by Julie Leto
“You better requisition a compass, because my sex comes from a place a whole lot lower than my head.”
“You’re crude,” she snapped, and twisted away from him. Frankie was notorious for his sexually charged flirtations, but he’d never been so crass before. Or maybe she just hadn’t cared? Either way, she wasn’t in the mood. If he was trying to turn her on, then he was the one who needed a compass because he was definitely working her from the wrong direction.
He grabbed her arm again, this time yanking her up close. “Yeah, I’m crude. That’s who I am. I’m no college-educated rich boy with a dead mother you can weep over.”
Without thinking, Marisela thrust upward with her elbow and jammed Frankie in the jaw. He released her with a curse.
“I can’t believe you’re protecting him,” Frankie said through clenched teeth.
“He doesn’t need protecting,” she seethed, rubbing her elbow. “What are you? Ten? And you don’t have to talk shit to get my attention, you pendejo.”
He stood up straighter and wiped a single drop of blood from the corner of his lip with the pad of his thumb. “Last night, you liked when I talked shit to you.”
“Yeah, and I hope you enjoyed yourself,” she said, “because that fuck is going to have to last you a hell of a long time.”
Marisela spun around, nearly knocking into Max, who had appeared from nowhere. She blasted out a curse, much cruder that the one Frankie had uttered moments before.
“Testy, testy,” Max said.
“Stop sneaking up on me!”
Max glared at Frankie with his spooky gray eyes. “What did you do to piss her off so much she wants to kill me?”
Frankie muttered something unintelligible, spun around, and headed down the stairs without another word. The minute he was gone, Marisela felt her entire body relax. After a second, Max released her.
“Sorry,” she said, straightening her T-shirt.
“I don’t see why the two of you don’t just hit each other when you’re mad and leave the rest of us out of it.”
“I did hit him,” she said, massaging her elbow. “Hurt like a bitch.”
Max gestured for her to follow him up the stairs, away from Frankie. The man was a born peace broker.
“How’s Bennett?” she asked.
“Improving, but still uncommunicative. His wife ordered me back here for an in-person update on the search for the shooter.”
Marisela winced. “That must have been fun.”
He shrugged as they reached the top of the stairs. “She’s a desperate woman in love with a man marked for death. I can see where her manners might not be important to her right now.”
He led her down the hall and Marisela wasn’t surprised to see that he was leading her exactly where she wanted to go. Though they’d first met under shaky circumstances, Marisela and Max had developed a comfortable working relationship. Nothing she did or said ever seemed to shock him, whereas he got an honest-to-God kick out of scaring the shit out of her every time he popped in out of nowhere. Max was not only Ian’s right-hand man, but he was an incredible investigator—and he wasn’t half bad in a fight, either.
“Listen, I think I know how to track down Tracy Manning,” she said as they approached the gadget room, officially called Technical Services on the Titan directory.
“She’s a hard woman to find,” Max commented, typing a code into a panel beside a door. “Between her and Bradley Hightower, my team is threatening to mutiny.”
“If your team doesn’t mind, I have an idea.”
The door clicked open, revealing an office literally humming with electronics. A trio of technicians, each wearing wireless headsets, concentrated on the half-dozen flat-screen monitors glimmering in front of them. The sound of one-sided chatter added to the urgency zinging through the room. Steel shelves and locked cabinets overflowed with wires, key pads, optical scopes, and LCD screens. This was where Titan technicians created their electronic magic.
“Have you run this plan by Ian?” Max asked as he picked up an electronic clipboard and paged through the reports with a touch of the screen.
Marisela grinned sheepishly. “Not exactly. I wanted to see if my idea worked first. He told me to do whatever I had to.”
Max stopped walking, turned, and arched a brow. “He gave you carte blanche?”
“Isn’t that a credit card?”
“The kind with no limit. What’s your idea?”
