Straight to the Heart

by S. J. Coles

  “Well then.”

  “Just Boon and Michaels?” James asked lightly. “You don’t think Horatio Torez would have wanted the same thing?”

  The man scratched at a mark on the table. “No.”

  “Why not?” Gibson prompted when the man offered no more.

  “I dunno,” he said, slamming a fist on the table. “Just no, all right?”

  Chapter Two

  “I’m liking Muntz for this one,” Gibson said as she steered the rented car out of the Benson Industries’ parking lot and onto the narrow road winding downhill to the town. “His swipe has him in the building the same time as the rest of them—doing his rounds, he says. Though why he’d do them at eight p.m. then again at four, I don’t know.”

  “Did he have an explanation?”

  “Not a coherent one,” Gibson said. “He knows where the security disks are kept and word among the senior management is that Benson had had enough of his attitude and was about to fire him.”

  “He certainly ticks all the boxes,” James murmured as he flicked through the files in his lap.

  “You don’t agree?”

  James pursed his lips, opening a folder to reveal a polaroid of Leo Hannah, his green eyes smiling even in his expression-neutral file photo. “You interviewed Leo Hannah, right?” he asked after a pause.

  “Leo Hannah?” Gibson frowned.

  “Lab technician. Youngish. Long hair.”

  She cast James a sideways glance from under her straight, black eyebrows. “Your friend from the smoking area? Yes, I did.”

  “Did he mention anything about Horatio Torez and Benson having a falling out?”

  Gibson paused as she overtook a slow-moving truck. “Not that I recall. He was one of the only ones forthcoming about how the department heads and Benson really felt about each other, but he also said Torez and Benson were a close-knit team. Why?”

  James examined the photo a moment longer, then moved it over to read the personnel profile underneath. “He said to me that the two were close, but only until recently. He said something had gotten between them.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t know.”

  “And he told you this in your little unofficial interview session in the smoking area, did he?”

  James frowned. “It’s not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  James swallowed his first response. “He came out for a cigarette, Lisa. I didn’t ask him to talk… He just did.”

  “And told you stuff he didn’t put in his official statement?”

  James closed the file. “I don’t think he meant to. But, yeah.”

  Gibson took a breath. “No one else has mentioned anything happening between Torez and Benson. I interviewed Torez myself. The man is crushed.”

  “Yeah?”

  Gibson nodded. “I had to offer tissues. And I’d say he’s not a man who cries easily. Buzzcut and built like a tank.”

  “I still think we should dig a bit deeper.”

  “What…and leave off looking into Muntz?”

  “We can do both.”

  “Not in my time frame we can’t.”

  “Boss—”

  “James”—she cut him off—“I know you’re hurting. And I get it, I really do. I’ve been there. But we can’t go off-script just because a cute guy whispered something intriguing in your ear.”

  “That’s not what that was.”

  “Not for you, I’m sure,” she said, giving him a long look. “But I want you to be careful. It sounds to me that this Hannah has a personal ax to grind with Horatio Torez but wants to avoid making anything official and…perhaps sensed that you’re vulnerable right now.”

  James took a moment to marshal his reaction then decided there was no professional way to respond.

  Gibson glanced at him then sighed as she adjusted her hands on the wheel. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m completely off-base. But we have a real suspect in Muntz, a hell of a lot of checks and transcribing to do before we can pull together enough for an arrest, and I want to get on a plane tomorrow. I have to prioritize. I’m sorry.”

  “No problem, Boss,” James said, relieved his voice was level. “Whatever you say.”

  Her face softened. “I missed Christmas and Tom’s birthday. I cannot miss this dinner, James.”

  James’ jaw tightened. “I understand. I do. I’ll get on it right away.”

