Sake Bomb (20 page)

A white label was stuck to the bottom of the
laptop. She flipped it right-side-up, revealing the splintered
screen. Depressing the power button did nothing. She gathered the
machine and the power cord and carried them to Phil.

Then she was searching again—going through
drawers in the computer desk; another trip to the kitchen where she
folded a long envelope and tucked it in her back pocket; once more
to the bedroom.

A board hung on the wall nearest the woman’s
desk, a calendar thumb-tacked into the soft cork. Appointment after
appointment had been crammed into the small squares, all of them
seemingly related to work. He scanned the dates and came to one
with a
CK!
written in purple ink with a smiley face beside
it.

Xander grinned.

Moments later, Kizzie emerged wearing the
slightest hint of a frown, grabbed the paper towels from the floor
and jerked her chin toward the exit.

Phil opened the door and checked the hall,
went out and to the left. Xander exited; Kizzie brought up the
rear. She wiped the knob and door down on both sides and then
closed it gently behind her. Together, they went right. From entry
to exit the entire operation took just shy of three and a half
minutes of complete silence.

By the time they reached the street, the
gloves and paper towels were stowed in a pocket. Phil had gone the
back way, avoiding being seen by Yukiko who was across the street,
pacing beneath an awning and fidgeting with the long hair of his
wig.

“Either she wasn’t home, or she just didn’t
answer,” Kizzie said. “Or you lied.”

Yukiko blanched, taking an unsteady step
back in the too-high heels. “No, this is her residence. This is
where I did the tattoo.”

Xander didn’t doubt it. The design was
similar to Sumi’s, so the two women were connected in some way.
Whether
Yukiko
knew Sumi or not was the real question.

“Perhaps she moved,” Xander offered.

Yukiko latched onto the explanation with
abandon. “Yes, maybe. But I swear this is where I did the tattoo.”
He kept his gaze on Kizzie, as though too afraid to even peek in
Xander’s direction. “Do… Do I still get my money?”

“What do you think?” Kizzie asked.

The question wasn’t riddled with snark, so
Xander assumed it was meant for him. Yukiko stood there in skinny
jeans with two lopsided protrusions beneath a sparkling white tank
top. Xander decided the man was both too desperate to transition
and too scared of the repercussions to risk lying. He retrieved his
wallet, plucked a card from a slot.

A frown crumpled Yukiko’s face. “Visa gift
card?” he asked Kizzie. “I need cash. You said cash.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes—”

“If you don’t want it…” Xander pulled it
back.

“No!” Yukiko nearly grabbed his wrist, but
stopped before making contact. He waited for Xander to hand the
card over. “How do I know—”

“Call it.” Kizzie watched the street; Xander
kept his gaze on Yukiko.

The man angled away, hands trembling as he
punched in the numbers. His eyes darted to Xander and away, up and
away again. He entered the code and waited some more. Then he
sucked in a sharp breath, squeezed his eyes shut and smiled. “Thank
you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you.”

He threw his arms out, hugging air as Xander
deftly dodged the embrace. “This never happened. We never met and
you
never
want to meet me again. If you don’t understand,
ask your boyfriend about his wrist.”

Grabbing Kizzie’s hand, Xander strode away,
leaving Yukiko stupefied on the sidewalk.

“No hugs for Yukiko?”

Xander tugged her close so she rode his
shoulder. “And make you jealous?”

“How much was on the card?”

He shrugged, increased the pace. “Seven,
maybe eight.”

“The deal was for five. Xander Duquesne,”
Kizzie said airily, “philanthropic criminal extraordinaire. Such an
e-
nigma
…”

Xander fought a grin. Was she always this
playful? This easy to be around? Here they were tracking a murderer
to get to a nuclear weapon and Kizzie was ribbing him. He shook his
head.
This woman…

They turned the corner and started up the
first of two blocks they had to traverse before reaching the
car.

“So if you’ve got money to blow, how much
are you into Harvey for?”

His blood chilled as the reality of their
situation slammed home with startling clarity. They had a gaping
chasm of secrets between them, the present one being his
involvement with the salted bomb. He’d never told Kizzie details
and had no intention of doing so now. “Six million.”