Max matched her smile. Interest sparkled in his enigmatic gray eyes, accentuating the crinkle of skin at his temples. Max couldn’t possibly be old…but honestly, Marisela couldn’t begin to guess what age he was. However many years he’d been in this world, he’d used them all very well.
Marisela led Max to the nearest console and asked him to obtain cell phone records for Parker Manning.
“My agents already explored this avenue. There’s no number assigned to Tracy Manning.”
Marisela rolled her eyes. “Of course there isn’t. Parker Manning might be a slob, but he’s not stupid. He’s trying to hide his sister, remember?”
Max nodded and retrieved the records his team had pulled earlier in the day. Didn’t take more than a cursory glance to figure out what numbers Manning called most frequently.
All but three were landlines, easily identifiable as originating to and from Manning’s editor, a neighbor, his favorite takeout places, and a friend in New York City. The other listings were cell phones numbers—two attached to names of friends. The third cell phone—the one he called the most—piqued Marisela’s interest. The calls came from a phone registered under Parker Manning’s own cell plan.
“What about that one?”
“Lots of reporters have more than one phone.”
“This reporter isn’t on anyone’s payroll. He’s freelance.”
Max dug a little deeper. “They share the same area code. If Tracy has the second phone, we still don’t have her location.”
Marisela memorized the number. “It’s a place to start. We have no address, but if we call it, we can pull an E911 reverse signal location and pinpoint her that way.
Max’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Marisela glared at him. “I listen during training.”
“Apparently,” Max replied.
“So if we call her and she answers,” Marisela speculated, “we just trace the signal?”
“That’s the easiest plan I’ve heard all day.”
Marisela paced in a tight circle while Max set up the technological trap, then on his order dialed the number from a blocked Titan phone. When Tracy answered, Max’s team would follow the signal as it bounced from cell tower to cell tower and then finally landed on Parker Manning’s AWOL sister.
After the eighth ring, Marisela pressed the phone into the cradle. “She’s not answering.”
“Any voice mail?” Max asked.
She shook her head.
“She probably has caller ID,” he surmised. “Maybe she won’t pick up an unidentified call, which is how we come through.”
“Can we disguise our phone as Parker’s? Clearly, she picks up when he calls.”
Max looked down at the geeky tech guy who’d been tracing the call. “We could,” the guy answered, “but it’ll take a while. Be easier to swipe the guy’s phone and just call the number yourself.”
Marisela smiled, her stomach warming at the prospect. That’s the sort of plan she could embrace.
* * *
Unfortunately, Parker Manning had other plans. The agent who’d been watching him at Frankie and Marisela’s request reported that he’d left half an hour before. Fortunately, the agent who had been following him reported that he’d just parked his car on a side street in Jamaica Plain.
“Coincidence?” Marisela asked. Jamaica Plain was, they still believed, Yizenia Santiago’s base of operations.
“I think not,” Max replied. “While you’re there, keep a lookout for her. We find her and we don’t need either Tracy Manning or her brother.”
“That’s if she’ll cooperate.”
“We’ll leave that to Brynn,” Max said. Clearly, he’d been brought entirely up to date on the current situation, which didn’t surprise Marisela at all.
“I’ll need a car and a map,” Marisela said as they headed down the stairs. “Unless you’d like to come along and fracture a few laws with me?”
For a split second, Max looked tempted. With a reluctant frown, he shook his head. “Frank has a car and he knows his way to JP.”
“Frank has an attitude and I don’t want to deal with him right now,” she groused.
Max clucked his tongue. “He’s your partner on this case.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice rising. “And how exactly did that happen again? You’d think Ian would have learned his lesson by now.”
“Maybe it’s a racial thing,” he teased.
“Latino is not a race,” she corrected. “It’s a culture.”
“A culture very prevalent in Jamaica Plain,” Max pointed out. “Frank’s waiting outside. My tech team will be ready once you have Manning’s phone. But try to get it back to him before he notices it missing, okay? I’m really not in the mood to have to bail you out of jail for petty theft.”
