“Yagi?” Thomas said, at the end of his rope. “At least do me the courtesy of acting like you believe I’m not stupid.”
“Really? Then you realize that your getting involved with Kate O’Hara gives him the best bargaining chip in the world,” Yagi snapped, finally irritated. “If he gets any sense that she is more to you than simply an employee, she’s going to have a target on her forehead. You might be able to stand up to torture, but you couldn’t even leave her to die when she was just a liability—when you could have gotten Victor if you’d just left her behind. And that was
before
you slept with her!”
Thomas sprang, pinning Yagi against the wall, the wooden knife against his throat. “I. Can.
Handle
this.”
Yagi’s eyes gleamed, for a split second shifting from black to a brilliant, animal-like yellow. Then he shoved Thomas back. Thomas barely managed to stay on his feet.
“Be sure,” Yagi said, in a low voice. “Because if this goes the way I think it will, there will be a choice—her or you. You can’t be a hero
and
save your own life.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Yagi replied. “In the meantime, meditate. And for God’s sake, get the woman into that trap and out of your head.”
Chapter Twenty-four
After the Starbucks fiasco, Kate had returned to the hotel and was now pacing around the small, if chic, little room like a fashionably imprisoned tiger. Cyril knew who she was. Where she was. He’d been polite, but he’d also been clear.
It’s going to be Thomas, or it’s going to be you.
There was a knock on the door, and she jumped. “Shit,” she breathed, looking around the room. Why hadn’t she grabbed her baseball bat on the way out of her parents’ house? What the hell was she supposed to use to defend herself? Throw a remote control at him? Snap a frickin’ hotel towel?
“Kate?” The voice was muffled, but familiar. “Damn it, Katie, you in there?”
She almost collapsed in relief, going to the door and peeking out.
“Tim, that you?”
“Nope, it’s Chuck Testa,” he said sarcastically. “Open the door, will ya?”
She’d been closer to her older brother Tim when they were young, but the incidents in San Clemente had driven a wedge between them. Once he’d entered the police academy, she’d rarely spoken to him—unless her parents were angry at her.
She opened the door. “I see Mom and Dad sent their enforcer.”
He scowled, his pale face an older, masculine version of her own. It pissed her off to no end that people sometimes mistook them for twins. He was wearing a white polo shirt and a pair of jeans. His badge hung on the belt.
“Guess you’re not undercover,” she added.
“Only way I could get the front desk to tell me where you were,” he said. “They might not want you staying another night, by the way. Seeing as you’re wanted for questioning in a murder and all.”
“Dick,” she muttered. “What do you really want?”
He shut the door behind him, then took in the little room. He finally sat on the bed. She sat at the tiny writing desk, scowling at him.
“Heard you’ve been having an interesting time at work,” he said mildly. “Thought I might be able to help.”
“You mean you think I’m fucking up, and you have to bail me out.” She realized she sounded about three years old, and forced herself to take the petulance out of her voice. “I appreciate you stopping by, really. But I think I’ve got to figure this out on my own.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, leaning against the headboard. “I know how you are.”
She couldn’t help it. She bristled. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
And why is it I revert to a toddler whenever my family pushes my buttons?
Tim sighed. “Let’s pretend that a problem is a locked door to an apartment building. Mom would wait, patiently and a little resentfully, until someone came by to let her in. Dad would yell and knock really loudly until someone opened up. I’d figure out a way to break in. But you… ?” He shook his head. “You’d take your car and drive through the front door.”
She frowned. Sometimes she hated her brother. Still, she hated more that he might have a point. Her way of problem solving didn’t work. He was the rational one. The sneaky one.
If anyone had some perspective, it would be Tim. And right now, she wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down help.
“So what is it, Carrot?” he asked, his voice at least a little understanding. “Did Mom and Dad get on your ass about shooting your mouth off to the papers?”
“Yeah.” She winced. “Among other things, anyway. Sort of a perfect shitstorm.”
“I know they come down hard on you,” Tim said. “But they’ve got reasons.”
Kate stiffened. “It’s been years, Tim. How long do I have to keep paying for San Clemente?”
“San Clemente was Dad’s dream job,” Tim said, and Kate felt the familiar shame etch at her like acid. “Not only did you get expelled, you cost him his job and you got a criminal record. For sleeping with a pot dealer at sixteen.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, the conversation exhausting her. It was a variation on a theme, a conversation they’d had for years—and then avoided for years. “His boss was a dick who wanted Dad to cover up his son’s crimes, and I wouldn’t have gotten the criminal record if Dad had let that pretty boy asshole get what he deserved the first time I reported it to him.”