  * * * *

  James kneaded his temples as the headache began to gather strength. He reached for his mug, found it was empty and thumped it back on the desk. The hotel room light was a dull yellow, making his head throb worse than the fatigue. He leaned back from the surface that was littered with papers, digital recorders, laptop and both his cell phones and saw that the sky beyond the window was now pitch black. The sterile hotel suite and his hollow-eyed exhaustion reflected back at him in the empty glass.

  He stood, his muscles creaking from being bent over the desk for hours, and wandered to the window, stretching his shoulders and arms. When he put his hand up to shade the glass, he was startled to see Winton lit up like a festive scene from a holiday card. The hotel overlooked the curve of the bay. Winton seafront ranged along its edge like a string of Christmas lights. People ambled along the promenade, drifting in and out of the myriad shops, bars and restaurants like they’d never hurried anywhere in their lives. The signs over the storefronts were all family or local names. He couldn’t spot a single Starbucks or McDonald’s.

  “Okay. Thanks,” Gibson ended her call with a loud sigh, which jerked James back into the room. She was slumped in her chair and rubbing her face. “I’m starved. Let’s break for dinner.”

  “Sure. Then I’ll try to reach the ME’s office again.”

  “We’ll call in in the morning,” Gibson said, waving a hand dismissively. “Going in person should light a fire under them.”

  “Sure. Ma’am?”

  “Hmm-m?”

  James hesitated. “I know how badly you want to leave tomorrow. If we don’t have enough to bag Muntz…”

  “Yes?” Gibson prompted cautiously.

  James tried for a reassuring smile. “You should go anyway. I don’t mind holding the fort on my own.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’d stay out here on the edge of nowhere all by yourself?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”

  Her face warmed, but her smile was a little sad. “Isn’t it your parents’ anniversary this weekend?”

  James dropped his gaze. “It is. But I wouldn’t be able to get out there in time anyway.”

  She smiled wider. “That’s extremely generous of you, James. I appreciate the offer. But let’s continue to work under the assumption that Renford Muntz will be the one cooped up for the weekend and not you, all right?”

  “Sure,” he said and grabbed his coat. “I’m going to go for a walk so I can come back fresh.”

  “You do that,” Gibson replied, perusing the room-service menu with a slight frown. “Make sure to eat, Agent.”

  The brisk, salty air was threaded with sweet and savory smells from the restaurants, but James’ stomach was too tightly knotted to consider food. His thoughts bounced from Muntz to the gun, to the drawer and, inevitably, back to Hannah, at which point he shook his head and berated himself.

  People bundled in warm coats brushed past him, all warm smiles and intimate conversations. The second time he found himself watching the families having dinner through the restaurant windows and hearing his sister’s disappointed voice in his head, he turned his back on the front and ventured out onto a rickety wooden pier, which was blessedly dark and deserted. He took a deep breath of the night air. The smells were salt, iodine and the fresh snap of incoming spring. He looked up but the stars were completely blanketed in thick clouds. The hushed slosh and suck of the waves lapping at the pier legs was the only sound over the soft sighing of the wind in his ears.

  “Agent Solomon?”

  James jumped. He spun, his h
and going to his gun.

  Leo Hannah raised his hands. “Whoa there, cowboy. We met this morning, remember?”

  “I remember,” James said, dropping his hand and swallowing his embarrassment.

  “Long day, huh?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your shoulders are up around your ears. I can feel the tension from here.”

  “I’m fine,” he insisted and turned his back, repressing the memory of the vivid eyes he knew were hidden in the shadows.

  “You wanna clear your head? I know a great place.”

  “Mr. Hannah—”

  “Jesus, man. That was my dad. Call me Leo, yeah?”

  James took a breath. “Leo, I’m not your friend. I’m investigating the murder of your boss…”

  His low chuckle was close to James’ left ear. He could smell peppermint and cigarettes. “I’m just offering to help, Solomon, not suck you off.” James stiffened, grateful the darkness hid the blood rushing to his face. “Come on, man. Loosen up, will you? I don’t bite. This way.” Hannah’s silhouette drifted down the pier. James waited a few heartbeats then, without examining the reasons why, followed.

