Dark Time: Mortal Path (20 page)

Nope, not blind, unless he could turn it on and off.

Greg shivered as he realized that if anybody were to be broken in half with a kick here, the two bloody pieces lying on the ground would be his own.

Without quite realizing it, he dropped his gaze respectfully to the ground.

“Yes, sir, that’s true.”

“You will remedy the situation immediately.” There was an unspoken
and it will never happen
again.
“Now tell me about your progress.”

Greg told him in detail about the work on Project CESR, and when he was dismissed, he hurried away. His previous meetings with the old man hadn’t made much of an impression, but this time Greg knew exactly where he stood: on shaky ground that could tip him into hell at any time.

2009-08-25 02:50

M
aliha wanted to sort out her thoughts about Subedei in private, but when she got back to her building, Arnie pulled her aside before she could get through the door.

“There’s a DEA agent in the lobby waiting for you, Ms. Winters. I told him you weren’t home and I couldn’t buzz him in, but this guy doesn’t take no for an answer. I think he’s prepared to sit in the lobby for days. He had a sandwich delivered from Dave’s Deli and read the
Tribune
.”

“You’d think he’d have better things to do with the government’s time. Thanks for your efforts, Mr.

Henshaw.”

Arnie stretched his neck to look around her at the lone figure sitting in the lobby and shook his head.

“You want to go up the back way?”

He meant the loading dock and a service elevator.

“No, I’ll take care of it. I wouldn’t want him to grow roots in there.” She turned to walk inside.

“Wait. Ms. Winters, you’ve got a little spot of…er, paint under your right ear.”

She held still while he dampened a blindingly white handkerchief from a bottle of water and dabbed at her face. The handkerchief came away streaked with red.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the, er, paint rag.” He folded the handkerchief and tucked it in a compartment of his desk.

She approached Jake, knowing that his eyes were appraising how she filled out the sexy black dress she’d worn to meet Greg Shale. She knew she looked damn good. She’d braided her hair when she began sparring at ShaleTech. In the car, she’d loosened the braid and run her fingers through her hair, so it had a mussed, come-fuck-me look.

“Want to come up to my place?”

It wasn’t an invitation a man would turn down. She walked toward the elevator bank, leaving him to stand there and watch her receding ass or follow her. He caught up with her, but not as rapidly as he could have.

When the elevator doors opened, an elderly woman tenant who lived on Maliha’s floor stood there, her little poodle in her arms. She was taking the dog for a walk, as she did every evening. Maliha nodded at her. She nodded back and winked, her eyes stuck on Jake.

“Have a good evening, dearie,” she said, as she got off the elevator. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Then, in a whisper that was intended for Maliha’s ears but was loud because Mrs. Haplinger was mostly deaf, she said, “This one looks like a keeper.”

After she was gone, Maliha looked at Jake and shrugged.

Way to go, Mrs. Haplinger. You’ve got him thinking I bring men home every night.

She took him to the condo on the thirty-ninth floor and plopped into an upholstered chair, breathing a sigh of relief that her two houseguests were asleep in the guest room, or at least quiet. She wanted to close her eyes, ignore him, and think about her encounter with an Ageless one, but Jake started in right away.

“So where did all that information come from?”

What happened to the sweet talk at Al’s Beef?

“What have you done so far?” she countered.

“I ordered half a dozen computers under different names. I got the upgrade for express shipping, like you said. I should have them in a couple of days.”

“Good service.”

He shrugged. “My main concern is getting those machines into the lab right away. According to your information, is every computer affected, or a small percentage?”

“Every one.”

“Jesus. What a scheme, if it’s real. How come you know so much about it?”

He’d come full circle and was back to his original question. Time for some creative fibbing.

“I had a friend who worked for SkyDevice.”

“In India?”

“Yes. An Indian friend. In India. Something wrong with that?”

“No. Would you mind if I used your bathroom? That sandwich I ate…”

“Of course not. Down the hall, first door on the left.”

It took him too long to find and use the bathroom, so she knew he was searching all the areas down 67 z 138

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the hall.

