Chapter 18 #2
“I can’t really say the same,” she said, as I went out the door.
“Not until I’m sure you’re not a serial killer.
” She leaned out the door and studied the car waiting for me at the end of the walkway, Trey in the front, Jenn glaring from the back.
Ambrose writhed in wild protest in her arms. “I don’t think serial killers drive cars like that,” she added, a note of grudging admiration in her voice.
“Or get driven in them, as the case may be. Mobsters do, though. Are you a mobster?”
“No. Like I told you, I’m in tech. Just your average computer geek.”
“If you say so. But if she doesn’t call me, I’m rolling over on you, buddy.”
I got into the car laughing, in spite of Jenn’s reproachful frown. Kat’s power and moxie had rubbed off on Joanna. I could feel its effects, and it was energizing.
I looked over at Jenn, who was texting furiously into her phone. “How are we doing on that lunch date?” I asked, to mollify her.
“You mean, besides being egregiously late?” she said snippily.
“I’m in touch with Canlis, and the Senator’s staff.
They’ll wait. Just to get our stories straight, you’ve been stuck on the highway five hundred feet from the exit behind an accident.
A real, documented accident. If we don’t hit any actual accidents or traffic jams, we should make the new time, by a hair.
” She shot me a warning glare. “With no more stops.”
“I’ll save the next one for after lunch,” I assured her, and then tried calling Hugh Clemens, for the fourth time. Like all the other times, it went to voicemail.
“Hey, Clemens,” I said into the phone. “Ethan Masters again. We need to talk about what happened in the Fletchley Building. I’m guessing that someone very hardcore is breathing down your neck, but you need to find your balls and do the right thing.
If you call me back, I’ll be easier on you when we meet. And we will meet. Later.”
Then I dialed the home number I’d hunted down for Julia, Hugh’s office manager, since so far, no one was answering at the business number.
“Hello?” Julia responded, her voice high and quavering.
“Julia, right?” I said. “This is Ethan Masters.”
“Ah…oh.” A panicked pause. “How can I help you?”
“Can you tell me where to find Hugh?”
“No, I can’t. I’m at home today. And I think he’s out of the office, too.”
“Yes, and probably halfway to Tokyo by now,” I said.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice was squeaky and thin.
“Listen, Julia. Bad things happened yesterday, after the receptionist and I got into that elevator. Hugh knew something was going to happen. I think you knew it, too.”
“No! No, that is not true! I absolutely did not know anything about it! I was told to facilitate the meeting, and monitor the temp, and that is all!”
“What temp agency did you use?” I asked.
“Keystroke Temps. Please believe me. I had no idea—”
“Is Hugh in some kind of trouble?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said primly. “Mr. Clemens and I have only a professional relationship.”
“Fine. But if I get a sense that you were involved, I’ll make sure you go to prison right along with him. I have dozens of lawyers working for me. A whole floor of them. Like an army of sharks.”
“I told him I was uncomfortable with having that girl come in, and pretending there was a functioning company in that vacant space! But Hugh said to do it, or find another job! I didn’t know anything bad would happen to you! I swear to God!”
I let out a silent sigh. Bullying a stressed-out woman was depressing, whether she deserved it or not.
“We’ll see,” I told her. “You have my number. If you think of any way to identify who got Hugh to organize yesterday’s hit, you would demonstrate goodwill by sharing it with me, which would be very wise on your part. Understand?”
“God, I wish I did know.” Her voice burbled with tears. “I would tell you in a heartbeat. I should have quit that job months ago.”
“Yeah, probably. Live and learn. Have a nice day, Julia.”
I hung up on her, searched the number for Keystroke Temps, and called them.
A perky young female voice answered. “Keystroke Temps, good morning! How can we help you today?’’
“Good morning. May I speak to whoever of your staff sent a woman by the name of Katrin Banner out on a job to Clemens and Associates yesterday, please?”
My question was met with dead silence, and then, a choked whisper. “Cynthia! It’s another one of those guys, calling about that girl from yesterday! Will you take it?”
There was an unintelligible high-pitched ranting voice in the background, and the call transferred to another phone with a click. “Who is this?” asked an older female voice, sharp and aggrieved.
