The best I’ve had in years.
“I need to make a phone call.”
Ethan Black glances up from his newspaper a short second before he goes back to reading, and he mutters, “What for? You don’t know anyone anymore. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
“Not everyone,” I say quietly, from my place at his dining table, picking up the mug of hot, black coffee and sipping it in silence.
Black and I may never be friends, but I’m a man who understands what it would take for a guy like him to take in a guy like me. Ever since the capture of Egon Baris, I’ve been treated less like a criminal and more like a colleague. The day after the bust, we flew back to San Francisco. We stopped by the SFPD to have a powwow with the chief and then Black jerked his chin to me. “Grab your things.”
I didn’t ask questions. What was the point? It wasn’t like Black would give me a straight answer anyways.
When we arrived at the two-story house in the suburbs, I followed him inside, where he walked me down the long hall to an open doorway, waving his arm to guide me in. “This will be your room.” He pointed to the end of the hall. “Bathroom and shower are that way.” He glanced to the right. “Kitchen is over there. Help yourself. I’m not your maid, so you’ll have to wash your own clothes and make your own food.”
Saying thank you is the hardest for me, so I diverted attention by asking a question. “I thought you were married with kids?”
“I am,” he responded, before blinking at me. “You didn’t think I’d actually take you to my house, did you?” His lip twitched. “This is one of the FBIs many safe houses. You and I will be living here until the completion of our terms.” He sobered almost immediately. “There will be times when I’m going to have to leave you here alone. I don’t want to ask you if I can trust you not to disappear on me, because I’m not stupid enough to believe I can cage you—not anymore, anyway. All I ask is that if you decide to leave the house, wear your hood and keep your head down.” He placed his hands on his hips and turned fatherly on me. “And, for all that is holy, leave a fucking note.”
When he spun on his heel and turned, shaking his head, I walked into my room. It was decent. I’ve had worse, that’s for sure. It was simple, with a built-in closet, a chest of drawers and a queen-sized bed.
Yeah. I’d definitely had worse.
It would serve its purpose, and I would get decent sleep at night. It was more than I could have hoped for. After all, I could still be in the never-quiet, never-darkened cells of the SFPD.
Black’s eyes come away from his newspaper in meaningful sluggishness. His brows rise as he asks, “Just how many people know you’re alive, Twitch?”
I keep my gaze on him, not needing to think about the answer. “One of my boys and an old associate. Now, Officer Quaid, the chief, and you.”
He thinks about this then his lips stretch into a smile. With a slight shake of his head, he chuckles aloud, and it pisses me off. I’m not the butt of anybody’s joke.
“What’s funny?” I grind out.
His chuckle turns into an outright laugh. “I would not like to be you when your lady finds out you’ve been alive all this time.” He mock winces. “No, sir-ee. She’s going to make your life a living hell.”
Shit.
My body turns cold at the thought. I try to justify myself to a man who has no fucking idea what it took for me to leave Lexi behind. “She’ll understand once she knows the reason I left. I didn’t have a fucking choice. I had to leave.”
“You’re telling me?” He snorts a laugh. “Have you ever dealt with a woman scorned, Falco? Do you know anything about women at all?” He watches me frown then softens his tone. “There’s no fixing this. She’s not going to forgive you. You’ll be lucky if she lets you see your son at all.”
“I’m his father,” is my lame argument.
Black murmurs, “And according to his birth certificate, you’re deceased. Even with your new identity, the one we fashion for you, you won’t have any rights. Not in a court of law.”
My stomach turns at the thought of being kept from AJ.
It’s already been so long.
I need my son.
I’m in bad shape. I’m dying without him, without her.
Shaking off the unbearable thought, I repeat myself, “I need to make a call.”
Motioning with his head to the phone on the kitchen counter, he says, “Secure line. Pick it up, wait for the three clicks, and then dial.” He takes a moment to stress, “Do not use your cell phone. Not even if it’s a burner. Even burners can get picked up.”
As I stand and move toward the counter, Black utters conversationally, “Hope you’re not too attached to that.”
I hate when he speaks in riddles. “Attached to what?”
“The tattoo.” He taps his cheek, denoting my infamous 13. “Because it’s got to go. It’s an indicator. We can’t afford for someone to see it and start spreading rumors that you live.”
That means he plans on taking me on the other stings. That was good. I could deal with that.
“No.” I lie, although I want to get violent. “I’m not attached.”
I try not to think about it, although he’s suggesting that I remove my past, the day I met Lexi. That day is everything, and fuck yeah, I am attached as hell to the memory of it.
“Good,” Black mutters, nodding. “Because your first session of laser is this afternoon. The guy says you’ll need four to five sessions, four weeks apart.”
Well, fuck.
No way out of it, then.
I’ll do it like I’ve done everything else in my life.
I’ll take it like a man.
Picking up the phone, I put it to my ear, wait for the three clicks to sound, and then dial. It rings once, twice, three times then he answers.
“Fuck me. It’s 6:00 a.m. Someone better be dying, asshole,” Viktor Nikulin groans into the phone, and I fight a grin.
I get to business. “Viktor Nikulin?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, and I hear him shuffle, likely to sit up. “Who’s this?”
I speak quietly, but firmly. “I live in the shadows of the underground and see a lot of things, deal with a lot of people, know a lot of firms.” I pause momentarily, feeling Black’s eyes on me. “Your brother is a problem for me.”
Viktor Nikulin responds, a mixture of anger and disgust lining his voice. “I don’t have a fucking brother.”
“Yes, you do. We both know you do. And it’s fine to disown him, murderous psycho that he is, but Maxim Nikulin is a problem for me. I need to know where to find him.”
He pauses a moment. “You gonna kill him when you find him?”
“No,” I tell him honestly. “But he’ll probably die in prison.”
He sighs. “Listen, I don’t like my brother, but even if I knew where we was, I wouldn’t tell you. Shit. I don’t know you, man. For all I know, you could be a cop.”
I chuckle softly. “I’m definitely not a cop.” Just working for one.
He sounds puzzled. “Who are you?”
“I can’t tell you that.” I try to get the information I can. “And I know you don’t speak to your brother, but he’s still your family, and I get that you want to protect him. Wouldn’t he be safer in prison? Seems Max has gone out of his way to make a lot of enemies.”
“I’m not worried about him being put away. I don’t want to protect him,” Viktor confides quietly. “I’m worried for all the men he’ll take a knife to while he’s in there. I want to protect them.” He inhales deeply then exhales slowly. “Do me a favor, yeah? Whatever beef you got with Maxim, leave me and Anika out of it.”
The dial tone hums in my ear.
Shit.
No luck.
Maxim Nikulin is going to be a pain in my ass.
One week later…
“I need a gun,” I shout at Black as his soldier boys scatter around the waterfront property owned by Neo Metaxas.
I’m more than a littl
e pissed. There is no point in me bringing down these men if I can’t enjoy my life because I fucking died trying to achieve it.