“That fucker who left you?” Kyle snapped.
“Where? How did that happen?” Nikki asked, rapid-fire.
“Turns out, he’s a cop. Food’s ready.” She picked up the pasta dish and carried it out of the kitchen to the small, four-person dining set.
Her apartment was, essentially, four cubes that formed a square. The kitchen and dining-living-room combo were on one side, her bedroom, bathroom, and closet on the other. It wasn’t a large space, but it was modern and nice, and the landlord took care of the building.
Nikki and Kyle followed, carrying plates, drinks, and the remainder of the food.
“Okay, you’ve got to stop with the silent shit and talk already.” Kyle plopped the sauce on the table and set the plates down with a clink.
“What is there to say?” Poppy spread her hands and rolled her eyes. “I saw him. He said it wasn’t personal, that he had this big case or bust or something to go to, and I get it. But, why not tell me yourself? Why send someone else to do your dirty work? That’s shady.”
Nikki’s face creased in thought, while Kyle pursed her lips in indignant rage on Poppy’s behalf.
“I’m going to play devil’s advocate,” Nikki announced.
“Oh Lord,” Kyle muttered, and began filling her plate.
“Okay.” Poppy handed the garlic bread around.
“He’s playing with you. From what you’ve told me, I know how you get when you’re in the zone, so things are hot and heavy, and if he’s good enough to get you tied in knots, you must have been in deep. So you guys are playing, he gets the call.” Nikki held her hand to her face, as if she were on the phone. “He has a choice. He can come bring you off that fevered point, which can take a while with anyone, or he can—save someone’s life. I’m not saying those were his choices, but …”
Poppy glared at Nikki. Damn her and her devil’s advocate for sucking out all her righteous anger. “That’s pretty much what happened. I searched for news articles from the time period after he left, and I’m guessing he was involved in that big drug bust that was all over the news.”
Nikki gasped. “You mean the one where that officer got shot?”
“I don’t know what the hell you two are talking about. Pass me the sauce, Nikki?” Kyle passed the pasta back to Poppy and ladled out sauce on her plate.
“That’s the one,” she replied to Nikki. Kyle might as well live under a rock for all the attention she paid to the news. Poppy pushed her food around her plate, not all that interested in eating, even after she’d spent an hour making the sauce from scratch.
“What are you going to do about Dom Cop?” Kyle stabbed the pasta with her fork, popped it in her mouth, and moaned with pleasure.
Poppy couldn’t help but smile. She liked cooking for others, and it made it better when they enjoyed it. She sighed and rolled her thoughts about Dom Cop, as Kyle called him, around in her head.
“I think I forgive him. I get his sense of duty, and I respect what he does. But I don’t want any part of that.” She shook her head. “A man who is always running off to do God knows what, may or may not tell you anything, and could get killed to boot? No thanks.”
Nikki and Kyle both nodded, too busy chewing to reply.
A part of Poppy mourned shutting the door of possibility. The dom had rocked her world. He was everything she wanted in one package. Except she’d never allowed anyone to make her anything less than a priority when it came to relationships. She’d learned from watching her mother that there was never a guarantee that men would stick around, and the only ones worth fooling around with were the ones who put you first.
Poppy deserved to be a priority.
The dom would never put her first, so she had to let him go.
Damien’s eyes never left the run-down building across the street from his position. Drunks, and people looking for their fix or a cheap hooker, stumbled out to the street, shielding their eyes from the sun.
He’d love nothing more than to take a raid team through that place, clean it out and book the whole lot of them, but they’d never get approval. Special Agent Howard Cooper was nothing more than a suit looking to make his name with the blood of good agents and glowing press. Cleaning up a sin bin wouldn’t even make a blip on the nightly news, so this known crime spot went untouched.
The console between the car seats began to vibrate and buzz like an angry hornet. Damien glanced at the two phones and snatched up his personal cell. He caught an impression of the name before answering it.
“Poppy Mercer,” Damien said, instead of hello.
The person on the other end paused for several beats.
“You found her.” Yamamoto didn’t ask questions when there was no need.
“I did.” It still bothered Damien that his friend hadn’t given him the necessary details to find Poppy sooner. The hurt in her gaze, and how she ran from him, made it clear that she was still just as tied up in what they’d shared as he was. He bet she hadn’t even played since then. He hadn’t.
“How?”
“She’s a librarian at a school. We ran into each other when I was assisting on a search and seizure.”
Tight skirt, a print top under a snug sweater, and those heels. He could remember every inch of her.
“What are you going to do?”
“Did you really call to talk to me about this?”
“No, but it’s more interesting. Your rope is ready.” One of Yamamoto’s many talents was spinning bondage-quality rope. Damien bought bundles from him every so often to replace his stash.
“Oh.” Damien’s mind raced through the possibilities, his gaze never leaving the doors of the building across the street.
“Damien?”
“Hold on. Something’s happening.” He watched one man meander out to the curb, glance up and down the street, and wait. “I got a lookout.”
“Do I want to know what you’re doing now?”
