Prince of Killers: A Fog City Novel
Page 6
That fact acknowledged—and the anxiety and unease that came with it internalized—a calm settled over Hawes. He counted the panes in the windows, waited for his breath and heartbeat to slow, then dropped his arms and turned back to his condo full of visitors. “I’ll see what I can find out today at the pier.”
“I’ve got a hearing at ten.” Helena dumped her empty paper plate into the trash. “If I don’t go by the station beforehand, I’ll swing by there after. I can be at HQ by one.”
“No,” Hawes said. “Things need to appear as usual. I would normally be in this morning. You wouldn’t.”
“I’ll go in with you,” Holt said. He patted Lily’s back through the sling. “She’s having fun being out today.”
Dante pushed off the fridge. “And I’ll have their backs.”
Helena blocked his forward momentum with her arm. “Look here, Mr. Hair—”
“Hena,” Hawes chided, while Holt laughed.
Their sister, however, held the steak knife at-the-ready and had drawn nose-to-chest with Dante, though you wouldn’t know it by her stance. For all she cared, she was taller than Dante, not a good foot shorter. “You’ve gotta give us more before I let you walk into this with my family.”
“There’s a flash drive in my coat pocket.”
“I’ve got it,” Hawes said, saving Holt the trouble of reaching around the baby and laptop. He retrieved the flash drive—generic, drugstore model—and held it out to Holt.
Holt’s wary gaze split between him and Dante. “I’m not putting that in my computer without checking it for viruses.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Dante said. “Which was why I checked it before I put it in mine. No viruses, I swear.”
Holt still hesitated. Hawes slapped the drive into his hand with a firm, “Just do it.” They didn’t have time to argue.
Hawes moved behind Holt so he could view the screen as Holt disconnected from servers and wireless networks before inserting the flash drive. No blue screen of death appeared. Holt released a held breath, and Hawes put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Then harder, unintentionally, when Holt opened the first unnamed folder and the screen filled with surveillance photos—of Hawes. From various spots around town, from the pier, from outside the family fort in Pac Heights, and in front of his condo. Each had a bull’s-eye drawn on his head.
Hawes rotated toward Dante, who perched on a barstool. “You could have taken these. Manipulated them.”
“He didn’t,” Holt said before Dante could answer. “This footage was taken, edited, and loaded from an MCS computer.” Hawes trusted his interpretation of the terminal window full of code gibberish.
“Can you find out who?” Helena asked.
“It’ll take time, but yeah. Should be able to.”
Was this someone making a grab for power or someone helping them stay in power? Hawes bet the former, given the bull’s-eye, but why had they sent this to Dante? “Is this the tip you were talking about?”
“Open the other folder,” he said, noticeably grimmer.
Holt double-clicked on the icon, and Hawes’s nightmares sprang to life in pixelated form. Pictures of Isabelle’s crime scene splashed across the screen.
“Your organization shifted that night,” Dante said.
It had. No indiscriminate killing, no collateral damage, no unvetted targets. Hawes’s rules—for himself and the organization. And he was working to get them out of the explosives business. The warehouse job was intended to be the last time they used them. All because of what happened that night three years ago.
Heavy footsteps to Hawes’s right indicated Dante’s approach. Hawes shot him a pointed glare, and he halted next to the closest pillar, leaning a shoulder there. “I’m a PI,” he said. “It’s not hard to follow the breadcrumbs. Someone doesn’t like the shift.”
“And you care because?”
“Less death is a good thing.”
Helena chuckled darkly. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”
“Less innocent death.” Dante straightened, long legs spread shoulder-width apart, bulging arms folded over his chest. He cut an imposing figure. “I want to know what happened to Isabelle that night. The truth, not the bullshit cover story. And I think this is the way in.”
“You’re using us,” Hawes said.
“I am.” There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his admission. Cocky, arrogant, sexy. Honest. “It’s in my interest to keep you all alive.”
Until he got his answers. Once he learned the truth, where would his interests lie then? Hawes didn’t think it would be with keeping them alive.
In the back seat of Holt’s SUV, his pinky finger clutched in his niece’s tiny fist, Hawes watched as Dante, in front of him, struggled to take in all the new development around them. “You might be from San Francisco, but you haven’t been down here in a while, have you?” Hawes said.
“I’ve driven by it on the freeway and seen it on sat-photos, but seeing it for real…” He dropped his book into his lap. “Christ, it’s like a different place around here.”
He wasn’t wrong. The Central Waterfront/Dogpatch neighborhood, just south of the Giants ballpark, the UCSF Medical Center, and the Warriors arena, had been radically redeveloped over the past two decades. Around the shipyards and piers that used to dominate the area, office buildings, research labs, and apartments had sprung up, along with restaurants, coffee shops, and other retailers to support the neighborhood’s new residents and visitors.
“Last time I was through here,” Dante said, head swiveling, “it was parking lots for the ballpark and run-down piers.”