  About halfway back to the seafront, Hannah swung his leg over the railing. James was just about to shout a warning when the shadows shifted and he saw the frame and rungs of a ladder leading down into the dark.

  “Come on,” Hannah called. “It’ll be worth scuffing your suit. I swear.”

  James hesitated again. The wind tugged at his hair. The sea sighed and rolled below. Hannah called from somewhere out of sight, and James muttered and climbed over. The wood of the ladder was old and slippery. He swore to himself when he nearly lost his hold. He stepped off onto spongey sand, muttering more curses, then bent over to try to brush wood slime from his pant legs.

  “Over here.”

  Everything was shadow and breaths of sea air. The noises of the town were extinguished by the sound of the waves kissing the sand. James peered into the darkness and picked out the slim shape of Hannah at the waterline. He joined him, hunching his shoulders against the biting wind.

  “What am I looking at exactly?”

  “Out there.” Hannah nodded out to sea.

  James raised his eyes just as the moon came from behind the cloud. It looked bigger than James had ever seen it, hanging over the water like a white lantern. Its light gilded the tops of the waves in silver. They seemed to stretch on forever, glinting and rolling in an endless dance of air and water.

  “Amazing, huh?”

  “It’s beautiful,” he agreed.

  “Ain’t it just?” Hannah said almost dreamily. James glanced at him. His eyelashes and hair were threaded with silver moonlight. There was a soft smile on his mouth. His eyes were shining. “It’s comforting, right?” he said. “It’s so empty and full all at once. It just… I don’t know. Helps lend perspective, I guess.”

  James tore his eyes away from Hannah’s moonlit profile to look back over the sea just as the cloud started to swallow the moon back into darkness.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah,” James replied carefully, “I guess I do. Why are you doing this?” he added after a moment of silence.

  Hannah didn’t answer straight away. James tried to read his face in the dark, but the last of the moon’s light was fading as clouds blanketed the sky. “You looked lost.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He shrugged. “On the bench. On the pier. You just looked like you could use someone on your side. That’s all.”

  “I have a whole team of people on my side.”

  Hannah was quiet again. James glanced back toward the seafront, knowing he should leave. Knowing, just as certainly, that he didn’t want to.

  “You eaten?” Hannah asked.

  “I—” James began.

  “I know somewhere that does the best buffalo wings.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can,” Hannah said, the sand shushing as he turned on his heel to head back toward the ladder. “Even FBI agents have to eat.”

  A dozen protests rose to his lips, but James found himself not voicing any of them. He hurried after Hannah, climbed the ladder and followed the younger man back to the glowing seafront with something disconcertingly like excitement rippling over his skin.

  Chapter Three

  “Will you relax, Solomon? You look like someone’s about to take a shot at you.”

  James shifted on the faded leather of the booth. Buck’s Bar was busy with people eating, drinking and laughing. Waitstaff in plaid aprons wove between the tables, balancing trays of drinks and food above the heads of the milling crowd. Countrified pop music drifted from hidden speakers and the air was thick with the smells of beer and barbecue.

  “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why not? You don’t like wings?”

  James glanced at the door and had just made up his mind to leave when an Asian waitress appeared, blocking his exit.

  “Hey there, Leo,” she piped in a beautiful accent before her eyes raked over James. “Who’s tall, dark and handsome?”

  James flushed. Hannah spoke with a knowing smile, not taking his eyes of James. “Mitzy, this is James. We’ll both have the special. And bring us a couple of beers too, huh?”

  “Sure thing, hon,” she said, jotting on her pad and sauntering away.

  “You come here a lot then,” James observed as another of the service staff winked at Leo as he hurried past.

  Hannah laughed. “They don’t teach you pick-up lines at the academy, huh?”

