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“This is the second one, tied to a chair and shot. You starting an epidemic, Mike?”
Michael raised an eyebrow and grasped Blake Hanover's hand in a firm greeting. When Blake had shown up at Michael's house last night with the Feds, Michael had been relieved. An old friend from the Corps, and one of Michael's monthly poker buddies, he was the FBI agent working with him on the parking garage debacle yesterday. When his house was raided last night, Blake had appeared again as the Agent in Charge. Working with Blake meant that any information he came across would be shared, and Blake hadn't disappointed. Michael had just finished eating dinner when Blake called and told him to meet him at a high-rise just outside Georgetown.
“Care to explain?” Michael replied, glancing around at the bevy of activity in the apartment living room. Blake shrugged.
“Come and see for yourself,” he said, motioning for Michael to follow him through the living room and down a short hall. “A traffic camera on the next block picked up the SUV leaving your neighborhood last night and we ran the plates. The vehicle was registered to our boy in the chair here. We showed up the same time the police did. They were responding to a call from the building manager.”
Blake led Michael into the bedroom and he glanced around, taking in the careless disorder of an untidy man. The shades on the window were drawn and there didn't appear to be anything out of place. It wasn't a robbery, then. Blake motioned to the main attraction.
Michael stared down at the body tied to the chair with what appeared to be his own leather belts in disbelief. The man was dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts, and dried blood covered most of his body. He was covered in tattoos, some of which, absurdly, looked as if they had begun to be removed with a blade. Michael glanced at Blake and encountered an unusually solemn look from his old friend. With a frown, Michael crouched down to examine the body. A bullet hole was perfectly centered in his forehead and the back of his head had a hole the size of a grapefruit, leaving no doubt as to the cause of death. Michael stared at the king cobra tattooed across his chest and grimaced. Someone had traced around most of it with something very sharp, leaving an eerie outline of dried blood around the snake.
“Have you found the bullet yet?” Michael asked after staring at the body for a few moments in silence.
“We dug it out of the wall over there.” Blake nodded to the wall to the side of the door. “It looks to be either a .40 or a .45. I'm sure you've noticed the back of his head is missing.”
Michael nodded and stood up, turning to look at Blake.
“And the ones from my place?” he asked.
Blake met his look steadily.
“They were .45's.” he answered. “The lab will tell us if this was fired from the same gun, but my bet is that it's the same shooter. And there's more.”
“There always is,” Michael retorted. “Tell me.”
“The bullets from those cameras your boy pulled down from the parking garage?” Blake said, nodding. “They're .45's.”
Michael stared at him.
“So, we've got the same shooter in all three places?” he demanded.
Blake shrugged and shook his head.
“Can't say for sure until we compare them all, but it sure looks like it.” He looked at Michael, concern in his eyes. “If we do, you need to watch your back. Someone is trying to send you a very clear message.”
Michael ran a hand through his short hair.
“Why?” he muttered.
Blake leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Have you been poking around in anything lately that might piss anyone off?” he asked. Michael let out a short laugh.
“Would you like a list?”
Blake grinned, but it was short-lived.
“I got an urgent memo about an hour ago,” he said slowly. “It said that the rogue operative that everyone's looking for, from the CIA, is believed to be in DC. You wouldn't happen to be involved in that, would you?”
Michael looked up and his eyes met Blake's.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, his gaze steady. “I didn't get the memo yet.”
Blake stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“That's what I thought,” he said. “Read it. You'll enjoy the wording. It's about as vague and arbitrary as you can get.”
Michael shared a reluctant grin with his old friend and then sighed.
“What a mess.” Michael shook his head and glanced down at the body again. “What was his name?”
“Billy.” Blake turned to lead Michael out of the room and nodded to the medical examiner. “Billy Conners. He had a rap sheet longer than...well, it's long.”
Blake and Michael stepped out of the way as the medical examiner's assistant rolled a gurney down the short hallway. They watched it go by in silence before continuing to the living room.
“Any ideas who he was working for these days?” Michael asked. Blake shrugged.
“Not yet.” He motioned to the computer electronics that were being boxed up. “We'll find out. His computer should tell us something.”
“Do you think he knew the shooter?”
“There was no obvious signs of forced entry,” Blake answered. “It's possible.”
Michael nodded and took one last glance around before turning toward the door reluctantly.
