Thinking the coast was clear, he edged open the bathroom door. Behind him, Jon stormed toward the bathroom with fire in his eyes. Goodness gracious, he’s scary.
Jon’s full-frontal assault was halted by an obnoxiously catchy jingle emanating from his pocket. He fished out his cell phone and Key grinned. It was never wise to leave a cell phone unattended around him.
The alarm was a reminder that Jon’s flight left soon, and by the scowl on his face, he realized that as well. He glared at the bathroom door for a long moment before turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction. He scanned his badge with security and was out the door, flying down the stairs to hail a taxi. The taxi pulled away and Key followed suit, making his way out of the building and flagging down a taxi as well. He had his own flight to catch.
Once settled, Key dug a burner cell—a pre-programmed old-school brick phone with a monochrome screen—out of the ridiculously expensive, huge purse he’d bought at the same time as the lipstick, and punched in a number. The line hissed before a loud voice filtered through the receiver. “You didn’t deliver it, did you?”
Key glared at the phone, insulted by Tahir’s insinuation. “Of course I delivered it. Who do you think I am?”
“A cross-dressing stalker.”
“Stalker? Unbelievable. It is common Caeli knowledge that I am a consort of many looks. This one just so happens to be—”
“You’re a drag queen.”
“—a very fashionable and chic woman,” Key finished smoothly. “Speaking of deliveries, did you deliver what you needed to?”
“Yep! This morning as planned. You know what we say—”
“Every change counts,” they both recited.
“So when I showed up, I found that Aiden about two snapped twigs away from a fit of homicidal rage—I’m talking Marvin Boggs crazy—but aside from his glaring personality issues, he’s not all that bad. I did get to speak to Jin for a bit. She’s such a nice person, Key,” Tahir crooned into the receiver.
Key pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding not to address her childlike fascination with their ward. “Where are you?” he asked as he looked down at his own watch.
Tahir chuckled into the receiver as her answer.
“Whatever you’re about to do, don’t do something stupid. The last time I left you to your own devices you blew up an ent—”
“Boom!” Tahir yelled and the line went dead.
Key glared at his screen as the call ended. “Crazy pyromancing son of a bitch.”
Chapter Seventeen
George’s Tire World
Brooklyn, New York
October 4
Tahir pocketed her phone, imagining her leader cursing at her on the other end. She laughed as she looped her coppery braid around her scalp and pinned it in place. She’d thought of maybe cutting it, but her hair was her mother’s hair, and her mother’s hair was her mother’s hair. Long hair was a tradition, and one she wasn’t about to mess up.
She looked out over the busy streets from her spot on the roof while she shimmied into a black harness. The street lamp was too low to give her any kind of real light, but the moon was shining above her, giving her just enough illumination for her to not need a flashlight. Grinning, she pulled a porcelain tiger mask over her face. The mask wasn’t necessary, but half of the things Tahir did were unnecessary. The bottom line was it was fun.
She checked and double-checked her flak jacket to make sure she had everything needed, and smiled as she pulled out a roll of detonating cord. Tahir wondered, as she wrapped the thin cord around her palm, if she should blow the place to hell when she was done. Be spontaneous, adventurous; tip the scale of madness while she was at it.
She rolled her eyes and tucked the cord back into her pockets.
Blowing shit up without the authorization to blow shit up meant review boards, and Tahir didn’t have the patience for her “reckless behavior” to be dissected in front of those intolerant, pompous asses on the Compliance board…again.
“Fun-haters,” she muttered.
Putting her disappointment aside, she refocused on the task in front of her. The warehouse was empty and had been for hours, but Tahir had no intention of jumping the gun until she was sure. Then she would have to dispose of someone, and if blowing up a building was unauthorized well, then…yeah.
She glanced over the edge of the roof and inspected below. A long, dilapidated chain link fence surrounded the rubble of a recently demolished building to the left of the warehouse. To the right was a long row of old brick stores, her current favorite being the chocolatier. All she had to do was jump the waist-high, black fence and she had passage to the access ladder that led to its charming roof. It was only a matter of careful maneuvering across the connected roofs—compensating for the duffle bag slung across her back—and some quick thinking and sure- footedness to land her on top of the warehouse rooftop. It was a challenge, but it wasn’t like she could waltz up to the front doors of the warehouse and plow down the door. Even with the hour being so late, there were people almost everywhere, to the point where she questioned if anyone around here ever went to sleep. Still, she wasn’t worried.
I am a chameleon, stealth personified, the night itself. She snickered. Her fear of being caught was a minor issue. Although the amount of space between the rooftop and the highest window was an issue. She would have to rappel down to a window. No complaints here, she thought. More fun.
Tahir set the duffle down and opened it so she could pull out her black tactical rope. Anchoring it around a large rooftop air vent, she knotted it securely before walking the rope back to the roof’s edge. She tugged on her anchor for good measure and, confident that she wasn’t about to jump to her death, clipped a carabiner to the front of her harness and hitched the rope through it.