  James bridled. “That wasn’t—”

  “Will you relax?” Leo patted him on the forearm. “I’m just yanking your chain.”

  “Why?” James countered, instantly regretting the petulant tone, but Hannah only smiled wider.

  “If you don’t want your chain yanked, don’t make it so much fun. Yes, I come here a lot,” he continued in a more placating tone. “They have live music on Wednesdays…and the food’s amazing.”

  Mitzy returned with their beers. She and Hannah exchanged a few words in another language and James blinked.

  “You speak Mandarin?” he said after she left.

  “Only a little,” Hannah hedged, taking a long drink of his beer. “Spent a year in Hong Kong after dropping out of high school. Mitzy’s mom owns the Chinese restaurant under my apartment. I get free noodles for being polite. What about you? You British? I can’t figure it out.”

  “My mother was British,” James murmured, swirling his beer in his glass and wincing internally at the inevitable kick of pain.

  “And suddenly it all starts to make sense.”

  “What does?”

  “Why you’re so pent-up, even for a cop.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Sure you are,” Hannah said. “But don’t worry. Pensive is cute on you.”

  James was more irritated by the flush of warmth those words generated than by the words themselves. He took a large swallow of beer to cover his embarrassment. The alcohol swirled in his empty stomach and buzzed in his veins. He checked his phone, hoping Gibson had tried to call to give him an excuse to leave, but the screen was black. Mitzy returned with a tray crowded with baskets of Buffalo wings and fries.

  “So what made you want to join the FBI?” Hannah asked around a large, impolite mouthful.

  “My father was the leading agent in his field,” James said as he pried the meat away from one of the wings. The flesh was tender, the coating crispy and perfectly seasoned. His stomach growled in appreciation as he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten anything other than microwave meals.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Hannah was grinning. There was sauce smeared on his cheek. “Come on, man. I’m interested.”

  “Why?”

  Hannah shrugged. “You’re interesting.”

  James swallowed more beer in an effort to suppress the butterflies that had started swing-dancin
g in his gut and carefully schooled his voice before answering. “I signed up because it was what he wanted, I guess. But I’m good at it.”

  Hannah examined him a long moment. James had the unnerving sensation of the green eyes looking right through him. “I’m sure you are. So what happens next?”

  James swallowed hard. “With what?”

  “With the case.”

  “I can’t talk about that.”

  “Come on, man,” he said, leaning over the table so his bangs fell in his eyes. “I don’t need details. I just wanna know how it compares to the TV shows.”

  “It’s a lot less glamorous. It’s mostly admin.”

  “Go on then, Agent Solomon,” Hannah grinned. “Dazzle me with your administrative prowess.”

  James suppressed a smile with an effort, drank more beer and looked away from the gleaming eyes in an attempt to keep his thoughts straight. “Tomorrow will be spent in meetings with the ME and forensics. Hopefully, after that, we’ll have enough evidence for an arrest. If not, it’s another day of writing up reports and more background research.”

  “Another day?” A delicate line appeared between Hannah’s fair eyebrows. “Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re working on a Sunday?”

  “I work whenever there’s work to be done.”

  “Well, that sucks. Your partner too?”

  James kept his eyes on his food. “Agent Gibson’s flying home tomorrow night. She’ll be back on Monday.”

  “Why can’t you do that too?”

  “I choose to work.”

  “All weekend? Don’t you have someone to get back to? You have family, I know you do. No one looks like you did on the phone this morning unless they were talking to family.”

  “They’re in California.”

  “So?”

  James made an impatient noise. “Our supervisors need progress reports. I volunteered to stay.”

  Hannah leant back in the seat with his eyebrows still raised. “Well. Cute and noble. You genetically engineered or something?”

  James didn’t answer and set about finishing his food in a way he hoped didn’t look like he was hurrying. Hannah finished his a little slower, keeping the conversation going with observations on the music, the people and gossip about the town. James nodded at intervals, pretending he was only politely interested.