by Laura Scott
“You’re safe now, Kari.” His eyes were kind and reassuring.
She nodded and allowed her eyes to drift shut. Amazing how much better she felt, knowing she wasn’t alone.
His sandalwood scent intermixed with the sound of his fingers tapping on the keyboard lulled her to sleep.
* * *
Marc was far too aware of Kari sleeping just a few feet away. She looked younger, more innocent in repose and he liked the way her hair fanned out on the pillow, her hand cupped protectively over her abdomen. He stood watching her for several minutes before forcing himself to turn away.
This wasn’t the appropriate time or place to become aware of a woman. Especially not someone he needed to protect.
He’d called Jericho Nevis, the tattoo artist Mitch referred him to, but the woman who answered the phone said Jericho was busy. Marc left his name and number, but didn’t hold out much hope that Jericho would return his call any time soon.
Basic background checks of the task-force members didn’t tell him much. He did uncover a few interesting tidbits—the newest agent, Angela Wright, had a younger brother by the name of Warren, who had a juvie record. The record was sealed, and in order to get access to the details, he’d have to use his secure federal access codes, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Was it possible Angela’s brother was involved in something like drugs, guns or gambling? Would she go so far as to set up a series of bank robberies to help get him out of trouble?
He made notes about Warren Wright, but somehow he couldn’t see Angela doing something like that. Then again, he couldn’t really envision anyone he knew stooping so low.
Detective Steve Young was getting divorced, and Monique Barclay had bad credit. FBI Agent David Hermes was behind on his child-support payments from a divorce that happened several years ago. So far Jason Wu was the only member of the task force, aside from Marc, who didn’t have some sort of financial or family issue going on.
Technically, Marc had family issues, too, only he’d managed to keep them under wraps. No one knew that his wife Jessica had been pregnant and that the baby wasn’t his. He’d done the DNA testing on his own, outside the investigation. The police hadn’t seen a need to do DNA testing, since there was nothing in the car crash that had made them think foul play. Alone in the car, she’d somehow driven straight into a tree. When her drug screen had verified the fact that her blood-alcohol level was above the legal limit, the detectives had closed the case as a DUI without probing any further.
He tapped the pen against the pad of paper, trying to figure out his next steps. His phone rang and he quickly answered it, hoping he hadn’t woken Kari.
She shifted a bit, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Callahan,” he whispered, taking the phone into the other room.
“Mitch, my man, how’s it going?” The guy’s voice held a hint of an Australian accent.
“Actually, I’m Mitch’s brother, Marc. He gave me your number, said you’d be willing to answer a few questions.”
There was a long pause, and Marc imagined that Jericho was scowling at the phone. “Depends on the questions,” he finally answered with a note of caution.
“Mitch tells me you’re the best tattoo artist in the area, and that you might know something about the design of a samurai sword and cobra.”
“If you want to know about tattoos, you’ve come to the right place. Samurai sword designs aren’t as popular now as they used to be. Do you have a picture of the tat you can share with me?”
“Sure, I’ll text you a copy from my phone and call you right back.” Marc missed having his multi-function phone as he performed the laborious task of snapping a picture of Kari’s drawing, then texting it to Jericho. He waited a long minute after sending the text to call the tattoo artist back. “Did it come through okay?”
“Sure did. Interesting design, but not my work.”
Marc hadn’t really expected to get that fortunate. “Do you have an idea of who might do this type of thing? The tattoo was located on the upper front of a man’s chest.”
“There is a Japanese tattoo artist by the name of Mikio who does many samurai designs. I recommend you start with him first. If he didn’t do the design, then he may know who did.”
Marc smiled grimly, reaching for a pen. “Tell me where I can find Mikio.”
Jericho rattled off the address of Mikio’s shop. “I will tell you this—Mikio means ‘man like a tree’ in Japanese, and he is very tall and very strong. If he thinks you are going to cause trouble, Mikio won’t hesitate to defend himself. He has interesting Japanese artifacts in his shop, including several swords.”
Marc understood the implied warning. “Thank you, Jericho. I appreciate your help on this.”
“Tell Mitch he owes me a favor,” Jericho said, then disconnected from the call. Marc wasn’t sure if Jericho was serious about collecting on the favor or if that was his idea of a joke.
After heading back into Kari’s room, he typed in the address of Mikio’s tattoo shop, inwardly groaning when he realized it was located in a pretty rough part of town.
He glanced at his watch. The hour wasn’t that late, just seven thirty in the evening. From the information on the website it appeared Mikio’s hours were from one in the afternoon until one in the morning.
Should he head down there now? He glanced at Kari, hating the idea of leaving her here alone. But he wasn’t about to take her with him, so the only question was, which of his siblings would be willing to come out here to sit with her while he took off for a few hours?
Marc tried Mitch first. “Just got called to the scene of a fire and arson is suspected. I’ll be tied up for a while.”
