Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Friday morning, Kara emerged from her bedroom, showered and dressed in dark jeans and a blazer, her hair still damp. She'd managed maybe three hours of broken sleep, her mind cycling through Whitney's confession, Cal's cold efficiency, and thoughts of Max sleeping only a few feet away from her.
The smell of coffee hit her first.
Max was in her kitchen, two bagels in the toaster, a container of cream cheese open on the counter, fresh coffee already brewed. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes—dark pants and a button-down that was slightly rumpled now—but he looked more rested than she felt.
"You went out?" she asked. "Because I know I didn't have bagels."
He glanced up, and something in his expression softened when he saw her. "Deli on the corner."
The gesture caught her off guard. It was unexpectedly thoughtful, almost domestic. She wasn't used to anyone being in her space like this, making coffee, buying her breakfast.
"Thanks," she said, meaning it.
The toaster popped. Max plated the bagels and brought them to her small kitchen table. They sat across from each other, and for a moment it felt oddly normal—two people having breakfast together, starting their day.
Max took a sip of coffee. "Sleep at all?"
"Not much. You?"
"Same."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Kara spread cream cheese on her bagel, aware of him watching her.
"What's your plan today?" Max asked.
"Back to the safe house first thing. Get Whitney's full statement on record—everything we can use." She took a bite, swallowed. "Then the office. Dig into James Cooper's life and his inspection history. Figure out what he did that needed consequences."
"And how he possibly ties to Samantha Barkley," he added. "I need to check in with Dominic, see how she's doing."
"Don't talk to him about Whitney," she said, realizing how much information Max had that he could share with Dominic.
Anger ran through his eyes. "Do you think I'd do that?"
"You do work for him."
"That doesn't mean I'd protect him if he's guilty of something. He buys my services, not my undying loyalty."
"That hasn't always been my experience. I doubt it's been yours. We both know that loyalty can be bought along with a lot of other things."
He gave her a long look, then tipped his head. "Fair point. But my integrity isn't for sale. When I can't support something, I don't."
Considering he'd left a long career in the CIA because of a decision he couldn't support, she wanted to believe him. But trust didn't come easily to her. "Okay," she said finally.
"Okay," he echoed.
A tense silence fell over them as they finished eating, and finally, she had to break it. "What are your plans for today besides talking to Dominic?"
"I'm going to check in with some friends. See if anyone knows anything about Elias Costa or Cal. If Cal has ties to the Middle East, someone may have heard of him." He sipped his coffee. "Has your team found anything on Costa?"
"Nothing noteworthy. He has no criminal record, no online presence.
He started out as a personal trainer, working at several gyms and also with wealthy individuals.
Apparently, he trained Marco Tilan, a wealthy French businessman who ended up buying the fitness center that became Forge Fitness.
He encouraged his other wealthy friends to sign up for memberships, and then Elias became the manager. "
"What did you find out about Tilan?"
"He died three years ago, and his widow, Fiona Tilan, inherited everything. But she lives in Paris and hasn't been to the US in years. Elias basically has free rein."
"Maybe you should look deeper into Marco Tilan," Max suggested. "He may be dead, but his network might be interesting."
"Now that we're zeroing in on Elias Costa, I agree. I'll do that as soon as I get into the office. Who are you going to talk to? Someone still at the CIA?"
"Someone who's well connected," he said vaguely.
"You're not going to tell me anything about him, are you?"
"I can tell you I trust him not to steer me wrong, that I've worked with him many times before."
"I thought you said you don't trust anyone."
"I have a few exceptions to that rule."
"Well, I'm making an exception for you. Don't make me wrong."
He gave her a long look, then said, "I hope I won't."
"I prefer the last two words over the first two," she said with annoyance. "Why can't you make the promise?"
"Promises can't always be kept, even when you want to."
There was a heaviness behind his words, and the shift in his gaze seemed to move into the past. He wasn't thinking about the promise he couldn't quite make to her anymore; he was thinking about someone else.
"Did you break a promise to someone you cared about?" she asked.
"I need to get to work, and so do you." He got to his feet. "Be careful, Kara."
"You, too," she said, but she wasn't sure he'd heard her because he was already out the door.
