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FISH PICKED UP ON LEXI’S irritation, not that his own frustration wasn’t growing. He inched closer, careful to maintain space between them, and gave her thigh what he hoped was a reassuring pat.
“How could anyone know Lexi is here?” Fish asked. “She hasn’t been gone a full day, and based on the countermeasures she took, nobody should have been able to track her location.”
“We’re sending operatives to her residence,” Dalton said. “They’ll sweep the place and report their findings.”
“You think my place was bugged?” Lexi’s irritation exploded full force. She rose from the couch, shaking off Fish’s attempt to keep her within range of the camera. “When? How?”
“Only a precaution,” Dalton said. “Let’s confirm it one way or another before deciding how to follow through.”
Precaution seemed to be one of Dalton’s favorite words.
“Wait a minute,” Lexi said. “How will your operatives get into my house? I have the keys with me.”
Dalton’s eyebrows winged upward, and Fish realized he was trying to keep a straight face.
“Consider it a security check of your premises. No extra charge,” Dalton said.
Lexi seemed about to offer a retort—and Fish knew she had some zingers—but instead, she stormed to the go bag and returned with the paperwork she’d had at this morning’s briefing. She dropped the folder onto the coffee table—emphatically—and bounced back onto the couch. She opened the folder and leafed through the pages.
“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked. He’d left his own set of papers at his apartment.
“No. Trying to keep from breaking something,” she muttered. She jerked upright, faced the screen. “Dalton, can you do a background check on my yard man? He’s the one person I can think of who has access to my property, although he’s never come inside the house. He’s worked for me since I moved in. My real estate agent recommended him.”
“Name?” Emi said. “Company he works for?”
“Tomás. Tomás Lopez. I think he’s self-employed. I make his checks out to him personally.”
Emi’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “I have four Tomás Lopezes in Burnside. Approximate age will help narrow our search.”
Lexi’s eyebrows bunched. “I’d say between thirty and forty.”
“Good enough to start.” Emi tapped more keys, then displayed an image on the screen. Hispanic male, dark hair, thin moustache, merging into a goatee. “This him?”
Lexi nodded. “Yes, that’s Tomás. Is he connected to the Falcon? To John Gunther? He’s a nice guy. Talks about his family.” She slapped her fist against her leg. “His wife was hospitalized a year or so ago. I let him switch his schedule so he could be with her more, help with their three kids. A perfect candidate for Gunther’s scheme.”
“Candidate, yes, but let’s not jump to conclusions,” Fish said, more to calm Lexi than because he thought she was wrong. “Is the wife still ill? If she’s recovered, he won’t have a hold on Lopez anymore.”
“Come on, Marv.” Lexi faced him, as if the others weren’t part of the conversation. “You know what medical bills are like. If the Falcon covered the expenses, you can be sure Tomás will be paying him back for a long, long time. The man is nothing but a glorified loan shark.”
“She has a point,” Manny said.
The crackling of a butterscotch wrapper sent Fish’s attention to Dalton. The man popped the candy into his mouth, then said, “Meanwhile, back to the task at hand. While we know Ms. Miyake can work miracles, sometimes they take more than a minute.”
“Sometimes they don’t.” The screen displayed the conference table again. “Your yardman is making monthly payments to Merlin via one of his shell companies.”
“Dammit,” Lexi said. “He was great with the yard. It’ll be hard to replace him.”
“You don’t need to fire him,” Adam said. “In fact, you shouldn’t. It might tip your hand to Gunther.”
“To clarify,” Fish said, “are the odds high enough to use John Gunther and the Falcon interchangeably?” He looked at Emi’s image. “What was our confidence level? Eighty-three percent?”
“Point seven,” Emi said.
“Almost eighty-four,” Fish said. “Are we in agreement that we’re looking for one man? It would make our job easier.”
“I’m willing to make that assumption,” Dalton said.
“So,” Fish said. “Do we have a plan?”
“We will,” Dalton said. “Our first priority is to protect Ms. Becker, which is why we’ve moved you to this safe house.”
“If you’re bringing the Falcon down, I want to be there,” Lexi said.
“It’s not Blackthorne’s habit to include clients in our operations,” Dalton said.
Lexi bristled. “I would imagine most of your clients aren’t trained law enforcement officers with experience in Vice, including undercover work and monitoring drug trafficking.”
“Gunther knows who you are,” Manny said. “As you’ve admitted, you’re a loose end. It’s too dangerous.”
Fish had to agree. The thought of Lexi being at the Falcon’s mercy, what the bastard might do to her, had his stomach in knots. “I’ll get him for you, Lexi.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Frisch. Your assignment is to stay with Ms. Becker,” Dalton said.
***
LEXI WASN’T SURPRISED to hear Dalton’s directive. Marv looked more upset than she was. She’d known when she approached Blackthorne, telling them she suspected she was the Falcon’s target, that Dalton wasn’t going to let her play in their yard.
It might be nice to have a little time of not looking over her shoulder.
“I understand,” she said to the screen. “Am I restricted to this apartment?” Not that she’d mind too much if Dalton said yes. It definitely passed her security test, and if the rest of the place was as luxurious as the living room, she’d pretend she was on vacation.
“No,” Dalton said. “You can use the other facilities as long as you don’t leave the building.”
From the muscle twitching in Marv’s jaw, she knew he wanted to protest, but he kept his mouth shut. Wise move. Dalton seemed easy-going enough, but she’d detected a definite I’m the boss, you’ll do as I say attitude beneath the man’s surface. Which made sense. You didn’t run an organization like Blackthorne without a strong leader at the helm.