Not surprising. Even if Dante hadn’t been away until recently, in a place like San Francisco, one could go years without stepping foot in different parts of the city; its many neighborhoods separated as they were by topography, traffic, cultures, even the weather. Hell, it’d been more than a decade since Hawes had ventured into Golden Gate Park. He suspected the little girl holding his finger would change that soon enough.
Holt steered the SUV off Third, onto the road to the pier, and a couple of minutes later, eased the SUV to a stop in front of Madigan Cold Storage’s retractable metal gate.
Hawes rolled down the rear window. “The piers and warehouses have come a long way too.” He flipped open the nondescript box beside the intercom and thumbed the scanner. The touchpad turned green, and the gate began to swing open.
“High security,” Dante said.
“Have you met my baby brother?”
Holt held up two fingers as he drove through. “By two minutes.”
Hawes clapped his biceps. “And don’t you forget it, Little H.”
Two fingers became Holt’s single middle one, and a sexy laugh rumbled out of Dante. The first of the day, and it made Hawes smile. Until he stepped out of the car and the easy mood evaporated. Suspecting your employees’ occasional murderous intent and actually experiencing it were two very different things.
Holt nudged him out of the way and reached in to eject Lily’s car seat.
Lily…here, where maybe there was someone trying to kill Hawes. Fuck, what were they thinking? “Holt, maybe you should—”
“No, we talked about this. We follow the regular routine.” He handed Lily’s carrier to Hawes, shouldered her diaper bag, and shut the door. “Besides, we have Mr. Hair for backup.”
Dante rolled his eyes. “That nickname’s gonna stick, isn’t it?”
“They still call me Little H, and I’m bigger than both of them combined.” Holt took Lily’s car seat from Hawes and headed toward the main entrance. His gait defined military precision, even weighed down by the baby and her gear.
“You want to show me this fancy building of yours?” Dante said at Hawes’s side.
Dante’s easy manner, taken together with Holt’s nonchalance, reminded Hawes that yes, while there were potential threats, they were more than equipped to handle them. Hawes ran a hand through his damp hair, fluffing the long top str
ands to cover his damnable cowlick, and buttoned the suit coat he’d changed into after a quick shower at the condo. “Yes, let me show you around.” And let whoever might be targeting him see he wasn’t afraid and that there was a new player on the board.
Rather than following Holt to the main entrance at the center of the three-story, U-shaped building, Hawes led Dante through the south wing first, where cold storage units stored products for fisheries and food service companies. Midmorning, this side of the building was mostly deserted, just a few employees double-checking freezer settings. By contrast, the north wing, where cold storage units were manufactured for use by MCS and for sale to customers, was noisy and bustling—engineers checking plans, factory technicians operating assembly lines, quality control professionals approving finished components.
“Quite the contrast,” Dante said as Hawes led him toward the office portion in the middle of the building.
“Most suppliers and customers have come and gone already. Third-shift employees guide them through the early morning rush. Though at least half of the workers tend to linger in the main building after shift.”
Today was no different. The ground-floor cafeteria and lounge areas were busy, third-shift employees grabbing food and waiting for the rush hour traffic to die down. The second floor looked and sounded like any other office—printers, copiers, keystrokes. All of MCS’s admin for ordering, receiving, and processing happened here. It was also the company’s gossip hub, which was working overtime today, the whispering growing louder as Hawes passed through with Dante.
“Guessing you’re the topic of the day,” Hawes said as he pressed a thumb to the stairwell keypad. The lock clicked, and Hawes pushed the door open.
Dante waited until he closed the door to run a hand down the sleeve of Hawes’s navy suit coat. “This one’s even nicer, and more fitted, than the gray one yesterday.” He plucked at the cuff of the light-blue shirt sleeve peeking out from the jacket, then started up the steps. “You wear suits like this to work all the time?”
“I do,” Hawes said, his gruff voice echoing in the stairwell.
Dante grinned back at him. “Those whispers aren’t about me.”
Hawes begged to differ, but the third-floor door swung open before he got the chance.
“Saw you coming.” Holt stood in the doorway, his massive bulk blocking the entrance. His brown eyes glanced at Dante, then flitted over the PI’s shoulder to lock with Hawes’s.
Hawes knew what his brother was thinking, the silent question he was asking. How far do we let him in? Hawes had had the same argument with himself on the ride over. While they’d gotten a bit more out of the PI at the condo, Hawes still had a mountain of questions. At the same time, he sensed he was going to have to give some to get some. Dante had been clear; he was using them too. And what was Dante going to see here that others hadn’t? MCS’s company conference room and executive offices? Typically on the top floor. Holt’s surveillance wall? Not that uncommon for a manufacturing operation like theirs. More importantly, if there were traitors still among their operatives, this was the floor they would be on. Hawes wanted the extra firepower at his family’s back.
He gave Holt a nod, and his brother stepped aside, allowing Dante entry. Hawes followed him onto the third floor and secured the door behind them. It wasn’t nearly as loud or crowded up here.
Zoe smiled politely as they passed the conference room and main reception desk, which if anyone looked closely, was in fact a sophisticated surveillance setup. Zoe’s primary objective was to warn them in the event of a breach. Her secondary objective was to hold off any intruders long enough for the floor to power down and assume the roles the rest of the company and world thought they played. Executives, support staff, and IT. Translation: Madigans, assassins, and hackers.
