“You recognize him, Miri?” he said then.
I stared at Nick. Then I looked at the corpse, letting out a startled laugh. “What?”
“His name’s Dougal. James Gregory Dougal.”
That time I stared for real. Then I looked around the apartment, feeling a sick feeling drop my stomach into a hard, metallic-tasting knot. After looking around the bedroom, which appeared pristine apart from the mess over the bed and the bed itself, my eyes somehow made their way back to Nick and Mozar.
Mozar was staring between me and Nick, obviously puzzled.
“You didn’t tell him?” I said to Nick.
Nick opened his mouth, about to answer, when Angel walked into the bedroom behind me and immediately raised a hand to shield her eyes.
“Damn,” she said, grimacing as she stepped up next to me. “A little warning would have been nice.” Even so, apart from the barest trace of that grimace, she recovered fast. I could tell from her eyes she was already assessing the scene. Then she looked at me. Double-taking whatever she saw on my face, she glanced at Nick and frowned.
“What?” she said. “What’d I miss?”
“I was just wondering the same thing,” Mozar said, adjusting his belt and suit jacket as he looked between me and Nick.
Nick nodded towards the corpse. “It’s Dougal, Ang.”
There was a pause.
Then Angel’s eyes widened. She looked from me to the corpse. “Miri’s Dougal?”
Nick nodded.
Mozar sounded angry now. “Is someone going to explain?”
Nick sighed, looking at him. “Our vic was the prime suspect in the murder of the doc here’s sister. Zoe Fox, aged sixteen. We could never get him on it, but Zoe dated him for awhile, and the guy has a history of beating up his girlfriends...” Nick gave me an apologetic look. “He also stalked Miri here for awhile...”
When I met Nick’s gaze that time, I saw him pause, a different understanding flickering across his expression. When it hit me what that expression meant, I looked away.
“Did you think he was guilty, Miri?” Nick said. “Dougal?”
I knew what he was asking me.
He was asking me if I’d read Dougal’s mind.
He was asking if I knew who’d killed my sister.
I had read his mind, of course. Dougal hadn’t just hunted me. For awhile, I’d hunted him, as well. But I’d never been able to tell for sure. Not definitively. Not absolutely, one hundred percent for certain. I’d asked him about it to his face, more than once, trying to get him to think about whether he did it or not, trying to get proof, in my own mind at least.
If I’d gotten that proof, I’m pretty sure I would have killed him.
I knew I would have, even back then.
I looked at Nick, answering him with my eyes as much as my voice. “I don’t know, Nick,” I said, my voice tired. “I really don’t.”
I saw his expression clear somewhat.
Looking at him, I realized the same thing had occurred to him.
Meaning, if I had known like that––if I’d really known––there’s no way I would have left Dougal out on the street. If I couldn’t kill him, I would have found some way to put him behind bars. But I couldn’t decide for sure if he’d done it or not, and in the end, I had to admit maybe the cops had it wrong. Maybe I had it wrong, too. Every psychiatrist I’d ever seen told me to let it go, to not let that murder define me for the rest of my life.
I agreed with them. Mostly.
Enough to know I couldn’t spend the rest of my life following a sociopath around, trying to pin a crime on him when I had no evidence, and never got a single hard hit off him psychically that he’d been the one to kill my baby sister. After two years of reading that bastard’s mind, seeing him fantasize about hurting girls and women without ever getting a single, irrefutable memory off him of him doing it to Zoe, I had to let it go.
Anyway, he filed a restraining order against me in the end, and after I got back from my last tour in the Middle East, I told myself I had to let it go.
By then I’d seen enough death to last me a lifetime. I knew none of it would bring Zoe back, no matter how hard I obsessed, and after Afghanistan and then Iraq, all I really wanted was to feel like I was moving towards the light again, and away from the dark.
I’d spent too much time in the dark already.
So I let myself think of Dougal as dead after that.