“Dad didn’t cover it up, though.”
“He didn’t believe me, either. And he asked me to just walk away from it. To just let Simon take the blame, pretend that asshole wasn’t guilty. Pretend I didn’t know there was a pot plantation just a few blocks down from us while the guy I was in love with went to prison for stuff that wasn’t even his.” Kate felt tears sting at her eyes.
Even after all these years
, she thought. It had to stop stinging sometime.
Tim fiddled with his watch, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m not saying he was right, Kate. I’m just saying… look at it from their side.”
Kate swallowed the bitterness. “I’m not going to go into it. Besides, it’s got nothing to do with why I moved out.” She took a deep breath. “I’m… in a little bit of trouble.”
“Well, obviously… Oh, Jesus.” He got up, grabbing two beers from the fridge. He took off the tops and handed her one. “What did you do this time?”
“I resent that you think I did something,” she muttered.
“But you did, or you wouldn’t be here,” Tim countered, then pointed to his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work soon. Talk.”
She grimaced. She’d already decided she couldn’t tell him about the soul stuff—he was the most pragmatic, least “woo-woo hippie magic crap” person she knew. Even her father had a sense of Irish superstition. Tim believed in two things—the law and his gun.
She had a feeling neither would really be that helpful in her particular circumstances.
“I’m having some trouble at work,” she said.
“Other than shooting yourself in the foot and screwing your boss, you mean?” When she nodded, he rolled his eyes. “You can’t quit. You know that, right?”
That’s for damned sure
, she thought. “This is not about me being flaky temperamental Kate, incapable of holding down a job.”
“Because Mom and Dad might lose the house.”
She blinked. “You know that? How’d you find out?”
“Dad asked if there were any police shifts open in Oakland, since San Leandro P.D. laid him off.” Tim looked sad, vaguely angry, and embarrassed. “I told him there weren’t any hours, just not enough budget. Then I heard he’s looking at being a security guard. If they don’t get the money, they might lose the house.”
“I know,” she admitted.
Tim stared her down. “And you know why they might lose the house, too, right?”
“He shouldn’t have loaned Uncle Felix money,” she muttered. Of course,
she
had, so she couldn’t really throw stones, could she?
“They were trying to keep you employed,” Tim said.
“They shouldn’t have done that, either.”
“They were worried about you,” Tim continued relentlessly. “They always worry about you. So please, tell me you’ll move home and help them out. Tell me you’re not going to quit and make them worry about you more, on top of everything else they’ve got going on.”
“Damn it, Tim, I’m not quitting.” Kate winced. “I signed a contract. I can’t quit.”
“Good.” Tim leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. It probably worked well in interrogation rooms. “So what’s the problem?”
She bit her lip. “I told you. I’m having some trouble. At work.”
Tim sighed. “What kind of trouble?”
“They, ah, expect a lot from me,” she hedged, trying to figure out how to dance around
they want to use me as bait for a serial killer
. “And I’m not comfortable with some of the things they’re asking me.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “They asking you to do anything illegal?”
“No,” she said quickly. Not yet, anyway. She imagined that killing those people was going to be illegal, but right now, she didn’t seem to be an integral part of that side of the business. For that matter, she might not even survive to get to that part of Thomas’s to-do list. “But I’m still not comfortable.”
“Kate, you’ve been spoiled working for Uncle Felix,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “It’s called work because it’s not fun.”
She stood up. “I’m curious. Could you be a little more insulting?” she snapped. “You know I worked my ass off for Uncle Felix. This isn’t because I’m lazy and I don’t want to do the job. You know I’m not like that.”
Tim rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I know that,” he said. “Sorry. Low blow. You’re high maintenance, and you’re, like,
stupid
unprofessional, but you’re not a slacker.”
She wanted to protest that, too, but with her “banging the boss” line plastered on every newspaper in town, she knew she didn’t have a solid argument.
“I am afraid they’re going to screw me over,” she said instead. “They’re setting me up, and I don’t like it, but I signed a contract and I can’t quit. I’ll do the job, I don’t want to flake on this, but I don’t want to get screwed, either.”
“Think maybe you’re being paranoid?” Tim asked.
“Felix was my uncle, and he still screwed me over,” she pointed out.
