The Operator

by Kim Harrison

  But why did her past keep destroying it?

  “I’m done. Everyone out,” she said, pulling away from Silas until his hands fell away.

  His head down, Cam headed for the door. Silas stomped after him, his thick arms swinging. She knew that attitude. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and it scared her. Fingers shaking, she took the spare key from the register, carefully leaving an obvious print on the dusty counter. Alone, she listened to the silence, letting it soak in and make a memory knot, tying it to the scent of dust, the chill of an empty room, and the sharp edges of the key pinching her fingers. She didn’t want to forget this place, ever.

  Pulling herself up, she dragged her knitting across the counter and threw it away again. Breath held against the hurt, she walked quickly to the back door and shut it behind her.

  The sound of distant morning traffic filled the silence of two men standing awkwardly before her. “I’m going to keep following you,” Silas said, the security system at his feet already reset. “I’ll make a mess of things. It would be safer if I was with you.”

  But she’d already come to that conclusion, and she aimed the fob at the ramshackle shed at the edge of the tiny parking lot that had once held police barricades. An aggressive baruum of a growl exploded from the garage as the warming engine engaged, and she strode forward, feeling a surge of sexual satisfaction. Yep, it was that kind of a car. She’d been born in Detroit, and the need for power went to her bones.

  Both Cam and Silas turned in surprise, the latter laughing in disbelief. “You keep your Mantis here?” Silas asked.

  “Yep,” she said saucily, feeling better as she hit the entrance code and the rickety-looking door swung up with the precision of modern electronics behind it. Hips swaying, she strode to the wide gate that led to the alley. Unlocking it, she pushed the heavy wood to the side. Beyond it, Detroit waited in the predawn chill.

  “Damn!” Cam swore, his back to her as he stood at the open garage, staring. “Is that a Mantis?” Silas cleared his throat when he reached to touch it, and Cam drew back. “It’s got a six-point-two L, V8, right?” he said, eyes glinting in the sudden light from the headlamps. “Zero to sixty in three-point-eight seconds. The only thing that can outrun it is a Lamborghini. Damn, it’s the premier year, before they took all the illegal stuff off it.”

  “And maybe an Aston Martin,” Peri said, coming to a satisfied halt before it. Silas was hiding a smile, but Peri didn’t care. It was a nice car, and she didn’t have much of a chance to show it off.

  “I’m on a list, but I haven’t had a Detroit address long enough. Does it really change color?” Cam asked, and Peri went around to the driver’s side.

  “As you say, that would be illegal,” she said as she lifted the latch. The car recognized her print, not the fob in her pocket, and unlocked. She slid in, and as the car enfolded her with the scent of leather and suede, she flicked through the onboard screen and toggled the color from its energy-saving white to black with a surge of extra electrons.

  “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cam said, his voice breathy.

  “It gets me there.” Relishing his appreciation, she shut her door, eyes closing briefly in bliss at the soft thump that said money. God, she’d missed this. But it wasn’t the kind of car she could go to the store in for cat food.

  Silas intentionally bumped Cam as he went between him and the front. “Pick your jaw up before she runs it over,” he said as he reached for the handle.

  Peri hit the lock button, but she must have cleared him in the past because it recognized his print and opened. He got in with a hasty lurch—as if she might bolt out of the garage with him half in it. Secure in his seat, he looked across the surprisingly wide expanse, his eyes glinting in challenge.

  “You’ll have to shoot me,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll get blood all over your seats.”

  Frowning, she hit the start button. “At least if I shoot you, you’ll wake up in the morning.”

  Cam’s tall shadow was flitting in front of the car as if not knowing what to do. Peri revved the engine to get him to move, and he darted to her side. Silas put his belt on, adjusted the vent, and turned on the seat warmer. Clearly he’d been in it before, if the lock being primed to him wasn’t enough of an indication. Nodding, he hit a dismiss key on the lighted touch screen. Maybe he’d helped me set it up.

  “We going or not?”

