He nibbled her tenderly and she startled.
“Oooh. I like that.”
The television continued to blare, though the sounds it covered were no longer of conspiracy and collusion. Instead they were the sounds of secret touches, pressures and timing. Of instruction and direction. Of a woman’s cries muffled by a pillow and a man’s growl as skin slapped skin and traffic hummed. Of shared guilty laughter between two people who knew no one deserved something so good.
When she had gone, Knox called down and ordered an espresso. He showered and dressed and double-checked the knife he carried, as if by looking at it he could hone its blade.
Then, he placed the call he’d not wanted to make. He used the iPhone, allowing Dulwich to pay for it-knowing it could not be eavesdropped upon.
Tommy answered on the third ring. Detroit sounded next door.
“Hey, bro,” Knox said.
“Johnny!” Tommy was the only person Knox tolerated using the nickname. His brother sounded as excited as if an ice cream truck had just pulled up in front of the house.
With proper medication, supervision and a solid routine, Tommy did all right. He could handle the responsibilities of their partnership. He indulged in video games. He’d pretty much conquered public transportation. He had a start on adulthood, if not there yet. Thankfully, he wasn’t inclined to look for the man behind the curtain. Knox played his role close to the vest.
The missed payment to Amy was a red flag. Knox did not want to access any of their online bookkeeping from China. He didn’t want to give the Internet-sniffing Chinese authorities a leg up.
“How goes it?” Knox asked.
“Just fine,” Tommy said.
“Business good?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Small problem over here.”
“Where?”
“Shanghai. Amy never received her wire.”
Silence.
“The pearl lady.”
“But that was months ago,” Tommy said.
Impressive, Knox thought. “Yes, exactly.”
“Wouldn’t we know if a wire didn’t go through?” Tommy struggled with the concept of moving money electronically.
“We should, yes.”
“You mean I should,” Tommy said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s what you’re thinking.”
“Don’t go there, Tommy. It’s not what I was thinking.”
“You think I screwed up.”
“If you screwed up, I’d say you screwed up. Since when do I mince words?”
“Then what? If not that, why are you calling?”
“Because we owe a lot of money to an important supplier and I want to get on it. That’s all there is to it. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”
“I’ll have to check with Eve.” Evelyn Ritter, their bookkeeper and accountant.
“Yes. That’s where we start. Exactly. A record of the wire and, if for some reason it didn’t go through-”
“We resend,” Tommy said, agreeing.
“Are you writing this down?”
“I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”
“We’ll need to check other payments as well. Eve can help. I don’t get how she could have missed this one, but stranger things have happened. Bet you anything it’s on this end: you know Chinese banks.”
Tommy had a schoolboy crush on their attractive bookkeeper. Knox did not like the way the relationship had developed-he didn’t know if he was jealous of Eve for winning Tommy’s attentions, or if he questioned why an attractive, smart woman would express interest in someone with Tommy’s limited social skills. But Eve spent time with his brother-quality time-and that was a blessing he wouldn’t discourage.
“How are things otherwise?” Knox asked.
“Tigers suck.”
“There’s news.”
“How about you?” Tommy asked.
“Looking into importing vintage motorcycles.” He’d lived with the lie long enough to begin to buy into it.
“Seriously?”
“They have some real beauties over here. They copied BMW and Russian designs for years. Better than the originals. We can get ’em for a song, bring ’em up to standards and sell them for five, maybe eight-X.”
“I thought I’m not allowed to ride motorcycles,” he said, sounding younger all of a sudden.
“Some of them have sidecars. Maybe we’ll make an exception.”
“An exception,” Tommy said, mimicking. A signal he was tiring. Phone calls were harder for him than face-to-face. Tommy’s doctors could not explain half of what went on-or failed to go on-in his brain.
“I’ll sign off,” Knox said.
“Expensive call.”
“E-mail me what you find out from Eve.”
“I’ll e-mail you,” Tommy said.
“You’re a good man, Tommy.”
“Miss you, Johnny.”
He hung up. Knox kept the phone to his ear a little longer than necessary, his heart working like timpani. He trod softly as he descended the stairs, heeding Fay’s warning about the night watchman, and slipped outside, carefully shutting the back door behind him.
“Enjoy yourself?” Grace’s voice at his back.
Knox didn’t miss a beat. “That’s the general idea.”
He turned and she stepped out of shadow. It wasn’t Grace’s presence that shocked him, but the fact that he hadn’t spotted her.
“She is pretty, in a slutty kind of way,” Grace said.
“I didn’t know you cared,” he said.
“You are going out on the route,” she said, seeing the helmet.
“Yes.”
“Without me.”
“That was the plan,” Knox admitted.
She crossed her arms defiantly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“This is not what we agreed to,” she said, speaking to the lane.
“No.”
“Then why?” she asked.
“It’s what I do. The way it’s done. It’s called advancing.”
“Do not patronize me, John Knox.”
“That’s all it was going to be: ride the route. Make sure it’s safe. Determine multiple points of egress. I was not going to ride you-us-into a possible ambush. My friend…this was his job. It’s what he did for me. I’m doing the same thing.”
“‘For me’?” Loaded with sarcasm.
“Nothing more, nothing less.” He told about Danner’s hard drive, about his wanting-needing-her to look over its contents. Admitted it was beyond his current patience level.
“I agree to this,” she said, softening some.
“I would have been there at six A.M.,” he pleaded. “Believe that or not, that’s the truth.” He hesitated. “As to the woman-”
“No!” She moved toward the scooter. “We do this tonight. Now, when these…criminals are in their homes.”
“We drive it first,” he said. “The entire route. We don’t approach any of them until first light. Any of these people-all of them-know their neighborhoods. They can navigate in the dark far better than we. Patience and planning, or we don’t do this at all.” He motioned toward the scooter.
She stood there immovable, intractable and willful.
“Please,” he said.
Two motorcycles turned into the mouth of the lane, racing toward them at a high-pitched whine. Knox saw apology and regret in her eyes: she’d allowed herself to be followed.
Both bikes veered toward Knox, skidding out from under the riders, who leaped off and dumped them toward Knox like bowling balls aimed at pins. Knox timed his jump well, though was tripped up by a rear fender as he came down. He sprawled onto the concrete, a boot heel aimed for his face before he could recover.
Grace took him out. The boot missed Knox’s face.
The other rider had gone down onto a knee while dumping his bike. Knox rolled toward him, stood, and kicked him in the groin. The man lurched forward reflexively. Knox kneed him in the face and he was out.
Grace’s opponent suffered. Her first kick had thrown him into the back wall of the Quintet and off of Knox. A moment’s hesitation on his part-disbelief such lethal force could come from a hundred-pound woman-cost him. She went after him like he was a punching bag, and he sank.