“My name is Ethan Masters,” I said. “I was looking for information on—”
“I have absolutely nothing to say about that person! We never want to see her again, if she makes this kind of an impression on our clients! We were told to send somebody good-looking. Now the whole damn world is looking for her! Demanding her address, her social! It reflects very badly on us!”
“Did you give the address and social security number to them when they asked?”
“They threatened me!” the woman shrilled. “Don’t call us again. We’ve thrown that girl’s file away. We do not have her data. We never want to hear from her again, or from Clemens and Associates. We never heard of any of them. Goodbye!”
The connection broke. I let out a sigh. Nicole had all of Kat’s data. Of course.
I ignored Jenn’s sour face on the way to Canlis.
Too much to think about. When we got to the restaurant, I trotted out my autopilot default persona, the one that covered for me in the public sphere while my private life was falling apart.
That persona had gotten a lot of practice since the disaster at Ready Line, with Shane abducted, and three Unredeemables, all good friends for over a decade, killed.
Jed’s apparent betrayal, too. For months, I’d been convinced that one of my best friends had sold us out.
Thankfully, that turned out not to be true, but I paid for that, too, with those horrible days in which I thought I’d lost my little sister. But Freya got through it.
It occurred to me that Freya was going to like Kat. They had a lot in common. Both were no-bullshit, regal warrior queens.
I psyched myself up for being charming and impressive with the senator.
I had set this up weeks before. I wanted to persuade Senator Eleanor Brickell to vote yes on a bill regarding carbon capture tax credits that was about to come before the Senate, but I had to cudgel my brain to remember why I cared so much.
Oh…yeah. The fate of humanity, biodiversity, safeguarding the future, the oceans, all that good stuff. The continuation of life as we knew it. Right. Of course.
Fortunately, my default persona always performed. It said all the right things at the right time, even while the rest of me was howling in the dark. And the hefty sums which I’d contributed in the past to her House of Representatives and Senate campaigns definitely helped.
But the disconnect made my teeth grind. I had no business being here, doing this. I had other things to focus on. This would be my last professional engagement until I fixed this problem that was stalking my family.
I smiled and joked and charmed and cajoled Senator Brickell, but I walked out of the restaurant with my brain on fire, heightened senses cataloguing every detail around me.
I had to start carrying a gun again. I felt naked without one.
I had felt this way back in Afghanistan, on combat missions.
Buzzing at a high frequency at all times.
Jenn slid into the car, smiling. “Thank God, we salvaged that one,” she said. “Senator Brickell loves you. Now on to the ribbon cutting at that new STEM Academy, and we can—”
“Not today. I’m canceling all public appointments and appearances for the foreseeable future.”
Jenn’s jaw dropped, horrified. “You’re…no! You’re joking!”
“I have security issues, Jenn,” I said. “They’re not getting better. My presence does not make the people around me safer. It did not make the senator safer, either.”
“But we have the launch of the Fire Glass coming up in two weeks!”
“We’ll delay the launch,” I said.
Jenn looked as if I had blasphemed. “But…but that would be a disaster!”
“We’ll lose money, yes. Too bad. My family’s safety is more important. I’m not giving the opening speech for the Emory Summit, either. It’s just not happening.”
“And I suppose the hot blonde you’ve got sequestered at the Mountain House is also important? Ethan, now is not the time to let yourself get distracted!”
I gave her a look. Jenn’s face reddened. Her gaze dropped. “Shit,” she whispered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Listen up, Jenn. If you heard about the hot blonde, then my loose-lipped security goons are blabbering. Did they tell you how I met her?”
“Ah…just that there was an attempt made in the elevator—”
“Yes. Eight guys with batons and stun wands got into an elevator in the Fletchley Building. With me and this blonde. Not in a dark alley at night. Not in an abandoned junkyard. Not under a bridge. This was a shiny, high-end skyscraper in downtown Seattle during prime morning working hours. I’m only alive because the blonde happened to be a seasoned martial artist, so between the two of us, we got out of there with some bruises and a nosebleed. Instead of dead.”
“Ethan, I didn’t mean to—”
“Suppose it had been you in that elevator with me, Jenn? How do you think that encounter would have gone?”
“Ahh…”
“Spending time with me is not safe or healthy for you right now,” I told her bluntly. “I pay my security staff to put themselves in harm’s way for me, but that’s not what I pay you for. It’s not fair to put you in that position.”