“Thank you for calling me,” he said, walking with Blake to the door.
“Hey, I told you I'd keep you informed,” Blake answered with a grin. “I'm hoping it'll encourage you to go easy on me in the next poker game.”
Michael chuckled and held out his hand again.
“Not a chance,” he retorted good-naturedly. “Let me know what you find out about the bullet, will you?”
“Sure.” Blake shook his hand firmly and held it for a moment. “Be careful, Mike. I don't like the feelings my gut's throwing up. I don't think this is finished yet.”
“Solitto?” Hawk repeated, frowning. Alina nodded, not lifting her eyes from the sirloin steak that was laying on a grate over the fire. Damon sipped his beer and watched as she flipped the steak carefully. “Why does that mobster keep popping up? What part does he have in all of this?”
“Well, that may be my fault,” Alina admitted, glancing at him ruefully. “I went to see him a few days ago.”
Damon raised an eyebrow and stared at her.
“I'm sure you had your reasons,” he murmured.
Alina smiled slightly and turned her attention back to their dinner. Damon had joined her at the fire in the clearing when he returned, bouncing into the clearing in a new Land Rover. The Jeep was gone, wiped down and abandoned after the explosion in the parking garage. Damon watched her in silence for a moment before giving in to his curiosity.
“Ok. Tell me,” he said. “Why did you go see Solitto?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked. Hawk shook his head.
“I'm pretty sure I don't want to know,” he retorted. “Tell me anyway.”
Alina flipped the steak once more and sat back from the fire.
“Remember I told you one of his family is one of Michael's informants?” she asked him, picking up a glass of wine she had set on a flat rock nearby. She sipped it appreciatively and watched as Damon nodded. “Well, I've been keeping an eye on him. He's essentially harmless, but he was getting his information about me from somewhere. I went up to Frankie's to see who was talking.”
“And what did you find out?” Damon asked. Alina shrugged.
“Frankie wasn't intentionally feeding the Feds information about me.” Alina set her glass down. “In fact, he had already taken care of the person he believed was the leak before I showed up to chat.”
“That's inconvenient,” Damon murmured. Alina nodded.
“That's what I told Solitto, in not so many words,” she agreed.
Damon blinked, his lips starting to twitch.
“Wait.” He set his beer down and leaned forward. “Let me make sure I'm understanding this right.” The flames from the fire cast shadows over his face, but even in the dancing firelight Alina could see that Hawk's eyes were alight with laughter. “You went into Solitto's house and told him to take care of his leak?”
Alina shrugged and nodded.
“Pretty much,” she answered, picking up her glass of wine again and sipping it. Hawk burst into laughter.
“You're something else, Viper,” he chortled. “You really are. How did Frankie take it?”
“Quite well, actually,” Alina replied. “He already knew he had a leak to the Feds. I was just the catalyst he needed to do something about it. You know, the more I talk to Frankie, the more I like him,” she added thoughtfully. “I think I'll keep him on my list of assets.”
“That's a dangerous game,” Damon warned, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. “God, I wish I could have seen his face.”
“He sends you his regards,” Alina told him with a wink. “He also reiterated his offer of employment for both of us.”
“Great! If we live through this debacle you've pulled me into, I may consider it,” Damon said with a laugh. “Working for the mob would be significantly safer!”
“Don't go blaming me for this mess,” Alina shot back, leaning forward to check the steak. “My debacles are much more sophisticated than this one!”
She picked up a plate from the grass nearby and transferred the steak onto it, standing up with the plate and her glass of wine. Damon followed and they walked back to the cabin slowly.
“So, if Solitto ordered the hit on Jason, it's safe to assume that he found out Jason was the leak.” The laughter was gone from Damon's voice now. “How the hell did Jason end up on Solitto's payroll?”
“We can add that to our growing list of hows and whys,” Alina answered. “It's getting longer and longer.”
“Means we're getting somewhere,” Damon murmured. Alina nodded.
“We're definitely hitting some nerves,” she agreed.
Damon was silent as they entered the kitchen. He smiled when he saw the table. Two plates were already set out and a bowl of salad was in the center. He watched as Alina set the steak and her wine on the table before turning to the oven. She pulled out two baked potatoes and transferred them onto the plates on the table.
“You've been busy.”