  Sighing, she twisted in her seat and handed him the Glock from the small of her back. “Fine,” she muttered. “You can come. But you already knew that. Damn psychologist.”

  “Just a matter of hitting the right buttons,” he said, clearly relieved. “God, I love this car. Hey, my station is still in the queue,” he added as the car found the satellite and slow jazz lifted from the speakers.

  My gut feels good about this, she realized as she pulled slowly forward, the power and ability coiled up in the engine spilling into her through the wheel and gas pedal.

  “Peri!” Cam tapped on the window, and she lowered it so he wouldn’t touch it again.

  “We have to go,” Silas prompted, and she obstinately put the car in park.

  “What?” she asked Cam, ignoring Silas.

  Cam pulled his eyes from the lighted dash, his brow suddenly furrowing. “You’re not coming back, are you.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “No,” he insisted. “You’re not.”

  Knowing he was probably right, she dropped her head and dug in her belt pack for the key. “Do what you want with the store,” she said, pressing it into his hand.

  “Peri,” Silas protested, but the peace she’d found here was spoiled.

  “Sell it,” she added, refusing to take it back. “Use the money for Carnac’s vet bills. Whatever. I don’t care. You saw the security code, right? Twenty, five—”

  “One,” Cam finished softly. “Peri—”

  “If I can take care of this, you’ll be fine,” she interrupted. “If I can’t, then Bill won’t have any reason to bother you.”

  “Either way, you’re not coming back,” Cam said—and it hurt.

  “I’m sorry.” The car rumbled under her, the embodiment of her wish to be gone.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Cam tucked the key away and glanced at Silas. “I knew there was no real chance. My psychologist says I only go after the women I can’t have, and I thought I might have broken that, but I guess not.”

  “I’m trying to fix this,” Peri said, not liking his sad smile. “Once Bill is gone, I have a chance at something normal.”

  “But not with me,” he said, his eyes going back to Silas. “I know when a woman is in love.”

  She flushed, her grip on the wheel tightening. Beside her, Silas cleared his throat. “It’s going to be light soon,” he muttered.

  “Cam,” she said, not wanting to leave it like this, but he was backing up.

  “Do me a favor,” the tall man said, his eyes on the lights of Detroit. “If you come back for Carnac, leave me a note so I don’t waste my time looking for him, okay?”

  “Cam!”

  He was walking away. “I’ll get the gate for you.”

  “Jesus,” she swore, and Silas smirked. “Why is he laying this guilt trip on me? It isn’t as if we did anything together.”

  “He seems nice,” Silas said dryly, and she inched forward.

  “Not another word,” she warned.

  “I was just going to say—”

  “Stop,” she demanded, trying to catch Cam’s eye as she carefully drove out of the gate and angled into the alley. But he wouldn’t look at her.

  This wasn’t what she had intended, but as Silas settled into his seat as if it were his lounger in front of his TV, shut his eyes, and went to sleep, she realized that it was the calmest, most relaxed she’d been in months.

  Maybe, she thought, looking at him.

  Maybe not.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  “There is no police report because I
didn’t report it,” Bill said, his voice even but temper fraying as he argued with the disaster recovery company. “Get someone out to look at it. Give me a quote so I can write a check. Fix it. What is the difficulty?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we are required by law to report gun damage.”

  Bill pressed his fingertips into his forehead, fighting the urge to pace the floor of the East Coast office that Helen had insisted he use while he was here. He wanted to go home to a house that had no reminders of Michael or his lifeblood spilling from him, but that was looking less and less likely. “Guns didn’t make the holes in my walls. Bullets did. Are you required by law to report bullet damage?”

  “You’re talking semantics, sir.”

  “Semantics? Someone learn a new word today?” Bill said snidely, then hung up.

  “Margo!” he shouted, then remembered Margo was eight hundred miles away. “Sean!” he shouted instead, and the man poked his head in.

  “Another coffee, sir?”

