, face pale. “Is that . . .”

  No one moved or responded to his unspoken question. On the screen, Maggie turned briefly to see the men and dropped the sack of food, then scrambled for the door handle. She managed to jerk it open, but the shorter of the two men slammed it closed and spun her around, her back against the side of the car.

  “We never knew there were two of them,” Michael said, voice low. Strained. “Muggers don’t work in pairs, or stop to taunt their victims. They grab and run.”

  And these two were definitely terrorizing her. The shorter man yanked away her purse, and the big one stepped close, holding the tip of the knife just under her sternum. It was clear he was speaking to her, but from the distance and at the angle he was standing, it might not be possible to get a transcript of the conversation.

  Maggie shook her head rapidly, replying to him, her body language clear—she was begging for her life, terrified. She lunged to the side in an attempt to run, but the bigger man yanked her arm, slammed her into the car. His arm thrust forward and he plunged the blade into her stomach. Withdrew, stabbed her again in the side, as she twisted in his grasp.

  “Mother of God,” Ozzie whispered.

  Maggie crumpled to the asphalt like a rag doll and writhed, dying, as the men walked off. Katrina closed the video. “That’s basically it.”

  Michael didn’t need to see his wife’s struggle to phone for help, or watch her life drain away as she stopped moving. The woman was pronounced dead on the scene, the camera dutifully recording all of the sadness that came afterward with the paramedics, police, and eventually the coroner.

  Without saying one single word, Michael rose and slowly walked out.

  Bastian broke the silence first. “The big bastard was Tio, Dietz’s lapdog.”

  “Dietz had Maggie killed,” Blaze said hoarsely, running a hand down his face. “My God. He cold-bloodedly arranged a woman’s death. Why? So he could take over SHADO while Michael was out mourning her?”

  Bastian nodded. “I think you nailed it. Her murder was the first step of his big, insane plan to run his own little kingdom here. But he failed.”

  “But who’s the other man in the video?” Ozzie wondered aloud. “Does he look familiar?”

  “I wasn’t watching him as much as I was her and the other one,” Bastian admitted. The others agreed.

  “I’ll play the beginning, just until he comes into the picture.” She ran the video again. When the man approached, she paused it. She didn’t recognize him, but then again she didn’t often come into contact with their targets. She just provided the surveillance equipment. “Any ideas?”

  Blaze moved closer to the screen, frowning. “Go a little farther ahead. There’s a spot where he faces the camera more.” When she came to the place, he said, “There. This is the—Oh, shit!”

  “What?”

  “That’s the guy who gunned down Michael a few weeks ago! He’s the one I caught, who’s been in the cell down below, cooling his heels.”

  “And if Michael recognized him just now?” Bastian asked.

  They all shared a look filled with fear.

  “Oh, fuck! Let’s go.”

  Blaze took off running, followed by Ozzie and Willis. Katrina hung back with Bastian, frantic for Michael but not wanting to leave her other lover behind.

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  “No, we’ll go together. The others will get there first and he’ll be fine.”

  She hoped. The two of them made good time, Bastian moving fast despite the crutches. She worried he’d aggravate his injuries, but that thought flew out of her head when they approached the cell and she got a look at the horrifying scene in front of them.

  The cell was open, the three agents standing in a half circle around Michael and the suspect. The man was kneeling at Michael’s feet, eyes crossed, staring at the muzzle of the hand canon pressed in the center of his forehead. He was babbling in terror.

  “Please! I didn’t kill her! It was Tio!”

  The feral snarl transformed Michael’s face into that of a man she’d never seen before.

  “You’re just as guilty, you worthless piece of shit. You went along with Dietz and Tio. You watched her die.” He pressed the barrel harder into the man’s head. “How does it feel to know your life is about to end? Will it hurt to have your brains splattered all over this cell, do you think?”

  “No! Please. I didn’t do it!” he shrieked. A dark, wet stain quickly spread across the front of his drab trousers.

  Bastian maneuvered into the cell and the others moved to give him room to try to talk his friend down. “Michael, you don’t want to do this.”

  “Oh, I think I do.” His chest heaved with emotions raging out of control. The hatred in his eyes as he gazed at his prey was a truly frightening sight. “I blew off Tio’s head a few days ago. Did you know that, worm? He looked shocked as fuck when the back of his head sprayed all over that dirty alley.”

  The man on his knees started to sob.

  Balancing himself, Bastian slowly laid a hand on Michael’s gun arm. “You killed Tio in my defense, to save my life,” he said calmly. “Killing this scum, with him begging on his knees, drenched in his own piss, is not honorable. It would be murder, and you’re not like him. You’re not like Dietz or Tio.”

  “He stood there and did nothing while she died.” His voice broke and the gun shook.

  “Yes, and he has to face justice. But not this kind. You pull that trigger and you’ll become everything you hate. Your life will be over and it won’t be only yourself you’ve destroyed.” Bastian paused to let that sink in. “Put the gun down, Michael. Let the Feds take custody of this creep. Choose life. Choose us.”

  Katrina held her breath, so scared for
him. Bastian was right. If Michael did this, he’d destroy himself in the process.

  One long minute passed. Michael’s arm lowered, the weapon pointing at the floor. All of the rage seemed to drain out of him, leaving him spent. Hollow. He turned and left the cell, pausing only when Katrina took his hand.

  Their entourage continued on, leaving the weeping prisoner alone again. In the elevator, Katrina whispered in Bastian’s ear. “We need to take him home.”

  “Good idea.”

  Michael didn’t protest, didn’t speak a word as they led him straight from the building and climbed in the limo. Her eyes met Bastian’s and she knew they were on the same wavelength.

  Their tough, strong man needed them both tonight. This crisis had been a long time coming.

  And together they would love him through it.

  Twelve

  I nearly murdered a man in cold blood. I don’t deserve to lead SHADO. I don’t deserve two wonderful lovers who look at me like I’m their world.

  He hadn’t deserved Maggie. And she was dead.

  He’d known her death was horrible, agonizing. But to see it played out in front of his eyes, to know she’d been murdered because of him was more than he could take. Too much. His mind had snapped, and when he’d recognized the other man on the video, he’d wanted only to torment and kill. How Bastian had gotten through the crimson haze to him was a mystery. He still felt disconnected. A stranger in his skin.

  During the ride home, his lovers let him be. While he appreciated the silence, he didn’t believe it would last. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but doubted they’d let him, especially after he’d completely lost it.

  Or maybe they would pack and leave. He wouldn’t blame them if they did.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside and upstairs,” Bastian said, his tone brooking no argument.

  They were home already? Simon met them in the foyer, his wrinkled face a study of concern, but Bastian shook his head and the old butler retreated. In a daze, Michael allowed himself to be hustled to his room—their room, if they still wanted to stay with him—and pushed onto the bed. He moved to the middle and they sat beside him, each one touching him, saying nothing for a long while. Katrina stroked his hair and Bastian untucked his dress shirt, pushed a hand underneath to rub his stomach.