“What makes you think I’d keep my drugs in the bathroom if I had any?” Maliha asked when he returned. He ignored her jibe.

“What’s in the locked room at the end of the hall?”

Oh, two men living with me.
The rooms inside her condo had locks keyed by fingerprints. She’d added Yanmeng and Amaro to the guest bedroom’s lock.

“My sexy underwear and leather-and-whip collection. Wanna see?”

The rims of his ears turned red. “Nothing in the medicine cabinet, nothing stashed in the toilet tank,”

he reported. “Don’t you ever need an aspirin?”

“Rarely.” She raised her eyebrows. “And I thought we were becoming close. We’ll always have Al’s.”

He missed the reference to
Casablanca.

It was time to check out this man who could pivot from sexy flirting to prickly questioning, just because she’d mentioned a little drug-smuggling case. She looked beyond Jake, let her eyes go unfocused a little, and waited for his aura to show. There were splashes of blue for high ideals and desire to help others. Thick coils of yellow for intelligence and self-knowledge. There was more: red tendrils of buried anger, ribbons of black for negative, probably murderous, deeds. Jake was not a simple do-gooder. He had a bad past, a present guided by a sense of justice but defined by violence, and an uncertain future.

We’re two of a kind, kind of.

She understood that his life today was defined by something bad in the past, maybe truly evil—something he’d overcome. She could relate to that.

“Getting back to this Indian friend. Would you put me in touch with him? Or her?”

“If you’d like to try a séance. He died last month.”

Sounds weak, even to me.

“Details?”

She didn’t say anything. She preferred to remain a woman of mystery when she was making things up as she went along.

“You know I’m going to have to investigate your background and the possibility of your involvement in this scheme.”

“Why would I tell you about it if I’m involved?”

“Could be lots of reasons. Maybe you want out of the smuggling and you were threatened. Maybe you’re betraying a boyfriend who screwed around on you and you want to get back at him.”

“Creative. You should be the novelist, not me.”

“Maybe you were trying to get close to me so you could use me somehow. Just a means to an end.”

He didn’t bother to conceal the hurt he was feeling that made him say that. It touched a nerve for Maliha, too.

This is what I get when love enters the picture.

“Go ahead and investigate. Knock yourself out.”

Her voice had hardened, along with her resolve. Her Marsha Winters base identity was rock solid.

Marsha was gainfully employed, paid her taxes, had no police record, and had parents (deceased) and a sister (alas, also deceased). She had a good credit record, a B.A. in Fine Arts (emphasis in creative writing) from the University of Iowa, and an M.B.A. from Harvard. She’d started a charitable foundation, didn’t gamble, didn’t use drugs. She drove a flashy car, but could legitimately afford it on her reported income from her writing career.

Maliha was ready to wrap it up. She didn’t like his scrutiny directed at her.

“I’ll be talking to you again.”

“I’m sure you can find the door to let yourself out. After all, you have pictures of my bedroom. I’ll be sweeping for bugs after you leave.”

He pursed his lips, which meant that she actually had to follow through with her threat. He put his business card on the kitchen counter as he left. “You can reach me twenty-four/seven if you want to talk.”

She raised one hand and waved bye-bye.

He took with him the sex-charged energy that had permeated the air between them in spite of the conversation. When he was gone, she did a meticulous search for listening devices, kicked off her shoes, 68 z 138

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and fell asleep.

He called at 6 A.M.

“I’ve accomplished a lot overnight.”

“And this is my business because?”

“You’ll be happy to know your background’s rock solid,” Jake went on. “In fact, you’re a little too squeaky clean. You almost have a minister’s wife thing going.”

“Did you know it’s six A.M.?”

“Just keeping you apprised of my progress. I found the downstate warehouse.”

“You did? Tell me about it.”

“Tell me the name of your friend from India.”

“Oh, we’re into ‘show me yours’ again.”

“What’s your interest in this, Marsha?”

“Can’t I just be a citizen doing a good deed?”