  Bill eyed the man’s lavender polo shirt and Dockers, imaging the impression the clean-cut man would make if he was in a suit. Sean had been with him for years, able to put five shots in a silver dollar, but not everyone was comfortable with the uglier side of Opti. “No,” he said, looking at the untouched sugar bomb he’d found on his desk this morning. “Get me the handyman you recommended on the phone. I should have listened to you in the first place.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He didn’t mind the smugness in Sean’s voice, seeing as he deserved it. “And double what he’s asking if he can be in and out in twenty-four hours!” he added as the door closed.

  “Yes, sir” came through the intercom, and then, “Sir, Michael is here to see you.”

  Michael? Bill’s gaze shot to the drawer where his Glock was. “Send him in,” he said, unlocking it even as Michael pushed open the door.

  “Hello, Bill.”

  Bill’s expression froze. Irritation melted into a wary alertness at the self-satisfied tone and insufferable cockiness as Michael rocked to a halt in the center of the room. Wanting to keep the upper hand, Bill checked his motion to rise, pointing to a chair instead. “Just who I wanted to see,” he said, his entire attitude realigning. Something had changed. The little snot thought he had something on him.

  Michael grinned to show his teeth. “Liar.” Eyebrows high, he passed the chairs to look out the window at the city’s quaint “skyline” instead. His back was to Bill—another not-so-subtle show of dominance.

  Little boy wants to play? he thought, remembering the feel of Michael’s knife slitting his throat. Silent, he waited. It was an old tactic, but effective nonetheless.

  “Have you set up a meeting with Helen yet?” Michael asked, his nail rubbing a nonexistent spot on the window.

  Bill’s eyes narrowed when their gazes met through their reflections. “She abhors me calling her. She knows we’re here. If she doesn’t call by noon, I’ll leave a message.” He leaned back and laced his hands across his middle. “Why?”

  Michael turned. “Harmony is ten minutes from here at a drive-up motel.”

  “What?” He checked his motion to rise, cursing himself when Michael’s grin widened. Son of a bitch, there was a hole in his intel. How had Michael found out first?

  “Helen.” Michael said the word as if it were a piece of chocolate to be savored.

  Bill’s anger shifted to a slow burn, and he settled back. The contriving bitch had gone around him. If he complained, she’d say it was to endear Michael to her, but the reality was she was probably testing the viability of cutting out the middle man and dealing directly with Michael. Too soon. Too fast.

  Full of himself, Michael went to the wet bar and decanted a shot of scotch. “You want to come with me to get her?” Michael said as he downed it, hesitating as it burned. “I should have an anchor to back me up. Bus leaves in thirty minutes.”

  He had to slow this down. Bill stood and tucked his phone in his pocket. “Listen to me, you little pissant—”

  “Or what?” Michael set the shot glass on the bar with an aggressive thump.

  Motions holding a deliberate slowness, Bill came around the desk, shoving Michael back to reach the scotch and cap it. “I’m leaving in ten minutes,” he said, running through his to-do list as the adrenaline spilled into him. “Or do you need more time to put your big-boy panties on?”

  Chuckling, Michael walked out the door. “Ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder, leaving the door open. “Nice shirt,” he said to Sean, his dress shoes clicking on the imported tile.

  Bill’s thick hands clenched, and then he forced himself to relax. He had only a short staff, but they were all available. Ten minutes was just enough, and it might bring Michael down a notch.

  Returning to his desk, he tucked his Glock into his ankle holster. “Sean!” he called, and the man was there, phone at the ready. “Walk with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He liked that this facility was all on one level, and he headed for the armory. It was right off the motor pool. “David is on call, is he not?”

  “Ah, yes. Do you want him on-site? I have the address already.”

  Nice. Bill cleared the armory lock, then yanked open the door so hard it swung into the wall. “No. Traffic. Distraction. Make it a bridge at least seven minutes from the take site. Nothing fatal, but heavy on involvement. Harmony might be messy, and we’ll need a few extra minutes to clean things up.” He reached for a vest. Sean took his suit coat’s jacket as he checked the size and slipped it on.

  “Who do you want there, sir?”

  He put his jacket back on, deciding it was a little tight with the Kevlar underneath, but not bad. “Smith is in a car. Put her on distant surveillance until we arrive. If Harmony moves, she follows. Tell her we’ll be there in ten.”