I didn’t realize how quiet everyone had gotten until Angel wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I looked up, embarrassed, and wiped my eyes.
“Should I be worried?” I said, looking at Nick. “Or do you think it’s a coincidence?”
Nick frowned, glancing at Mozar.
Mozar never took his eyes off me.
Then movement pulled my eyes abruptly to the right, making me tense. I jerked my head around and found myself looking at Hawking, who I hadn’t even seen. He stood there, as still as a statue. Since he hovered right by the sliding glass door that led to the wraparound patio, I guessed he must have just come inside––but I hadn’t heard a sound if he had.
Apart from Black, I hadn’t seen anyone move that quietly since the war.
Either way, whether he’d just come from the patio or not, Hawking must have heard some of what we were talking about. For the very first time, I saw an expression on his face that wasn’t blank indifference. That expression looked like concern.
Hawking aimed his concern at me, his eyes as calm as a mountain lake.
I stared at the empathy shining out of his eyes until Nick spoke.
“I think we’d better call Black back in, doc.” Nick’s voice held a hint of his usual annoyance whenever Black’s name came up, but I heard the worry there, too. “He’s going to want to know this. And he’ll probably want his people on you, given everything.”
I turned, forgetting Hawking completely.
“No,” I said.
“No?” Angel stared at me when I turned, her mouth taut. “You’re kidding, right? You have to tell him this, doc. You know damned well he’ll want to be here.”
I shook my head. “No. Leave Black alone. You said he’s running down Archangel, right?”
Even Nick was looking at me warily, a semi-incredulous look in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to argue with me briefly, then glanced at Mozar and decided to let it drop, giving me a short nod instead.
“Yes.” His voice sharpened. “He said it would take him a few days though, doc. That he might go as far as L.A., look into ex-operatives there.”
“Well, him finding Archangel will help us nail this guy a lot faster than calling Black back here to hover over me.” When Nick frowned, glancing at Angel and looking like he might want to argue a second time, I added, “We don’t even know if this guy is a threat to me, Nick. Assuming this isn’t a coincidence... and it very well might be... he’s not targeting me. You and Angel know a lot more about my life and my past than Black does at this point, so having him up here wouldn’t even help with that, if you wanted to go at it from that angle.”
Angel was already shaking her head. “Miri...”
I cut her off.
“He’ll flip out,” I said, my voice warning. “You know he’ll flip out. And you need him on this. He’s the only one of us who can probably get anywhere near Archangel. So leave him alone. If it looks like this guy is going to come after me directly, then we’ll call Black.”
At Angel’s incredulous snort, I cut her off a second time.
“...Until then, it’s just going to freak him out for nothing.” I looked at Nick again. “Anyway, technically, two isn’t a pattern. You need three for a pattern. This really could be a coincidence.”
Nick scowled at me, exchanging another loaded glance with Angel.
I knew they thought I was full of shit with the pattern thing, and okay, maybe I did too, but I felt strongly that it would be a mistake to call Black back over this. As much as I hated that Black had taken off without telling m
e, I knew they needed him where he was, not back in San Francisco to be an overprotective weirdo with me.
Maybe Nick came to the same conclusion or maybe he didn’t, but after a few seconds of him scowling, he glanced at Mozar again, like he didn’t want to argue about this in front of him.
As for Mozar himself, when I followed Nick’s gaze to him that time, I saw an added understanding in those sky blue eyes.
“Ah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Black.” He nodded as if still thinking, looking me up and down and smiling wider. “The boyfriend.”
I scowled back at him in annoyance, then focused deliberately on Nick.
“Do you need me here? Because if not, I’d rather do some research on those symbols and the Bible quotes. I thought I’d hit up Black’s databases from my office on Fillmore... I’m networked into his system from there already.”
Nick shook his head. His dark eyes grew stony.