His actions reminded her how little she actually knew about him, and also how much she wanted to know more. But Max Malone was not the puzzle she needed to figure out right now. She needed to check on Whitney, then get to the office. The race to stop another bombing was on…
Max arrived at Tompkins Square Park in the East Village a little before noon.
This meeting shouldn't be dangerous, but he had learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected.
His gaze swept across the park. Everything looked normal—dog walkers, parents and nannies with kids, a few homeless people on benches, a couple of young lovers making out on a blanket.
The day was warmer than the past few, with sun streaking through the tree branches, creating a more optimistic feel, one he'd like to hang on to for a while.
But he doubted that was going to happen. Things were escalating, building in intensity, and he doubted the attacker was done. He was afraid he or she was just getting started.
A man walked into the park wearing a Yankees cap, a navy-blue windbreaker, and jeans.
He was lean and wiry and moved with a careless purpose that had always been his trademark.
Reza Barech looked the same as he had the last time Max had seen him in Istanbul nine months ago.
He was in his late thirties, olive-skinned, with dark hair and a beard.
He was handsome enough to be charming, but his attractive face and easygoing manner made him easy to underestimate.
Reza walked over to the water fountain a few feet away from him and took a drink. Then he lifted his head and gave him a smile as he moved closer. "You look better than the last time I saw you," he said. "New York agrees with you."
"It's only a temporary stop."
"So I've heard. You're working for Dominic Ashford now. And you'll be back where you shouldn't be in a month."
"As his private security," he said, knowing Reza didn't believe him for a second.
"Sure. If you reached out because of Qadir—"
"I didn't," he said, cutting him off.
Reza looked surprised. "You didn't?"
"No. I'm working on something here in the city. Ashford's girlfriend was critically injured in a bomb blast on Monday."
Reza nodded. "I read about that. And yesterday there was another bomb. Related?"
"Absolutely."
"And connected to Ashford?"
"Still to be determined. There's a man who goes by the name Cal, well over six feet tall, black hair, black eyes, described as having a Middle Eastern accent.
He works jobs for Elias Costa, who runs Forge Fitness, and possibly the Novik brothers, who run the Crimson Club.
He's connected to a murder and a hit on a witness to the bombing yesterday. Anything about him sound familiar?"
"You said this wasn't about Qadir."
He looked at Reza in surprise. "It's not."
"Caleb Azrani fits the description you just gave me. He's the younger brother of—"
"Malik Azrani," he finished, one of Qadir's best friends. "But how could Caleb be here? The Azranis have been on the watch list for years."
"Only Malik. Caleb is his much younger brother. He came to the US with his mother when he was a child. Malik stayed with the father. Do you have a photo?"
"There's a sketch, but I don't have it with me.
" A dozen thoughts raced through his mind.
If Cal was Caleb Azrani, the brother of one of Qadir's best friends, it seemed likely that Qadir was involved in this.
But there was no way he would set foot on US soil.
However, that didn't mean he wasn't running things from afar.
But the bombings weren't his signature, his style.
Qadir liked chaos, mass hysteria, and explosions on a much larger scale.
He wanted mass destruction, not single targets. "The two bombs don't sound like Qadir."
"Cal might run his own group here."
"Or be working for someone else. He seems more like a middleman to me. Can you do some digging?"
"If these events are tied to Qadir, this is the last thing you should work on, Max. Qadir has already stolen so much of your life. Look what you've lost."
"Which means I have little else to lose," he said harshly. "And this is more about Dominic, my employer, than anything else."
"For now, but not if the group is tied to Qadir." Reza gave him a sharp look. "You can't tell me that Ashford isn't a cover to get you back into a region that you should not be going to again. Or that his money isn't fueling your obsession."
"Can you help me or not?" he said.
"I'll look into it," Reza said, then dug his hands into his pockets and walked away.
His heart was still pounding as he watched his friend leave the park.
There didn't appear to be anyone following him, but as his gaze moved around his surroundings, he very much hoped that no one had followed him here.
He'd been careful. Hopefully, careful enough.
But if these events were tied to anyone in Qadir's network, things were going to get a lot worse.
He pulled out his phone and called Kara.