Miles was working a series of armed robberies, and Matthew was on duty for the night shift.
He didn’t particularly want to call his sister. Maddy was great company, but he needed someone who could manage the potential danger.
Finally, he reached his brother Michael, quickly filling him in on the situation. Michael was a private investigator, and Marc made sure to mention the fact that he should bring his gun.
“If you could get to the Silent Knight Motel as soon as possible, Mike, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’d rather go down to the tattoo joint,” Mike muttered. “Tell me what you need and I’ll deliver.”
He hesitated. “It’s not that easy. I’m not sure I even know what I’m looking for. Will you please give me a couple of hours?”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I’ll meet you in thirty.”
Marc disconnected from the call and returned to Kari’s room. He stopped abruptly when he noticed she was awake and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“How long did I sleep?” She asked, rubbing her eyes.
“A little over an hour.” He drew in a deep breath, knowing she wasn’t going to like his plan. “Listen, I need to run a quick errand. My brother Mike is going to come out here to stay with you while I’m gone.”
She dropped her hands from her face and frowned. “Call him back and tell him not to come. I’m awake now so I’ll just go with you.”
“That’s not an option. It’s too dangerous. For one thing, the tattoo joint happens to be located in a rough neighborhood...”
“I’ll stay in the truck,” she interrupted.
He shook his head. “No way. A woman sitting alone in that area is an easy target. I can’t protect you from inside the building and I also can’t afford to be distracted by worrying about your safety.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t you think I’ll be worrying about your safety? Maybe your brother should go with you as backup. I’m sure I’ll be fine here alone.”
“Not happening.” As much as he wouldn’t mind having his brother along as reinforcement, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone. Especially considering the fact she
had a badly sprained ankle. If by some chance the black SUV did show up, she’d be a sitting duck.
“So it doesn’t matter to you that I’ll be worrying?” she persisted. “Stress isn’t good for the baby, remember?”
“I’m a trained federal agent and I’ll be armed. There’s no reason for you to be concerned or stressed. I’ll be fine, Kari, and I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”
She glared at him, clearly not happy. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He didn’t want to spend the next thirty minutes until Michael arrived arguing with her.
His mind was made up and nothing she could say or do would change it.
“I don’t like it,” Kari muttered, struggling to her feet. He crossed over and offered his arm. She shook her head, refusing his help as she made her way toward the bathroom. Before he could say anything else, she disappeared behind the door.
He paced as he waited for his brother, trying to think of a nonconfrontational way to approach Mikio. By the time Michael arrived, he still didn’t have a great plan.
“Thanks for coming, Mike.”
His brother nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room, zeroing in on the open connecting door. “She okay with being left alone with a stranger?”
“Not really. But you’re my brother, not a stranger.”
“Same difference to her.” Michael’s serious gaze rested on Marc. “I’ll give you two hours. If you’re not back here by then, I’m calling for reinforcements.”
“Don’t call anyone from the FBI or the MPD,” Marc warned. “Miles and Mitch both know the situation.”
Michael lifted a brow, then nodded. “Okay, family first.”
Marc pulled on his winter gear, double-checked to make sure his weapon was locked and loaded before heading outside. The snow had stopped and the clouds had dissipated. The reflection from the moon glittered like diamonds on the freshly fallen snow.
He brushed the snow off the truck, then jumped behind the wheel and headed toward Milwaukee’s north side. The truck was too nice for the area, but his brother’s car was also new, so there wasn’t a good alternative.
Finding the tattoo shop wasn’t difficult, but Marc drove around the place twice before choosing a place to park. He wanted to be well positioned for a quick getaway, just in case.
He hunched his shoulders against the cold and crossed the street. There was a wide window to the right of the doorway, displaying Mikio’s name and several Japanese designs, mostly dragons. There was also a small neon sign in blue and green that read Tattoos located on the left side of the door.
As he came closer, his pulse leaped when he saw a samurai design in the window. It wasn’t the same one that Kari had drawn, but there were enough similarities that made Marc think he’d come to the right place.
But would Mikio admit the design was his? From what he knew about tattoo artists, they liked to boast about their work, especially since new customers were often gained by referrals.
If Mikio was paying attention to the news, he’d know Jamison was under arrest and heading to trial. Kari’s name as a key witness had also been leaked to the media. For all he knew, Mikio would deny having anything to do with the design.
Marc took a deep breath, pulled Kari’s design out of his pocket and entered the tattoo shop. The snow must be keeping people away, because the place was empty except for a tiny Asian woman with every centimeter of her skin covered in ink standing behind the counter, and a large burly guy who was also covered in tattoos. The man looked at Marc with suspicion as he approached.
He smiled and tried to look nonthreatening. “Hi, you must be Mikio, my friend Jericho told me all about you.”
Mikio continued staring, his eyes flat and seemingly devoid of all emotion. “Who wants to know?” he finally asked.