“Following up on that tip you gave me. Cooper has us buried in paperwork, so I’m looking for Emilio on my own time and dime.”
“Is that wise, Damien?”
“You tell me if it’s wise to let a known killer walk the streets without even doing a cursory search for him.” Damien balled his hand into a fist. He’d like nothing better than to punch Special fucking Agent Cooper in the nuts. If they were lucky, the Valdez sting would be enough to get the pain in the ass promoted and out of Damien’s hair.
“Fine. I suspect Xiaojian has set up shop in that building, as well, though I can’t be certain of it.”
Translation, Yamamoto hadn’t seen the man for himself, but probably knew one or two people who had. It was a solid enough lead by Damien’s standards, one which he appreciated. Yamamoto didn’t often do favors, no matter how friendly he was.
“Do you know Sanctuary’s rules?” Damien asked casually. The lookout gestured to someone inside the building. “Hold on.”
A car zipped up to the curb and a black man with swagger emerged from the building. He was a small-time dealer taking advantage of Emilio’s disappearance to widen his territory. He also knew who Damien was, so he’d have to lie low for a while longer. The dealer got into the car with his lookout and an enforcer before speeding off.
The coast was finally clear.
Damien shoved his other phone into his pocket and got out of his car in a hurry. He didn’t know what had spooked the dealer into leaving so suddenly, but he needed to take advantage of the window of opportunity.
What better place for one of the most wanted fugitives to hide out than a building the police didn’t have time to raid?
“Shouldn’t you call for backup?” Yamamoto asked in his calm, cool, and collected manner. Nothing seemed to rile the man.
“I’m not doing anything. Just looking for a friend.” Damien jogged across the street and headed down the sidewalk.
It seemed as though more people were leaving the building. Rats always knew when a ship was going down. What did they know that Damien didn
’t?
He ignored the changing lights at the corner and jogged across the street. Hookers and loitering do-nothings eyed him suspiciously. Even in plain clothes he stuck out in this crowd. It wasn’t a good sign.
“Sanctuary allows anyone to enter. You just have to sign their paperwork and show an ID.” Yamamoto spoke as if bored.
Damien collided with a man exiting the building. He looked like a hobo and smelled of pungent, week-old beer and urine.
“Sorry, man.” Damien offered a steadying hand, but was shoved aside.
“You thinking about going there?”
Damien entered what appeared to be a secondary entrance. A hallway stretched out in front of him and a stairway rose to his left. He headed down the hall, hoping to find a lobby or desk area, maybe a management office, if he were lucky.
“I think so. I imagine my best chance of talking with Poppy is to start there. I can’t really corner her at work without getting her in trouble.” He peered into a few open doors, spying efficiency apartments with worn furniture, when there was any at all. A few streetwalkers stood in doorways, giving him sultry, begging looks.
“You could try online,” Yamamoto suggested.
“I wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, I need to see her in person.” There were a number of social networking sites targeted to the kink crowd, but the problem was that Damien had no idea what name she would go by, or even if she’d use a picture of herself. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and kind of crazy.
“Is that a good idea? She was pretty adamant about not seeing you again.”
“Gotta try one more time.” Or five.
“I didn’t think you did the public scene.”
“I don’t. But this is a special case.”
“I bet.”
“Let me call you back in a bit.”
“If I don’t hear from you in twenty minutes, I’m calling some backup in for you.”
“I don’t doubt you’d do that.”
“For you? Anything.”
Damien hung up and surveyed the building’s lobby. The front double door was propped open, eliminating any benefit of locks and the buzzer system. The front desk was empty, and the phone ripped out of the wall. But an office door stood open, with a fan nearby to circulate the stagnant air, though all it did was move the scent of body odor, sex, and pot around, mixing them into an eye-watering, fragrance.
He approached the door and peered in, looking for a sign of life. Besides the hookers, he hadn’t seen many people, and it made him curious about where they all were.
An Indian man sat at a desk that was wedged into what looked more like a janitorial closet than an office. He was bent over a file, flipping through paperwork that was upside-down.
Warning bells went off in Damien’s head. Either there was more than just drugs and prostitution going on here, or he was close to his target. And somehow he’d been made.
“Excuse me?” He tapped on the door.
The man jumped, acting as if he were startled, but he was a bad actor. Though his eyes were large and round, his body language was relaxed. He laid a hand against his chest and sighed. “You startled me.”
Yeah, right. If you were that easy to sneak up on, you’d have gotten a knife in the back a long time ago in this neighborhood.
“Sorry about that.” Damien smiled his most disarming smile.
“What do you want?” He closed the file and stared up at Damien.
What did he do now? He’d planned on coming in and saying he owed Emilio some money, and was looking for one of his people. His gut was telling him that was the wrong thing to do.
“I was just wondering how much it would be to rent here,” Damien asked instead.
The man rattled off prices on floor plans, and terms and conditions. He doubted they were the real prices. Most of the tenants couldn’t pay what he was quoting Damien, but it wasn’t as if he were about to trade in his house for a shitty apartment.
“Awesome. Mind if I look around?”