Damon sat down gratefully and the smell of potato and steak filled his nostrils. His stomach growled in reaction. Alina smiled slightly and sat opposite him. He was already cutting the large steak in half.
“I think better when my hands are busy,” she said. “Besides, I haven't had steak cooked over a fire in years.”
Damon glanced up from the steak and his eyes met hers warmly.
“No one I know makes it like you,” he told her. Alina smiled slightly and lifted her plate so he could slide her half of the steak onto it. It was perfect, medium-rare on the inside and seared on the outside. “The last time I had this was at that bonfire on the beach after boot camp.”
“I'm surprised you remember it,” Alina retorted with a grin. “Were any of us sober that night?”
“I was,” Damon said after swallowing a piece of meat. “You weren't.”
Alina was silent as she cut into her steak. She remembered everything from that last night with Damon. She had stored it all away, thinking she would never see him again.
“I went and saw our suspect earlier,” Damon said after a few moments of silence. Alina glanced up sharply.
“And?”
“He was leaving a dinner.” Damon missed the searching glance, intent on his steak. “This is amazing,” he mumbled. “You need to do this for me regularly. We can set up a yearly date for fire-grilled steak.”
“Just name the beach and I'll be there.”
Damon looked up, his eyes glinting.
“Oh, I'll hold you to that,” he assured her.
“You were saying?” Alina prompted, changing the subject back.
“He had Regina Cummings with him,” Damon said, reaching for his beer.
Alina paused in cutting her potato and looked at him.
“Really?” she asked. Damon nodded.
“I got pictures,” he added, setting his beer down. “I know her.”
Alina raised an eyebrow.
“How is that?”
“I don't know,” he answered thoughtfully. “It will come to me. I know I know her.”
“Could you just remember seeing her during the election? Or in the background on TV?” Alina asked, setting down her knife and fork and picking up her wine glass. Damon shook his head.
“No. I've spoken to her,” he said decisively. “I know her personally.”
Alina sipped her wine and looked at him consideringly.
“According to Billy Conners, she's Ludmere's cousin,” she said slowly.
Damon looked up quickly.
“Well, that explains a lot,” he said. “It explains her constant presence, for one.”
Before Alina could answer, her laptop dinged from the living room. She frowned and set her glass down, getting up from the table.
“Excuse me,” she said, turning to leave the kitchen. “I have to check that.”
She headed down the short hallway to the living room and Damon continued eating, setting Regina out of his mind. He would remember how he knew her when he stopped trying to force the memory. A minute later, he heard Alina speaking in a low voice from the living room and knew that she was on a video chat. As much as he wanted to go in and see who she was talking to, Hawk stayed put and finished his late dinner. Viper had her sources, just as he had his, and they were confidential. She respected his privacy, and so he had to respect hers. All the same, every minute or so his eyes wandered down the hallway. She was on the couch, the laptop on her lap, dinner completely forgotten for the moment.
Damon finished eating and glanced down the hallway yet again. Viper was still speaking in a low voice. He looked at her half-eaten dinner and got up, picking up his empty plate and carrying it over to the dishwasher. After putting it away, he went back to pick up her plate and wine glass and carried it out to the living room. He set the plate beside her with a smile and put the wine glass on the coffee table. He noticed her gun then, in pieces on the table. She had been cleaning it and it was laying on a cloth, waiting to be put back together.
“Thanks.” Alina glanced up at him with a smile.
Damon nodded and headed for the stairs to go take a shower. He tried to ignore the sudden feeling of belonging that washed over him. This whole working with a partner thing was getting more and more complicated. Hawk wasn't sure that he liked it.
Damon turned off the old-fashioned knobs to the shower and pulled the shower curtain back. He started at the sight of Alina perched on the edge of the sink.
“Boot camp,” she told him, holding out a towel as he stepped out of the old, claw-footed tub. Damon took the towel and wrapped it around his waist quickly.
“Was hell, but at least you weren't there whenever I opened the shower curtain,” he answered good-naturedly. Alina grinned, momentarily diverted.
“I bet you wished I was, though,” she retorted swiftly. “I'm better looking than some of the guys in that class.”
Damon grinned and pushed her legs to the side so that he could stand in front of the sink.
“Infinitely,” he agreed, opening the old medicine cabinet hanging on the wall and pulling out his razor. He glanced at her, his blue eyes dancing. “If you showed up in our showers, I wouldn't have made it past the first week,” he added with a wink.