“
Dollars
?” She stopped short, and he
spun back toward her. Her face was mostly neutral, with hints of
disappointment and disbelief peeking through. “Who’s your buyer,
X?”

Something like guilt stabbed through him.
Exhaling, he looked around, not liking that they were having this
conversation out in the open; not liking that they were having this
conversation at
all
. He ducked into the shadows between two
buildings, Kizzie in tow, the light from the street dim but enough
to see that expression still on her face.

“I don’t want to lie to you.” He meant it
and the admission surprised him as much as it appeared to surprise
her.

“Hot damn! We’re finally on the same page.
What’s the truth?”

“I can’t.” She pursed her lips and he added,
“Not won’t—
can’t
.”

“Or you’d have to kill me?” Kizzie chuckled;
Xander didn’t. “That serious, huh? Well, what can you say that
doesn’t end with me in a ditch?” Grinning, she turned her head to
glance down the alley. “Or is that why you’ve dragged me back
here
…”

Xander searched for the few tidbits he could
safely part with. “The actual mechanism is a sphere about 6 inches
in diameter. Plutonium core surrounded by highly explosive gases,
wrapped in a gold or cobalt casing, about a half-inch in thickness.
Utilizes a boosted fission implosion design—start one small
explosion, that triggers another, bigger
explosion—just…
yocto
seconds apart, damn-near
instantaneous—which triggers another explosion and so on until
everything goes kablooey.”

“Thought you didn’t know the makeup,” she
said, all signs of joking gone from her face.

“Theoretically,” he amended, cleared his
throat. “Thing is, you don’t need to launch it, or drop it. With
the sphere and the know-how to create the arming switch that
initiates the first explosion, you can set it off by cell phone or
e-mail or status update.”

“Remote trigger.”

“Leave it for days, weeks, years. It can be
configured in a variety of objects, though the dimensions for max
output and minimum size have been calculated.”

“What’s max output, in terms of area?”

“That sphere could easily level everything
in a one-mile radius. Vaporize flesh…shockwave’ll topple anything
standing. But with the right weather conditions and a surface
detonation—land or water—the resulting radioactive fallout could
initially contaminate 50, 60 miles. After that…” He shrugged.

Her eyes slipped closed and she muttered
something under breath. “Size?”

“Kizzie…”

“Give me the size, X. I need to know what
I’m up against.”

Low emissions signature, ridiculously easy
to transport, and it could render an entire population extinct in a
heartbeat. It could “salt the earth.” 6 million dollars was chump
change. He’d pay double to finally have Harvey in his possession.
That’s what Kizzie was up against.

Of course, Xander said none of this.

That Kizzie considered what
she
was
up against meant she had no intention of giving him his bomb
without a fight. Which posed a new question: If she did manage to
get Harvey away from him, who would it go to? The CIA, or
Connolly?

As much as he wished things could be
different between them, not knowing the answer to that question was
answer enough.

“A government issued ‘suitcase nuke’ is the
size of a dorm room refrigerator…” he said, somewhat blandly.
“Nikolay made a picnic basket.”

* * * *

B
ack in their room,
Xander sat on the edge of the couch, Phil stood near the door with
his back braced against the wall, eyeing him coolly. Xander had
enough on his plate for one night, so that conversation would have
to wait.

“Akari Sato,” Kizzie said, reading the name
off the mail she’d taken from the woman’s residence. “The In-Yo on
her back has ‘gust’ in the dragon position.” Her brow pinched, eyes
shut tight as though she were trying to recall the series of images
she’d seen. Even though they had the pictures, she was working on
recollection so her first impression wouldn’t be swayed. He admired
that.

“Ropes inked around her ankles, like Sumi.
Trashcan had a broken wooden box. The lid had the In-Yo in one
corner, and a flower in the other—pink…five petals. Cherry blossom,
maybe? Crumbs on the desk, don’t know from what, but there were a
few on her mouth too. Strands of blue hair on the body, victim’s
was black. Red string around her neck… Laptop label reads ‘Hanabi,
Inc.’”

Xander flicked his gaze to Phil, the look
going unnoticed by Kizzie. “What else did you see?”