“You sound just like my father,” she quipped.
“God help the man.”
Complaining to herself all the way through the lobby, Marisela realized that no matter how annoyed she was with her Frankie, she had no choice but to work with him to finish out this case. With a curse that made the towheaded receptionist jump out of her seat, Marisela tore out of the Titan office to find Frankie leaning against the hood of the truck, sucking on a cigarette as if he didn’t have a care in the world. That was his problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything beyond himself. He didn’t get all protective over her because he gave a shit, but because he couldn’t stand anyone else having influence over her. He could care less what Ian and Brynn had gone through with their mother’s murder or what conflicts they faced while searching out the killer who’d avenged her death.
Of course, the fact that Marisela cared too much struck her like a slap in the face. Her emotions got the best of her on a regular basis. And Frankie, knowing her like the back of his hand, never hesitated to use that against her, especially to further his own agenda.
Without a word, she opened the passenger door and climbed inside the truck. When Frankie made no move to join her, she leaned across and pressed hard on the horn. He jumped, then turned and glared at her.
She smiled sweetly and tapped on her watch.
He took one last toke on his cig, then smashed it under his heel and came around to the driver’s side of the car.
“What am I now, your fucking chauffeur?”
She snickered. “If the car key fits.”
“What’re our orders?”
“I’ll tell you once we get to Jamaica Plain.”
Frankie shoved the key into the ignition. “Why don’t you just tell me now and put me out of my misery.”
“There’s an idea,” she sniped.
Knowing things would work more smoothly if she concentrated on the case, Marisela filled Frankie in on the plan she’d devised with Max. As he drove onto the highway, she opened her bag and checked her weapon, which she switched to a shoulder holster she could wear under her jacket.
“You expecting trouble?” Frankie asked, his voice tight.
“I’m always expecting trouble.”
“If that’s true, you wouldn’t be letting your guard down with Blake.”
She turned in the seat, watching Frankie’s sharp profile as the streetlights and neon signs drew flashes of color across his dark skin. The sun had set while they were inside the Titan offices and Marisela tried not to think about how long a day this had been. How much she’d learned. How much she’d possibly lose.
“What is your problem with Blake?”
Frankie spared her a quick glance. “Do you forget that he almost let me die three months ago? That he used my life to blackmail you?”
Marisela frowned. No, she hadn’t forgotten. But she also knew that the animosity between the two men had existed long before Marisela joined Titan. “Mira, just because I cut him some slack today doesn’t mean I trust him. But I’ve got to work with the man, and while it might be fun to yank his chain all the time, that’s not the way for me to get anywhere.”
Frankie pulled up to a stoplight and turned to face her. “Why not? You’ve already proved you’re good at this shit, vidita. You’ve learned a lot. Why do you have to stay with Titan, anyway?”
“Why do you?”
“You know why.”
“Frankie, escúchame—don’t stick around here because of me. I can do this on my own.”
“So anxious to get rid of me?” he asked, his voice teasing.
Her ire with him dipped to a manageable level. “If I really wanted to get rid of you, I would have by now and you know it. But man, it’s not cool for you to put your life on hold because of me.”
He maneuvered onto the highway, chuckling. “Sometimes you give yourself too much credit. Sometimes, not enough.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t need Ian Blake or Titan. You could work for anyone now.”
Marisela snorted. “Yeah, right. You forget that the only reason I’m able to carry this gun is because Titan worked it so the suspension of my license to carry miraculously disappeared. They also don’t seem to mind that pesky criminal record of mine. Think other private investigators would be so forgiving?”
“You could work for yourself,” he said.
The idea appealed to her on many levels, but Marisela had to admit the truth. “I’m not ready and you know it.”
He arched a brow. “Where’s all your machísma, vidita? The gringos already breaking you down?”