“Ah…” She swallowed, blinking rapidly. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I’m not doing this to mess with your head. I just don’t want to get anyone else killed. Manage things as if I’d been taken out of commission for a few weeks by an illness or an injury. I don’t like looking over my shoulder for assassins while I’m having lunch with the senator.”
“Y-y-yes.” Jenn’s voice was unsteady.
“I really do value your work,” I assured her. “I’m glad to have someone so competent managing my affairs while I deal with this.”
“Okay.” She managed a wobbly smile. “Um, so I think I’ll take a cab from here, okay? I have a couple of errands to run before I start making all those phone calls.”
“I understand,” I told her.
Jenn got out, and practically ran away from the car. I realized, belatedly, that I might have just frightened away a very competent executive assistant. Time would tell.
“Well, that’s handled,” I said. “Take me to Kat’s martial arts school.”
Kat’s school was a rundown, twenties-era ground-floor space in Beacon Hill, big glass windows that looked out on a seedy shopping district.
I walked in and looked around at the class in progress.
No kimonos, just variegated, mismatched sportswear on a bunch of girls ranging from ten to thirteen.
They were in a long line, running one at a time on the tatami mats, and flinging themselves into flying somersaults with varying degrees of success.
I looked around. Saw and smelled water damage, old sweat.
Spotted the telltale holes of termites in the aged wooden baseboards.
The sports equipment was mismatched, battered, ancient.
But the girls looked sweaty and determined.
Like Joanna. It was the Kat Banner effect. She really brought it out in people.
A young black woman of maybe twenty-four was teaching the class, but all of them stopped and looked at Trey, Cade, and me.
“Hello,” the teacher said. “Can I help you?” Her face was tense and cautious.
“I was looking for Kat,” I said.
“She’s not here at the moment. Leave your card with us, and I’ll get it to her.”
I passed the woman a business card. “And you are?”
“Danica Phelps,” the girl said crisply. “And now, if you’ll please excuse us. We’re in the middle of a class, so I’ll have to ask you to—”
“Are you one of those scary guys? Like before?” A chubby little girl with red braids bounded toward us, squinting suspiciously. “You don’t look as scary as them.”
“Scary guys came here?” I asked. “When did they come? Was it yesterday?”
“Charlotte, shhh! Please don’t ask my students questions,” Danica snapped. “If you want to ask anything about school business, talk to Kat directly. I am not comfortable sharing information with a stranger.”
“They were super scary,” Charlotte informed me. “They had guns! I saw one of them! It was under a guy’s jacket! He looked mean!”
“Damn it, Charlotte!” Danica hissed. “Hush up!”
“I’m a friend, I promise,” I told Danica.
“Kat went to temp downtown for a while, because she wanted to get me some glasses,” Charlotte confided. “That’s why she’s not here.”
“Glasses?”
“Yeah. I’m flunking fourth grade ’cause I can’t see the blackboard at school.”
“Nor can she stop talking, evidently,” Danica grumbled.
“Kat taught me what to say to bullies,” the pigtailed girl said. “I wish I’d told those guys right where to shove it!”
“I’m very glad you didn’t,” I said. “Discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Kat says that, too. Anyhow, you better be nice to Kat. She taught everybody here how to kick and punch. If you mess with her, we’ll mess with you! All of us!”
For some reason, the kid’s attitude made my spirits rise. “I’ll take it under advisement,” I replied, not allowing myself to smile, and turned to Danica. “I apologize for the interruption. If those guys come back, please do not engage with them.”
“Nope,” Danica said crisply. “We’re not stupid. But I’ll be glad when Kat gets back.”
I analyzed what I’d learned on the way back to the helipad, but couldn’t come to any clear conclusion.
Other than the fact that I liked Kat Banner even more than I had before.
Rescuing Joanna’s cat, teaching little girls to stand their ground, temping to buy Charlotte a pair of glasses.
It was strange, that her digital footprint was so light, for such a charismatic person, and her apartment was antiseptic, which suggested cold detachment.
But everyone who knew her painted a picture of passionate involvement.
She was a tangle of contradictions. The one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t wait to see her again. Kat Banner, even spitting mad, excited me more than anyone I’d ever been with. I couldn’t even call those previous experiences intimacy. Not after last night’s experience.
The bar for what could be defined as intimacy had just shot up toward the stars.