Her head shook slowly back and forth, and
her eyes fluttered opened. “What bothers me is what I didn’t. No
cell phone. Not in her room, purse, kitchen, by her body. She had
other gadgets and a couple tech magazines in her bedroom. Dressed
nicely, decent furniture. Woman like that living in Tokyo…?”—her
head bobbed—“She had a cell phone. My guess is, whoever was there
when she died took it.”

Kizzie glided to Xander and bent at the
waist, their faces so close their noses almost brushed. The move
caught him completely off guard, as did her hand on his leg. He sat
up a little straighter. Pulse spiked, his dick thickened in his
jeans almost instantly. He wet his lips as her hand moved up his
thigh. Reached his hip. Kizzie curled her fingers into his pocket
at the same time she angled her head to whisper in his ear. “Now
why would somebody take her phone?”

Coming out with her own mobile, Kizzie cut
her eyes at him. “Any thoughts?”

“Hanabi is a pyrotechnics company.”

She twisted her head to Phil and Xander
turned in the same direction. What did Phil think they’d gain by
divulging that info, and why was he sharing in the first place?

“The CEO was an American,” Phil said. “Avery
Hall. He died at his home in Shimoda, the same time and place as
the first girl.”

“Whose name is?”

“Chiho Losu. 23. Her tattoo is ‘clay.’ Cause
of death: cyanide poisoning. Also found trace amounts of a toxic
glycoside called oleandrin. Works on the heart, but with the
cyanide, it’s overkill.”

“And nobody thought this was pertinent
Intel?” Kizzie zipped her face back to Xander, the intimate eye
contact strong and unwavering.

His dick throbbed again, her effect on him
painfully obvious. He watched her mouth; the way her pillowy lips
moved when she spoke. He’d spent too many nights thinking about her
mouth on his cock and tonight didn’t look like it’d be any
different.

“Y’know, since diversifying your bad guy
portfolio, you’ve been a phenomenal pain in my ass.”

“Welcome to the party.” Phil chuckled.

She stood and pointed at Phil. “You’re
guilty for having testicles.” It was Xander’s turn to grin. “So
you’ve seen the police and coroner reports—I’ll assume now that you
won’t tell me how you got them—but did they mention a red string
around Chiho’s neck?”

Phil nodded.

“Any idea what it is or why it’s there?”

“It means they’re sacred,” Xander said,
bringing Kizzie’s focus to him again. “To make something sacred you
tie a rope around it. Learned that from another Dom a couple years
ago who had a thing for rope work….and Shintoism.”

The
CK!
circled on Akari’s
calendar…the rope tattoos around her ankles. Xander grinned, their
next move suddenly so obvious.

“Is that smile a good thing?” Kizzie
asked.

A deliberate once-over and he said,
“Depends.”

“International man of mystery.” She huffed
and turned her attention to Phil. “The laptop?”

“Screen’s a wreck and the cable’s damaged.”
Phil motioned toward where the computer sat plugged into the wall
socket. “Don’t know if it’s salvageable yet, but I may be able to
access the hard drive. Give me some time.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tell me immediately, so
I’ll just be over here holding my breath,” Kizzie snarked. “This is
a serial. Chiho, Akari, Sumi—Clay, gust, mist. They’re connected.
Just those three or are there more? Is Sumi next or already dead?
‘Cause if she is, we never see Harvey again.” A glance between them
and she added, “Buck stops here, unless either of you have
something else to share.”

Xander leaned back against the couch,
waiting for Phil to give an exposé worthy of a tabloid. Phil said
nothing, and Xander’s shock at the man’s silence bothered him. He’d
never before had even a sliver of mistrust when it came to the man
he called brother.

Now…?

“Well, fellas,” Kizzie let out an irritated
breath and plopped onto the love seat, “I guess I’m back at square
one.”

Xander pulled the lime green flier he’d
snatched in Kabukichō from his pocket and slid it across the coffee
table.

Kizzie took the page, dark brows squishing
together as she scanned the text. “Nope,” she shook her head,
“Absolutely not. Not again—not me.”

“Come on, Princess,” Xander coaxed, smiling
broadly. “For old times’ sake?”

“
Hell
no.” Kizzie extended the flier
toward the door where Phil stood. “But you
,
handsome? You’re
gonna look
faaab
ulous in assless chaps.”