“You’ll be hearing from me. I can’t wait until our next enlightening conversation.”

“Yeah, and I don’t like beef stroganoff.”

It wasn’t the best retort she’d ever come up with. She hung up.

Maliha considered moving up to her place on the forty-eighth floor. It just seemed like too much trouble, though, and she wanted to get an early start this morning. Yanmeng and Amaro, whom she’d heard come in after midnight, were giving her some much-needed privacy. She started some coffee, and while it brewed, took a quick shower. As the warm water streamed over her body, she reviewed the phone conversation and thought about the black ribbons in Jake’s aura.

In such a short time, a blossoming romance had turned into an acrid standoff.

I’m out of practice with this love thing. I could have kept my mouth shut about the drug smuggling,
at least long enough to find out if there was something serious between Jake and me.

When she was dressed, her phone rang. She was sure it was Jake again. She picked up the phone.

“If you’re going to keep being so suspicious of me, you’re never going to get to first base, much less home plate.”

“Uh…Ms. Winters, this is the doorman.”

“Oh.”

“A friend is here to visit you. Ms. Randy Baxter.”

“Oh. Thank you. Send her up. I…” He disconnected before she could apologize for her tirade.

Randy knocked and Maliha let her in. They hugged at the door. Randy smelled of Ivory soap and clothes hung in the sun to dry.

“Mmm. I smell coffee.” Randy swept past her toward the kitchen. She was in full Earth-Mother mode, with long-sleeved peasant’s blouse over a tiered skirt long enough so that only the toes of her shoes showed when she moved. It produced a gliding effect.

“Don’t you get cold in that? It’s October.”

“Cold? Nope. I’m layered, see?” She tugged her skirt up and revealed thermal underwear.

Randy found the coffee, poured each of them a cup, and settled at the table.

“I got some bad vibes from you the last time we talked,” Randy said. “Something’s going on and I want to know what it is. Then I want to know what I can do to help.”

Maliha considered where she stood with Randy. Her friend knew nothing about her age, what she’d done as a demon’s slave, or the scales carved on her body, or redemption on a grand scale. Randy didn’t know about crystal shards or what it was like to be helpless in Rabishu’s claws.

There was a whole world of things Randy didn’t know. It was as though Maliha lived in many dimensions but presented only a two-dimensional view to Randy: a cardboard cutout that fit neatly into the twenty-something lifestyle. Maliha treasured Randy’s friendship precisely because it was outside the complex, dangerous world of her quest.

She thinks we’re alike, but only a little slice of me is like her.

“Hello?” Randy put her hand in front of Maliha’s face and waved it back and forth.

“Uh, sorry.”

“You were like zoned out. C’mon, open up. You can tell me anything.”

Maliha made a decision.
Not ready to open up. Status quo, for now.

“I went to a charity event. It was okay but boring.”

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“Music? Dancing?”

“Only if you count a string quartet. They had one of those tacky champagne waterfalls.”

Randy made a face. “Tell me something important, like what you wore.”

“The new blue dress, those sandals with the ties…”

“Those are sooo sexy. What about this Greg guy?”

“I already told you about him. Could be we’re going to hook up.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s just a little…off. Like he’s got a dangerous side.”

“Dangerous like dark and mysterious or dangerous like psycho serial killer?”

Maliha laughed. “I don’t think he’s a psycho.”

The verdict is still out on that one.

“Okay, then. You need to get your head out of those books you write. Have some fun. Take a walk on the wild side, isn’t that what they say? If things get weird, you call me and I’ll come over and beat the shit out of him.”

“I’d like to see that. He’s into martial arts.”

“I guess I’ll have to let you handle him then, Miss Black Belt Smarty Pants.”

“Wanna arm wrestle? I’ll give you a two-second head start.”

“Are you kidding? The last time you almost dislocated my shoulder.”

“Three seconds?”

Randy reached over and punched Maliha lightly in the arm. “So enough of this serious crap. You haven’t lost track of Jake in all this mooning about Greg, have you?”

“No.” It was an honest answer. Randy waited for her to elaborate.