After pulling on her gloves, Tahir climbed onto the ledge around the roof, turned, and walked backward down the wall. One jump. Two. Three. She stopped when she was level with a window and knotted her rope off, placing a foot against the large metal window sill. Reaching for the rusted bolt, she smiled when it squeaked open without much effort.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for inviting me inside. I appreciate your time and”— with a hard push, the window creaked open—“cooperation.”
The inside of George’s Tire World was huge and smelled distinctly of rubber, almost overwhelmingly so. Rows of tall racks greeted her, frustrating and confusing to anyone who didn’t know what they were looking for. Tahir knew the what, just not the where. Slipping onto a suspended metal walkway, she closed the window behind her and began scanning for any cameras, a trip wire, anything that would give her away. The walls were bare and the floor was clear.
“Nothing? Not even a guard dog? So stupid.”
She walked the length of the railed walkway until she reached a ladder. The warehouse wasn’t the largest one she’d ever been in, but it would be quite a drop from where she was to the bottom. Holding on the ladder tight, she rode it down, the impact jarring her teeth. She froze when it clanged against the waxed concrete floor. She scanned the warehouse, her eyes wide and her eyebrows hiked to her hairline. When she didn’t hear or see anything, she released a shaky breath.
“Nothing? Not even a guard dog? Thank God.”
Tahir walked around the warehouse, passing racks of tires and rims until she found the center, landmarked by an obnoxious compass made of tire parts. She did one final scan, glancing around to make sure she was alone.
Satisfied, she stood at the center of the compass and concentrated. A quiet hum reverberated through the air and Tahir rolled her shoulders. Her eyes slid closed.
The hum intensified and surrounded her like a shield of energy. Tahir opened her eyes and looked at her hands as they glowed a faint gold.
Pulling her arm back, she dropped to a knee and slammed her fist onto the floor. A small crack opened in the concrete as the force of the blow rippled outward. She concentrated, watching the energy billow out like wave
s at sea. Finally, she heard the hollow break in the waves that she was hoping for.
Standing, she tracked the break to a large blue tarp in the eastern corner. She grabbed the edge, flung the tarp back, and looked down into the bunker.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Air Korea Flight 81 bound for Kennedy International Airport.”
Jon looked down at his hand as the pilot’s voice flowed through the cabin. He’d broken off the air conditioner vent attached to the overhead compartment above him. Panicked, he stuffed it between the seats and accepted the now- outrageous flow of cold air blasting down on his head. “I hate airplanes. I really, really do. We’re in a flying death can, stuffed in here like anchovies. “
The speech disturbed his neighbor, who obviously didn’t like the idea of dying thirty thousand feet up and grunted before turning away toward the window.
He did enjoy the view, though. Jon had a thing for legs, and he was pleased to find that the flight attendants walked the length of the cabin often. The aeronautical usher of the moment was Jala, who was more legs than anything. Her intriguing fragrance had surrounded him when she bent over to help him recline his seat. He appreciated her passion for customer service.
Speaking of work, he had some to do. Jon leafed through and devoured the files that Ruiz had given him, paying particular attention to Zicon’s case file. It was paltry at best, but it was the only real offering he had towards the case. At the back of the file was the brown envelope, and his thoughts drifted to the new clerk. A beautiful woman, yes, especially those eyes, but she had followed him. He hated being followed—it gave him the cold shivers.
However, he had to give it to the little gimlet-eyed stalker—silently, and far, far away where she would never ever hear it. Truth was…he hadn’t felt anything. He hadn’t known she was following him. The FBI had elevators with really shiny doors.
Regardless, she could have at least been truthful when she was caught. The whole deny-everything tactic didn’t work well with the law. And then she had the nerve to run! That didn’t work well with the law either. The moment he got back, he was going to give her every angle of the third degree.
When he got back.
He glanced past his neighbor and looked out of the cabin window. Seoul was behind him and Manhattan was in front of him. This was important. It was big. They’d specifically asked for him. Him.
He was finally getting it, the action; his chance to matter, to mean something. The chance to create his own legacy. The determination buzzed right under his skin. “I deserve this,” he said quietly as he reclined his seat and closed his eyes.
When the plane skidded to a stop on the runway at JFK International Airport over half a day later, Jon was fidgety and impatient to get off of the plane. He rushed off, wanting to stretch his legs and get some fresh air in his lungs. Keisha, the flight attendant with the pretty brown eyes, slipped her number into his hand as he passed. He took it, but he only had eyes for one thing. He dug that one thing out of his pocket. A business card.
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Manhattan Field Office
26 Federal Plaza
New York, New York
Jon grudgingly retrieved his bags and made it through Customs and then Immigration without too much hassle from the TSA agents, and after that he strolled through the terminal, following the signs toward his destination. As he approached the main exit, a man dressed in a no-nonsense black suit waved at him.
He was stooped over, almost crooked looking, and his eyes were rheumy and gray. No way was he from the Bureau. However, the old man held up a sign and Jon huffed. JONATHAN KIM was scribbled across white cardboard.