“I’m Marc Callahan, and I heard you do incredible samurai designs.” He carefully set Kari’s drawing on the top of the counter. “I am curious to know if this is one of yours?”
“Why?” Mikio asked with a scowl.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Marc said. “I would just like to know if this is one of your designs. From what I can see, it seems as if you pride yourself on being original.”
“It is mine,” Mikio said in a gravelly voice.
Marc relaxed a bit. “Will you tell me about the man who received this tattoo? Did he come alone or was he with someone?”
Mikio moved to the side, but then suddenly held a glittering curved sword in his hand, the tip pressing against Marc’s sternum.
Marc froze. Even through his heavy winter coat, he could feel the tip of the blade and knew it could easily pierce the fabric and penetrate straight into his heart.
Maybe he should have had Mike come with him as backup. He had a bad feeling that if he even tried to draw his gun, Mikio would skewer him like a shish kebab.
EIGHT
The seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness. Marc forced himself to stay where he was, sensing that backing down from Mikio wasn’t the right way to go.
“Mikio means ‘man like a tree,’” Marc said, breaking the silence. “I have great respect for you and your work. I don’t want to cause trouble—I only want to know if the man who received this tattoo was here alone or with someone else.”
“He came with two others,” the Japanese woman said in a bored tone. “Earlier in the year, maybe February or March? It was winter. They came several weeks in a row, as these designs cannot be completed in one sitting.”
Marc didn’t take his eyes off Mikio. “Thank you. Is there any chance you have their names?”
“No names,” Mikio said. “Cash only.”
“I see. Would you be willing to show me the designs the other men received?”
Mikio must have made some sort of hidden gesture to the woman, because she pushed away from the counter with a sigh and opened up a picture album. “These are the other two designs.”
Marc was loath to move closer, but then Mikio backed up a step, giving him a little room. He angled his head to see the designs. Belatedly, he realized having Kari here would have come in handy since he couldn’t draw and doubted he’d be able to describe the designs in a way that she could sketch them.
“Very impressive,” he said with admiration. “The detail is exquisite. May I take a picture?”
The sword didn’t move away from the center of his chest, but Mikio gave a slight nod. “One hundred dollars.”
Marc carefully pulled out his wallet and peeled off five twenty-dollar bills. The woman scooped up the money. He used his cell phone and snapped a quick picture.
“Thank you.” He pocketed the cell phone then took a step back. The tip of the sword moved away from his chest, and he tried not to show his relief.
“You will be sure to tell Jericho I have been most helpful,” Mikio said.
“Of course.” Marc decided he wasn’t going to argue the fact that being most helpful cost him a hundred bucks. “Thank you again.”
As he turned and walked toward the door, he prepared to react if Mikio came rushing after him brandishing the sword. When he made it outside unscathed, he hurried to the truck. When he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he realized the meeting with Mikio had taken less than ten minutes.
Ten minutes that had taken ten years off his life.
Marc drove back to the motel, hoping that the photos of the tattoos had been worth the hundred dollars he’d paid for them.
They desperately needed a clue that might lead them to Jamison’s accomplices.
* * *
Kari soaked in the tub, trying to relax for the sake of her baby. She refused to think about what dangers Marc might be facing.
Okay, maybe a truer statement would be that she tried not to dwell on what Marc would be facing. How dangerous coul
d going to a tattoo shop be?
She pulled on her clothes and combed her hair with her fingers before emerging from the bathroom, feeling physically refreshed. Clean clothes would be nice, but truthfully she was grateful for what she had.
When she saw a stranger hovering in the doorway between the connecting rooms, she stopped and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. The man had the same dark hair as Marc, but was leaner in build, and maybe a little shorter. He wore his hair long enough to brush the back of his collar and had the same brilliant green eyes as Marc, which she found interesting as Miles and Mitch both had blue eyes.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You must be Michael, the private investigator.”
Michael didn’t smile, but did tip his head in a curt nod. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
These Callahan men were all good-looking and polite. But even from the tiny bit of interaction she had with them, they were all very different. Miles the flirt, Mitch the laid-back one. So far, Michael’s serious expressionless demeanor was the most like Marc’s.
“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” She hobbled over to the bed. “When do you expect Marc back?”
“Within the next hour and a half.”
That long? She grimaced and reminded herself to breathe slow and deep, no stress. “All right.”
“You want me to look at your ankle?”
“No, thanks.”
Michael nodded, then disappeared back inside Marc’s room. She stretched out and propped her foot up on pillows, not that she thought elevating it really helped much.
She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. There was no sound in the room next door, not from the television or the computer. Perfect for sleeping.
Or not.
Several minutes later, the low rumble of a truck engine reached her ears. She sat up and flipped on the lamp. Was that Marc returning already? Was the fact that he was back so soon a good thing or not?
Sure enough, the door of the motel room opened and then shut. Since sleep was impossible now, she swung herself upright and hopped over to the door.