Alina's lips curved into a responding smile.
“Me either,” she admitted.
Damon smiled slowly and leaned toward her. Alina felt the moist heat coming off his body as the water from the shower evaporated from his skin. She got a big whiff of his shower gel before his lips settled warmly on hers. The action just seemed so natural, so right, and she was lifting her arms to his shoulders when she remembered why she was there. Pulling her lips from his, she pushed him away gently.
“Start that and we won't stop,” she told him, slightly breathless.
His dark eyes were unreadable as he smiled slightly and went back to his razor.
“Then you'd better start taking my mind off of that,” he retorted. He missed Alina's grin.
“Regina Cummings.”
“Well, that will do it,” he muttered, spreading shaving cream on his jaw. Alina shifted away slightly. “What about her?”
“You know her from boot camp,” she told him.
Hawk paused in the act of lifting the razor to his face. His startled gaze met hers.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, staring at her. “You broke her leg!”
“Yes,” she agreed with a nod. “Well, I broke Lani Cunningham's leg, to be exact,” she qualified.
Damon's chest was gleaming with droplets of water and Alina tucked her hands under her legs on the counter to prevent herself from reaching out to smooth them away.
“Didn't she get discharged after that?” he asked, turning his attention to the shadow growing in on his face.
“Yes.” Alina watched him, her mind darting back in time. “She just disappeared from training,” she murmured. “I'm almost ashamed to say it, but I never thought of her again.”
“I suppose her cousin had something to do with her discharge,” Damon commented, turning on the faucet and rinsing his razor under the water before going back to his jaw.
“Yep.” Alina turned her attention to the wall opposite, her gaze thoughtful. “Did we know at the time that she had rich relatives in politics?”
“I doubt it,” Damon murmured. “I don't think we knew much about anyone. Didn't you break her leg in a training exercise?”
“It was a defense exercise,” Alina answered with a nod, the memory coming back. She frowned slightly. “At the time, I just wanted to get through the round so I could move on to a more challenging opponent. She wasn't much of a fighter. She had the basics down, but she wasn't a very smart fighter.”
Alina paused and her frown deepened. Damon glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on the wall opposite her, staring at something he couldn't see or remember.
“We got into the ring and she went kind of crazy,” Alina said slowly. “I put her down almost immediately, but then she snuck an attack from behind after the instructor called match.”
Alina remembered walking to the side of the padded ring, thinking she was finished, when hands suddenly tried to close around her throat. She had reacted on pure instinct, dropping and spinning around, sweeping her leg to take the legs out from under her opponent. Lani, as she was known then, had gone down heavily with a cry and Alina felt the crack when her ankle made contact with Lani's shin. She remembered it now, a long forgotten memory, and grimaced slightly.
“I broke her tibia.” Alina's gaze came back into focus and she glanced at Damon to find him watching her, his eyes hooded. “The medic told me later that it was already cracked, probably from the drills.”
“I remember now,” Hawk said slowly. “You were walking to the side of the ring. You were done.” Alina nodded and Damon went back to his face, turning his attention to the other side. “What reminded you of all this?” he asked, focusing his attention on his jaw. “You haven't even seen the pictures yet.”
“My contact in Egypt,” Alina told him. “That's who I was talking to on the laptop. She dug it up. As soon as she said the name, Lani Cunningham, I remembered.”
Damon rinsed his razor, turning off the water, and Alina handed him another towel. He took it with a nod of thanks, wiping his face.
“Why do I feel like there's something more?” he asked her, lowering the towel. His blue eyes met hers and Alina smiled slightly.
“Because you know you haven't asked the one question that you should have asked right away,” she retorted.
Hawk grinned and tossed the towel aside, leaning his hip against the vanity and staring at her.
“Why did she change her name?” he asked.
Alina's lips curved into a grin and she couldn't stop herself from leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on his smooth jaw.
“Because the Cunningham side of the family has a documented history of mental illness, drug addiction, and violence,” Viper whispered a moment later.
She leaned back and brown eyes met blue. Damon thought again how much he preferred her deep brown eyes over the strange, green contacts. When she spoke again, those brown eyes glinted slightly.
“The future Vice President of the United States couldn't be associated with that part of the family, now could he?”