The man eyed him, obviously deciding whether or not to allow him in. He then shrugged and grabbed a clipboard. “Sign in.”
Damien scrawled an alias he hadn’t used in close to seven years and returned it. “Thanks. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
He grunted and turned away, dismissing Damien, which was fine with him. There was something going on here, and he intended on getting to the bottom of it.
The elevators had Out Of Order signs taped to the doors, and judging by the age of the paper they were written on, they’d been up there for a while. He stepped into the stairwell and started up. A couple of teens sat on the second flight and eyed him as he passed.
If he had to guess, they were lookouts for the second floor, so he skipped it and climbed to the third.
He approached the third-floor landing with caution, peering through the door into an intersection of hallways. There wasn’t anyone around that he could see. The carpet was some indeterminate color, and the musty smell of stale beer and cigarettes clung to everything.
Damien struck out to the right. None of the doors were open. A few of the overhead lights were out. He could hear a TV turned up too loud.
He reached the second stairwell without incident and peered down to where he’d entered. A pair of Hispanic men stood just inside the doors, talking in low voices. Damien backed toward the wall, checked behind him, and descended to the second floor landing.
No one was there to stop him.
Damien entered the hall, staying light on his feet and not allowing his gaze to linger anywhere for too long.
Most of the doors were closed, but one stood open, with a calligraphy banner hanging above it, and little placards next to the door. Chinese gods, symbols for good luck, and others to ward off evil.
“I’ll be damned,” Damien muttered under his breath. Yamamoto was right. He stepped into the open doorway, tapping the thin, particleboard door. “Xiaojian?”
A Hispanic woman, with a little boy doubled over with tear tracks running down his face, glared at him from a futon near the door. Damien nodded at them, flicking his gaze over the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined every wall, blocking out the light, displaying a number of Oriental healing tools, powders, and God only knew what else.
“Who there?” A little, angry man pushed past a beaded curtain separating the living room, or customer area, from the kitchen.
Damien did not want to know what Xiaojian cooked in there. He smiled at the healer, who stopped suddenly and glared at him from behind his glasses.
“Hi, Xiaojian. Go ahead, I can wait.” Damien gestured toward the woman.
Xiaojian glanced from him to the woman and her child and back again. He crossed to the woman and handed her a paper packet, rattling off instructions and ushering her out the door. He flipped a sign in the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.
“What do you want?” Xiaojian snapped.
Chances were Xiaojian didn’t recall Damien’s name, and he was fine with that. The old man wasn’t a DEA asset, so he was depending on his willingness to share, and nothing else.
“Calm down, Xiaojian. I didn’t even know you were here. Just happened by looking for a friend and ran into you. These are different digs than the last time I saw you.” He pulled a folded photograph out from his back pocket.
“After that last deal you people did, I had to move. What do you want from me?”
“Chill. I’m not going to bust you for selling opium or practicing medicine without a license.” He didn’t doubt the old man was the only doctor a lot of these people would ever be able to afford. “I’m looking for this guy. Seen him around lately?”
Damien handed Xiaojian the picture of Emilio and watched his face, which unfortunately gave away nothing.
“He was here. Three times. Once after getting shot. Another last week. And just a few minutes ago.” Xiaojian handed the picture back. “Let that one stay lost.”
Damien froze, stunned to sile
nce for a moment.
Damien had just missed Emilio.
“Where is he? Did he say anything to you?”
“Yes. He said if I told anyone he was here, I would be split from collarbone to cock, disemboweled, and have things done to me.” Xiaojian didn’t appear bothered by the threat, but the man was valuable to a number of people. Damien wouldn’t be surprised if the man was better protected than the mayor.
“Anything else?”
Xiaojian leaned close to Damien, pulling his glasses off. “I don’t want to know anything about where or what Emilio Molina is doing. He’s psychotic. The man will kill someone.”
“He already has.” Damien ground his teeth together.
“I can’t help you. He was here, and now he’s gone.” Xiaojian glanced at a clock on the wall. “You need to leave. Now.”
“I just got here. I need some more answers, man.”
“No, you don’t understand. You breathe police. The building enforcers are going to be coming for you. You’ve been in here for what? Seven minutes? They’re going to be looking for you and the last thing I want is to treat a dying cop. It’s bad for business.” He added the last sentence with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Point taken. If you see Emilio, let your contacts know?”
Xiaojian was the PD’s asset, not his. While Damien could probably get away with using him, it wouldn’t keep relations between the agencies running smoothly. Damien would have to figure out things on his own.
“Fine. Leave.”
Damien pivoted and pulled the door open. The sound of heavy footsteps thumped down the hall. He peered in the direction where the two boys were supposed to be watching for people like him.
Three burly men, gold chains hanging down their chests and bandannas around their heads, were banging on doors.
“Yeah, this is my sign to leave. Later, Xiaojian.”
Damien blew out a breath, visualized the hall, the stairs, and his path back to the car.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself, and charged down the hall.
“There!”
“After him!”
Bad movie dialogue much?
Committed Page 10