Approaching warily, Jon cocked a brow when the old man silently handed him a folded, yellow sheet of paper and a ticket with a number on it. A set of keys was slipped into his hand next. “Parking deck number. Rental car receipt, car keys,” the old man said finally, and pointed before he walked away.
Jon watched him walk off, disturbed. “America never fails to surprise me,” he mumbled as he made his way toward the tram.
After a short ride to the parking deck, the tram unloaded and Jon waited on the side as people bumped and maneuvered around each other, hurrying away. The deck was breezy and dark and all around unpleasant, but Jon wouldn’t admit he was creeped out. He followed the signs, and found the space matching the numbers on the ticket. There was a brand new, dark-green SUV backed between two white lines.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
He was impressed. Last time he came to work a case in Chicago with Aiden, they’d given them a dusty old Crown Victoria that didn’t have air conditioning, and only had a cassette deck. He held up the key fob and pressed a button, listening to the deep thunk as the doors unlocked. A noise echoed behind him, a splash, as if someone ran through a puddle. Jon whipped around, his hand inching towards his gun.
Someone was watching him.
Chapter Nineteen
Key scrambled back behind a parking deck column as Jon’s head whipped in his direction.
Okay, so maybe Jon had been telling the truth with the whole “I can tell when someone is following me” thing.
Key waited a few moments in silence before edging back around to take another peek, but had to pull back. Jon was still standing there looking like the Nosferatu was after him.
Damn it! How hard was it to follow simple instructions? Key tried to glance around the column again. No dice. Stupid dog cop! Get in the damn car!
Seconds stretched out to minutes, and Key finally felt like he could let go of the breath he was holding. The sound of an engine turning over was all he needed to come from behind the column once and for all. He watched as the souped-up SUV drove off toward the exit, tires squealing like the driver couldn’t wait to be out of there. Key turned for the stairwell and after a quick jog down a flight of stairs came out just short of the pick-up zone. He flagged down a taxi.
“I don’t need any of you to think on your own anymore,” Key muttered after he gave the address to the driver, who raised a brow at him. Key waved him off. His phone buzzed in his purse, and he watched his itinerary load onto the screen. Key pinched the bridge of his nose.
They had so much more to do.
First, he had to finish with Jon. He pulled the burner phone back out of his bag.
Ruiz told me you were in town! Why didn’t you tell me? Tonight, man, we’re hanging out. Old trot band is playing across the street at eleven. BE HERE. You can’t say no!
Key sent the text, chucked the phone out of the window, and reached for his personal phone again, checking another task off their list.
Really, all of this was child’s play—hacking into the FBI’s mainframe, creating a ridiculous request for Jon’s assistance, plane tickets, and invoices for militarized vehicles. Child’s play. Rooke had gone all starry-eyed when Key had given him a list of his duties—nice that someone was excited. He, on the other hand, was more upset that something as simple as preventing a person who lived a life this simple from dying required all of this.
Key let his wig-covered head fall back against the head rest. The taxi driver, a godsend now that Key thought about it, was streaming the calming violin and piano of Beethoven’s Spring Sonata. He relaxed into the cushions, watching the urban landscapes nearby. His eyes fluttered closed, and he put his thoughts on pause so he could enjoy the calm before the storm.
An hour later, he’d arrived at his destination, and the music had moved into the Overture of Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman. Adrenaline began to build under Key’s skin. Feeling the taxi driver was owed for creating such an atmosphere, he tipped him heavily before turning towards his destination. It had been ages since he’d been present—in this realm—for a Causatum.
The building was old, and it took a few tries for him to get the downstairs doors open, but once he did, Key headed for the fourth floor, where Rooke
and Tahir should be waiting—Tahir with her big surprise per her text. Having known the woman for as long as he had, he knew that it wouldn’t be a swag of balloons or a cake. The only thing he wasn’t surprised at was how flawlessly Rooke’s manipulating had landed them in this apartment, on this floor, in this building. The convenience of its location was almost too good to be true, but Key had learned that questioning Rooke meant someone else explaining Rooke’s explanation.
He sighed as the door swung open and he got a look inside the apartment. “Really, Tahir?”
Her surprise? More ammunition than Key believed they needed.
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, dear leader. Something will be brewing just because we stepped into this realm. I know it. You look nice by the way.”
Key ignored the compliment. “We’re fighting one man, not the Foot Clan.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Tahir responded, grinning.
Key’s mouth opened for a retort when his phone chimed. The last reminder was tinted yellow. Pulse event.
Key glanced out the window, across the street and to a fire escape. They only had a few hours until the last pulse event. A few hours before the shit hit the fan. A few hours to save a life.
Chapter Twenty
Aiden scratched his stomach and yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen. The clock hanging on the kitchen wall, right next to a group of Polaroids, one of him and Jin, a few from when he and Jon served together, read 11:15. He usually didn’t stay up this late. But today was different. Today he wanted to concentrate on every second, every minute.
He reached up into the cabinet above the refrigerator for a couple of packets of ramen. Jin had demanded that since he’d kept her cooped up in their apartment all day, the least he could do was cook dinner.
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