At the far end of the floor, overlooking the south inlet, Helena had one corner office, Hawes the other, and between them, Holt had knocked out a wall to make a single giant space for his setup, a mirror of the one at the house, except that the crib here was a pop-up version that slid under the desk when Lily wasn’t with him.
Dante whistled low. “Between this”—he waved at the wall of electronics—“and the office, manufacturing, and storage functions downstairs, there’s no way the original building supports the electrical load or the density of people and activity.”
Hawes tossed his suit coat onto a chair. “Not in your research?”
“I can only dig so far,” Dante replied. “The property is held in a family trust, so it’s not regularly reassessed. There were permits pulled after Loma Prieta, and periodically since for routine upgrades and repairs, but without a change of ownership, you haven’t been dinged enough for me to get a full picture.”
“We saved and reinforced the foundations where we could. Along with other touches of the original structure.” Hawes ran his fingers over the crenellations around the door. “Papa Cal has a thing for restoration.”
“The house in Pac Heights?”
“He did all the preservation work on it.” Hawes moved his hand from the fluted plaster to the steel bar that ran diagonally up to the roof. “Everything else here is seismically retrofitted and otherwise up to code, even if we don’t have to be. Safer for everyone under our roof.”
Dante cocked a brow.
Hawes raised one to match. “This is an actual business.”
“With a personnel problem,” Dante said.
And tour over. Back to reality, Hawes turned to Holt, who was at his keyboards. “Where are Avery and Lucas?”
A flurry of keystrokes, and then one of the monitors clicked over, showing the two operatives outside a south-wing loading dock. “Looks like they’re helping with an off-load.” Holt zoomed out. A cruiser was moored at the slip nearest the dock where Avery and Lucas were standing.
“We were just there,” Dante said. “I didn’t see them.”
Neither had Hawes. “What the hell is off-loading this time of morning?”
Holt opened the day’s manifests on another screen. “Nothing. Last transaction was scheduled for and clocked at seven.”
“Looks to me like they’re on-boarding,” Dante said.
Hawes peered at the screen, and sure enough, Avery was carrying a box from the dock to Lucas, who ferried it onto the boat and below deck. “Keep it monitored,” he said to Holt, then to Dante, “Ready to provide that backup you promised?”
Dark eyes glittered dangerously. “I’m all yours.”
“Wait!” Holt said, and Hawes spun back around. “We’ve got bigger problems.” His brother pointed at the top screen, which was feeding them visual from the security cameras at the entry gate.
Kane was leaning out the window of a nondescript sedan, requesting entry. Two police cars idled behind him. This could not be good.
Chapter Seven
The chief stepped out of the elevator, four officers behind him. Holt tensed in his chair on one side of Hawes, while Dante leaned against the conference room window behind them. He had their backs, but he was staying out of this. Hawes stood as Kane left his officers in the lobby and stalked across the reception area, unimpeded. Zoe was elsewhere on the floor, doing her job. Hawes was confident the three of them could deal with Kane quickly, before they lost Avery and Lucas to either their escape or law enforcement.
Kane pushed open the glass door, practically growling. “You didn’t show up at the station this morning.”
“Helena was supposed to stop by on her way to the courthouse.”
“Your sister was not the one with Jodie and Ray before their deaths.”
“Hours before,” Hawes replied. “We went over all this last night.”
Kane withdrew a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. “In connection with the investigation of their murders, we have a warrant to search the premises.”
“I thought that was a dispute between them and a third party,” Hawes said. “What’s it got to do with us?”
Let them search. Limited parameters.
Kane was just doing his job, and Helena had already cleared it. The other clearance Hawes was waiting for appeared a moment later, Zoe back at the reception desk. “Go ahead,” he said to Kane. “Zoe will show your officers to Jodie’s and Ray’s workspaces.”
“They won’t find anything,” Holt said, once Kane stepped out. “This is why it pays to be paperless.”
“Nothing’s on paper?” Dante asked behind them.
“Not if we can help it,” Hawes said.
Kane reentered the room, but before any of them could speak, a high-pitched wail erupted from the crib they’d rolled into the corner. Holt pushed up from the table. “It’s like she knows you’re here,” he muttered.
Kane’s foul mood broke on a genuine smile. “I can’t help that she likes me.”
“Oh, is that what you think it is?” Holt lifted the baby out of the crib, and Kane walked over close enough to coo without appearing too interested to anyone outside the conference room’s glass walls.
As much as the sight warmed Hawes’s heart, he needed to move this along. “Do you need me for anything else?” he asked Kane.
The chief shoved his hands in his pockets. “Any new developments?”
“We’re looking into it.”
“Dammit, Hawes.”
“It’s under control.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Dante said, Holt’s tablet in hand. “They’re picking up the pace.” He handed Hawes the tablet, open on the surveillance feed of the south-side loading bays. Avery and Lucas were hustling, as if they were using the police presence as a distraction. Or trying to move something out before the police found it.