“Fuck the symbols, doc. I’ve got other people who can do that. I want you to make a list of all the people who have ever hurt you. Anyone who’s ever threatened you or harmed you or gone after someone you care about. Any other clients who’ve harassed you. Anyone, doc. Start with the ones with money and work your way back.” Nick glanced around the room, muttering, “...This guy seems to have a real hard-on for rich assholes.”
I bit my lip, wanting to argue with him, then glanced at Angel, who was scowling at me too, her lean arms folded across her chest.
From her expression I could tell she agreed wholeheartedly with Nick.
I sighed in defeat, combing my fingers through my hair.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll do that first.”
“You’ll do it now, doc. In fact, go with her, Ang,” Nick said, motioning at Angel. “Take her for coffee and get whatever the hell you can out of her. I’ll have uniforms knock on doors. CSI will be here any minute anyway.” He muttered, glancing at Mozar. “...We already know we probably won’t get shit from the neighbors anyway, not if he follows pattern.”
Mozar nodded.
I noticed that thoughtful look of his never left me.
BLACK STARED OUT at the parking lot of the apartment complex from across the street, wearing dark glasses and hunching down in the rental car’s driver’s seat as he drank his coffee. In the end, when he realized he’d have to wait this one out, he’d had one of his people bring him a car with non-company plates. Javier rode the bike back up to San Francisco, and now Dex and Kiko were covering other sides of the same complex, watching to make sure Travis didn’t make him and try to slip by without being seen.
They’d been here for two full days now.
Black knew it could take weeks, but he was betting it wouldn’t.
When he read the girlfriend, Beatrice, he could feel Travis made a stop here after every job. He’d already been gone a few weeks. In her mind, that was longer than usual.
So he should be back soon.
Well... unless he was the Templar. But Black had his doubts.
The guy would be good though. Archangel wouldn’t have tagged him if he wasn’t. Also, he was still alive. Life expectancy in this profession wasn’t exceptional, so the fact that Travis was still walking around after a few years in the game meant he likely was.
That, or he was just lucky as hell. That happened too.
Dex’s voice rose in his earpiece. “Got something.”
“Where?”
“Southeast corner. He must have parked down the street and walked in. Definitely carrying.”
Black’s eyes scanned the lower levels of the apartment complex, looking for what Dex had seen. He used his sight then, meaning the non-physical variety, and got a hit at once.
“That’s him,” he said.
“You want us to move on him?” Kiko that time.
Black shook his head, even though the other two wouldn’t see it. “No.”
He was already getting out of the car.
“Boss?” Dex must have seen him from where he was.
“I just want to talk to him. Stay where you are unless you hear gunfire.”
“What makes you think he’s going to let you talk to him?” Dex said.
Black let out a grunt, remembering Nick’s words. “Professional courtesy.”
He walked across the road, staying to the north end of the building and out of sight of the man under the eaves of the first floor. Travis would be climbing the stairs by now, so Black didn’t have much time to get under him before he reached the second story landing and had a wider view. Black knew Beatrice would talk. He’d never thought for a second that she wouldn’t tell Travis about the strange man in the bike leathers who stopped by and asked about him. It would probably be the first thing she said to him when he walked through the door.
He just had to hope Travis could be reasonable.
Of course, if he wasn’t reasonable, Black had other options at his disposal.
He began moving silently up the stairs as he thought it, his gun still in its holster. He moved slow, more focused on being quiet than fast. He wanted to remain close enough to hide in Travis’s blind spots, but not so close the other man might feel him.
He knew most people in this business had their own kind of sight when it came to being hunted. They were the closest to seers among humans as any Black had ever encountered, apart from a few in the business world who seemed to have nearly seer-like powers to push and cajole and manipulate other humans from the space.
Black stared up at the view spots of light above, keeping to the shadows as he walked up the tightly zig-zagging stairs. His eyes remained on the balcony where he expected Travis to emerge, but he still didn’t see him.
Had he gone into the apartment already?