  “Got it. Driver?”

  “Anyone who doesn’t know Michael,” he said sourly as he kicked off his desk shoes and reached for a pair of boots, checking the size before slipping them on. “Same for the rest. I want one for front, one for back, and you as my gofer.”

  “Me!”

  Bill grinned as he stomped into his boots and tugged his cuffs free. “Relax, Sean. You’re the wild card. Go where you want, even if you never leave the van. Follow your instincts.

  Shoot at someone if you want. Have some fun. You’d make a hell of a field agent if you’d learn to trust yourself. Get a vest. And some boots.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Bill grabbed an energy bar from the bin next to the clips and turned away. Leaving Sean to gather the team and find a vest and a pair of boots, he stiff-armed the door and headed into the garage. The cold air smelled like gas, metal, and a low tidal pool, and he breathed it in, feeling it all the way to his toes. God! He missed this. Maybe he should send Helen a thank-you bouquet for getting him out from behind a desk.

  The no-window panel van was obvious, and he smiled as a woman in overalls ran from a distant door, keys jingling. She slid behind the wheel, making her their driver. He closed the gap between them, holding up a hand for the extra fob.

  “Where is the little shit?” he mused aloud as it thumped into his palm and he pocketed it. Checking his watch, he vowed they’d leave without him if he didn’t show in time. The van’s side and back doors automatically opened, both moving with a heavy slowness that said bullet resistant. Two benches lined the sides, leaving lots of room in the center for equipment or casualties.

  Sean hustled out of the armory, bright-eyed and dangerously excited in his vest and new boots, a Glock on his hip. Two slick-looking men were behind him, elbowing each other at Sean’s wide-eyed excitement. Michael was last, his steps fast and frowning as the team assembled in the dank shadows of the parking structure. Suck it up, Mickie. You should have thought this through if you wanted your people with you instead of mine.

  “Glad you made it,” he said to Michael as the others gave him a respectful nod. “Load up!” he called louder, feeling hi
mself regaining control. “We get there in five. Small target, small team. Everyone works alone.” He looked at Michael. “Except for you. You’re my bullet buddy today. Get in.”

  The door to the garage was sliding open, and Bill hung back and watched his team settle into the van with a calm preparedness. It was good to work with professionals, and the tension eased into that delicious hum that was just shy of pleasure. He was last into the van, motioning for their driver to head out as he settled himself across from Michael and threw the energy bar at him to get his attention.

  “Brought you a snack,” he said as Michael caught it with one hand.

  Peeved, Michael tucked it away. “You had this all prepped? You surprise me, old man.”

  “You don’t surprise me.” The van hit a bump as they exited, and Bill moved in the sudden flash of sun. Lunging, he slammed his arm under Michael’s chin, pinning him to the wall. Sean cried out, but the rest of his team didn’t move apart from their initial jerk. Glock nestled at the man’s gut, Bill leaned in, lips curled back from his teeth. For anyone else, it would be a killing shot. He’d have to shoot Michael in the head or he’d just draft to fix it.

  “Don’t ever go around me again. Understand?” he said quietly.

  Still not getting it, Michael began to laugh.

  Leaning in until inches separated their eyes, Bill laughed as well, and the eerie sound of their twined voices stifled Michael’s. The driver flicked nervous glances into the back. Sean scrunched into the corner, eyes wide and hand on his Glock, but his team watched with a wary caution as they continued their prep.

  “A woman gives you a piece of information, and you think that elevates you to take me on? You almost deserve what’s coming.”

  “You can’t kill me with a gut shot,” Michael said, unable to push Bill off him.

  “Who says I’m trying? Go ahead. Draft,” Bill taunted. “I don’t mind telling you twice.” Michael stiffened, and Bill jammed the Glock harder. “Helen is playing a game, and you did exactly what she wanted you to do.” Confident he’d made his point, he pushed off him. “Don’t screw this up. I’ve got plans for you. Just be patient.”