“Anything else?” Dalton asked.
Lexi shook her head.
“No, sir,” Marv said.
“We’ll have another sitrep at seventeen hundred hours,” Dalton said, and the screen went dark.
Lexi checked the time. “So, what do we do for the next three hours?”
“How’s your shooting?” he asked.
“As in guns?”
“Yep. There’s a private range in the building. And a fitness center. You can use both if you’d like.”
Lexi gave it a moment’s thought. “Fitness center first, because I need to work off some adrenaline. Then I’d love to pretend to shoot someone.”
“As long as it’s not me,” Marv said. “I could use a workout, too.”
“I’ll change and be ready in a few.”
She wandered through the living room to a dining room that could host a Thanksgiving dinner for twenty people without having to bring in card tables and folding chairs. Berber carpet in a rusty brown shade covered the floors. She paused a moment to take in a large oil painting of a seascape—a moonlit night on a beach, with a pier jutting out into the ocean. Something haunting and romantic about it, the way the lights on the pier reflected off the water below.
She moved on, into a hallway that led to what she assumed were bedrooms. Doors stood open, so she peeked in as she walked. The first, on the left, was no bedroom. Instead, she found a state of the art office. Desk, conference table, three computers, each with two monitors. More like a command center, she decided. The equivalent of two rooms, judging from the size and the second door. She did a cursory check of the rest of the room. Storage cabinets, and a large gun safe, which she assumed held an assortment of weapons. Should she ask Marv to give her one?
Marv approached from behind, his footfalls muffled by the carpet. “First class all the way,” he said.
“Absolutely,” she said. “How many of these ... safe ... apartments are in the building?”
“Two.” Marv gestured toward the ceiling. “The one on the next floor’s more for overflow, or for clients who don’t need the same level of protection. It’s smaller, and there’s no com center.”
Made sense. No point in duplicating what had to be very expensive equipment.
“Bedrooms are on the other side,” Marv said.
She noted three doors on the right hand wall, and stepped toward the first one. Two double beds covered in peach bedclothes. The usual bedroom furnishings—nightstands, dressers. A sitting area with an easy chair and a small desk.
“You can have this one,” he said. “I’ll take the middle one.” He paused, his tone and expression half-teasing. “Unless you want to share.”
Did she? Maybe. But not now. Not yet. Relationships built in times of stress weren’t stable. A one-night stand? No, that wouldn’t solve anything. She’d been closer to Marv than anyone in her life other than her husband. There were a couple of times she’d debated crossing the line with Marv, but didn’t. She took her marriage vows seriously.
“Don’t think so.” She carried her bag inside and shut the door.
There was an en suite bathroom, and she grabbed her toiletries from the go bag and set them on the counter. Then went through her clothes. She’d packed enough for a three-day stay, and she’d already lost one change of clothes to the homeless. She doubted this building included a shopping mall. Or a grocery store.
Time for that later. She had no doubt Blackthorne had it covered.
Glad she’d brought just in case there’s time workout clothes, she changed into shorts and a short-sleeved tee, adding a zippered hoodie. She stepped into the hallway. Marv wasn’t there, so she went to his room and knocked. She’d noted there were normal button-in-the-knob locks on these doors. Considering what it took to get this far, it was acceptable.
He opened the door seconds later, and she had to work to keep her expression neutral. She’d noticed Marv seemed more fit than when she’d worked with him, but damn. He was ripped. His tight black t-shirt didn’t hide the cuts of his abs. Or the biceps the short sleeves barely contained. A small gym bag hung from his shoulder.
“I’m ready,” he said, although she’d caught his brief assessment of her own form. She ran, worked out, but there was no comparing physiques. She was fit. Marv was one hardbody.
She might rethink that room-sharing arrangement.
“Where’s the fitness center?” she asked.
“Second floor. Open to the tenants. We have to go to the lobby to get there. This elevator doesn’t go to the residents’ areas.”
In the lobby, Marv nodded to the guard as they made their way to another elevator. Inside, Marv swiped his key card across the sensor and pushed two.
The fitness center door required another swipe of the key. Bikes, treadmills, stair climbers, a rock wall, weight machines, free weights. Floor space to spar or hold exercise classes. Behind a glass wall, a swimming pool. The center rivaled the gym she and Brian had belonged to in Indianapolis, and they’d payed big bucks for their membership.
A woman ran on a treadmill, her chestnut ponytail swaying behind her. The other occupant was a paunchy man doing leg presses.
“No attendant?” Lexi asked. “What about safety?”
Marv pointed out several cameras. “Feeds to the security office. Tenants can bring in personal trainers, but they have to be signed in. They’re vetted, although I don’t think the tenants know how well-protected they are living here.”
Marv chose a treadmill, and Lexi took an elliptical. After they’d warmed up, they ran through weight routines.
“You’ve bulked up,” Lexi said as she spotted for Marv doing bench presses.
“Fitness is part of the deal,” he said. “Manny’s our PT instructor and he frowns—with loud, vocal accompaniments—if he thinks you’re slacking.”
The workout did its job and had calmed Lexi’s nerves. She glanced toward the pool. “Up for a swim?”
The expression on Marv’s face hardened. His fists clenched at his sides. He turned away. “Not now.”
The gruffness in his voice was downright scary. What was that about?