Black reached out with his sight...
... And boots swung at him from the ceiling above.
Black ducked, instinctive, but the other man was on him already, slamming him in the face with an elbow before grabbing his neck in both hands and kneeing him in the gut and then the groin. Pain whited out Black’s vision briefly, but he’d been trained to fight through pain, and didn’t hesitate when he slammed his weight forward, throwing the other man down to the cement stairs and landing on top of him.
For a few seconds, they grappled, each trying to get the advantage as they exchanged blows, in tight quarters, trying to force the other to loosen grips or give them space.
Black lost patience with it when the fucker got him in the groin again and used his sight, sliding into the other man’s light and blanking out his mind.
The man’s movements stuttered, slowed.
He was good though––good enough that they didn’t stop entirely.
He had enough muscle memory to continue to fight. Black could feel the guy fighting him in his mind too, even in the space, his survival instincts flaring all over since Travis had already decided Black came here to kill him.
Of course, if Black and this man were back in Old Earth, this guy would be Black’s puppet by now. He still got annoyed by how handicapped his sight was in this dimension.
As it was, fucking with this guy’s mind interrupted his flow of motion well enough to give Black the space to jerk him to his feet, gripping him by the front of his jacket.
The guy dressed like a spook all right. Nondescript.
He really could be a trucker with these clothes.
He had that kind of face too. Utterly forgettable.
The guy reached into his jacket, still moving jerkily, but Black slapped his hand away. He reached into Travis’s jacket instead, taking out the flip knife he found, along with the gun, a nine millimeter Beretta. He held the guy by the chest, tightening his grip on his mind as he leaned down, checking his hips for more weapons, then his ankles. He found two more, popped the magazines, emptied the chambers and stuck them in his pockets.
“Who are you?” Travis spat.
Now that Black had relaxed somewhat, he looked Travis over for real.
He was a weasel-y guy, not very big at mayb
e five-ten and one-sixty or one-sixty-five. He had a rat-like face, watery blue eyes, a large nose. Strong but wiry. Looking at him, he wasn’t much to the untrained eye. But he’d gotten the jump on Black, and that hadn’t happened to him in as long as he could remember.
It was a good thing the guy was confident enough not to lead off with a gun. Black had to assume he’d wanted to take care of him quietly, which likely meant he hadn’t seen that they had the place under surveillance.
He probably hadn’t made Black until Black crossed the street.
Which was good. If he’d seen all three of them out there, he likely would have slipped away altogether.
“Who are you?” Travis snarled.
Black frowned, still holding him by the shirt, and the mind. The guy was squirming in both, staring up at Black like he was trying to decide where to stick the knife, even now.
“Calm the fuck down,” Black said. “I just want to talk.”
The guy laughed. It wasn’t a very nice laugh.
“Let’s go,” Black said.
He’d considered trying to talk to the guy in Beatrice’s room at first, but there were kids there. Anyway, Beatrice herself didn’t know anything, and Black didn’t want her getting hurt if he brought Travis up there and Travis put together that he’d been there before and she hadn’t warned him. He wouldn’t know Black had pushed her mind to keep her from warning him.
He’d just think she was a disloyal cunt for letting him walk into a trap.
From what he’d read off Beatrice, Travis wasn’t the best boyfriend material, anyway. He also wasn’t the only one who visited her bed on a regular basis.
He was the father of two of her kids, though.
Still holding him tightly by the collar, Black dragged him down the stairs, only to find Dex waiting at the bottom, his gun out, although he was keeping it in the shadows by his thigh.
“Bring the car around,” Black said, holding Travis by the collar but also with an arm twisted behind his back. He held his own gun now too, mostly to keep Travis still as he forced him to walk in front of him. He also held him at an angle, mainly to keep the other man off balance, so he couldn’t get enough leverage to do anything stupid.
Black Is Back (Quentin Black Mystery #4) Page 14