“Yeah. I’m gonna have a talk with Uncle Felix,” Tim muttered darkly. “He’s been dodging my calls. Asshole. I’m going to his house, soon.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kate said, and between them they had mirroring smiles of vengeance. Her brother might be a thorn in her side, and quite often a self-righteous, judgmental butthole—but once upon a time, he’d been one of her best friends.
It wasn’t till she’d lost everyone else that she realized how much she missed him. Especially now that she might, you know, die.
He frowned, picking up on her somber mood. “What, exactly, are you afraid they’re doing?”
And here was the tricky part. “They’re going into this business deal,” she said slowly. “And I think they’re covering their asses. So if things blow up, I’ll be the one who takes the fall.”
And, you know,
die
.
But she didn’t need to tell him that part.
Tim’s frown deepened. “And you can’t quit.”
“Nope. My contract with them is pretty iron-clad, and his lawyers are no joke.” They were probably demons, too, now that she thought about it.
Tim nodded, then started pacing. “Any way you can make sure the thing doesn’t blow up?”
She thought about it. “Not that I can think of. Lotta stuff out of my control.”
“Well, I’m no business guy,” he said. “But if my commander were setting me up, I’d see if I could talk things out with him.”
“Um, yeah.” She thought of her last “talk” with Thomas. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Tim caught it. It was part of what made him a great detective. “How much trouble are you really in, sis?” he asked quietly.
She grimaced. “The usual amount.”
“Oh, Jesus.” He rubbed his face. “That’s not good.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Can you go over his head?” Tim asked. “If it were me, I wouldn’t go to I.A. unless I absolutely had to. But I’d get a bunch of the guys together. I might talk to the captain.”
She frowned. “Nobody’s higher than Thomas, so I can’t do that. And I don’t really have anybody else who’d be on my side.”
“Then you need some kind of leverage,” Tim said. “If this blows up and you take the fall, what’s the worst that could happen?”
She swallowed.
I die a horrible, painful death
. “It’d be bad.”
“Like, you’d-go-to-prison bad?”
In a matter of speaking. Hell was the ultimate penitentiary. “I’d definitely be paying for it for a long time.”
He sighed. “You’ve got to look out for yourself. They’re not going to care about you. I’d say, do whatever you have to do to cover your own ass.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He looked solemn. “You need help?”
She laughed. “You think I’m a total and complete fuck-up.”
“Yeah, but you’re still my sister.”
For a brief second, she thought about telling him everything. But Tim was still a cop. And if he knew the extent of the trouble she was in—she couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt, or dying, trying to bail her out of yet another scrape, no matter how serious this one was.
“No, I just needed someone to talk to,” she said, getting up. Then, impulsively, she gave him a hug. “Love you, Tim.”
He looked startled. “Love you, too,” he said. “But don’t get all mushy on me, or I’ll give you a noogie.”
She laughed, feeling a bit better. “Go catch some bad guys,” she said, gesturing to the door. “I’ll be okay.”
“Call me,” he said, then frowned. “And lock the door, will you?”
She locked the deadbolt behind him. Sitting in the empty hotel room, she thought about what he’d said. Then she fished in her pocket.
She had to look out for herself. She liked Thomas—more than liked him. But at the end of the day, he’d dangle her in front of a serial killer to get his soul back. If it was a question between her dying, and him dying… he’d choose himself.
Why should she do less?
She paused. Then pulled out her cell phone… and Cyril’s business card.
…
“It’s all set,” Yagi said. “The trap’s ready. Now, we just need to get Kate there and make sure nothing goes wrong.”
Thomas paced around his desk. Since his call from Cyril, he’d felt a cold, steel-like resolve. “Tell me the details.”
“You’re going to take Kate on a working dinner. Chez Panisse,” he said. “Public, but not as wide open as a stadium or the security nightmare that a public park might pose. We’ll have every entry and exit point covered. I’ve got a full tactical team in place—
my
team,” he emphasized. “Even if Cyril unleashes a squadron of demon warriors, they won’t touch you.”
“Or Kate,” Thomas added.
Yagi’s eyes flashed with impatience. “She’s not the primary concern.”
“Make her a concern,” Thomas said, then held up a hand. “I’m putting her on the hook, aren’t I? I’ll let Victor have a shot at her. But I’m not losing a secretary just so you can prove a point.”
Yagi studied him for a moment, then nodded. “It’s set up for tonight, seven o’clock,” he said.
“What makes you think Cyril’s going to go for it? It doesn’t seem like a bait type situation.”