She narrowed her gaze. “My machísma is fine, okay? But I’m not stupid no more, Frankie. I know when I still have shit to learn and Brynn, gringa or no, wants to teach me. I can’t walk away from this just because you and the boss can’t go five seconds without having some sort of pissing match.”
“My dick is longer. I’d win,” he said cockily.
“And you measured him, when?”
That shut Frankie up. They rode the rest of the way in silence, chatting only to review their plan. With the help of the agent assigned to tail Manning, they were going to locate the reporter, swipe his cell phone, and use it to call his sister while Titan’s experts triangulated a location for Tracy. They might not get her position right on the money, but they’d be a damned sight closer than they were now.
Once they were in Jamaica Plain, Marisela called in to the agent tailing Parker Manning. She repeated his location to Frankie, who consulted the GPS module on the truck.
Parking half a block from where Manning was sitting at a bar, Frankie turned off the engine. Marisela stepped out of the truck, instantly reconnecting with the sights and sounds all around her. This morning, they’d been in too much of a rush to look around, but now, even in the dark, Jamaica Plain rocked with a rhythm that lured her. One of the largest neighborhoods in the city of Boston, JP was as diverse as it was large. Murals starring citizens from every ethnic background imaginable graced the walk of hair salons, restaurants, and a bakery. Motorcycles were parked outside taverns while women with baby strollers maneuvered on the sidewalks. The music was loud, the talk was louder. And to Marisela, the vibe was pure heaven.
Finding Parker Manning would be a snap. But Yizenia?
“Needle in a haystack,” Marisela said, looking around.
Frankie slammed his door shut and clicked on the security system. “Gotta start somewhere.”
The Titan agent who’d been tailing Parker Manning caught up with them almost immediately. He directed them to a tavern a few doors down from where they’d parked.
“He went in about half an hour ago,” he reported. “Once you spot him, I’m out of
here, right?”
Marisela smirked at the blond-haired, blue-eyed agent in his slick polo shirt and khaki pants. “Got a hot date or are you just afraid someone will jump you and steal your iPod?”
With a sneer, he crossed his arms tight over his chest. “I have better things to do with my time than keep tabs on your suspects.”
Frankie stepped forward, and though her ex didn’t quite reach six feet, he managed to make the taller, although skinnier guy take a shaky step back. “We’ve got it from here. Why don’t you blow?”
With a quick glance at Marisela, who mockingly blew him a kiss, the agent left.
Marisela turned to Frankie. “Let’s go.”
Through the tinted window crowded with beer signs and painted advertisements for twenty-five-cent wings, Marisela and Frankie spotted Parker Manning sitting at the bar, surrounded mostly by men glued to the television sets mounted from the ceiling. Parker’s gaze, however, hardly strayed from the door for more than a minute. Frankie had a hell of a time entering through the front door without Manning noticing, but Marisela figured he had a better chance than she did to blend in. She circled around to the back door, waited for a guy in a white apron to exit with the trash for the Dumpster, then slipped inside.
The place was hazy with smoke from the barbecue in the kitchen. The crowd stood three deep at the bar, where the main libation seemed to be beer on tap, though the mirrored cabinets glittered with half-empty bottles of cheap rum, scotch, whiskey, and bourbon. Two televisions in each corner blared with high-stakes soccer action, the players blurring by in bright greens, blues, and reds. After a goal, the commentary in, if Marisela wasn’t mistaken, Portuguese, stirred the sports fans to near hysteria, giving her a chance to slither through the throng until she was directly behind Parker Manning, whose eyes kept darting toward the door.
Who was he waiting for? Or who was he afraid would find him?
All around him, faces with complexions that ranged from light caramel to deepest ebony ensured that Parker Manning stood out like a beacon with his graying brown hair and ruddy skin. Marisela couldn’t see Frankie, but she knew he was close by. Funny how she could sense that. When they were in sync, they were a pair to be reckoned with. Tonight’s job was a relatively simple one, but she couldn’t discount the comfort of working with someone she could rely on.