Point of No Return (7 page)

I chuckled, instantly relieved. "No, it's not Keira Knightley."

He laughed and nodded. Then he smiled at me.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I finally breathed, but my heart was still

hammering. He had no idea just how hard that was. I

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smiled again, kinda glad to have gotten it out. Then he asked, "Does Keira have a last name?"

"Oh no," I said, shaking my head. "You're not running background checks, plate checks, credit checks, license checks—"

Mitch laughed. "I wouldn't do that."

I stared at him. He so fucking would.

He rolled his eyes petulantly. "Well, okay… maybe I would have." Then he was quiet for a minute as he concentrated on driving. "So," he started again with a smirk, "does your Keira look anything like Keira Knightley?"

I answered by rolling my eyes at him.

We pulled up along the poorly lit section of

industrial wharves, and I could count five human shadows scattered along the walls. I knew Mitch would have done the same, sizing up possible threats. As we got out of the car, we walked toward the lone streetlight, where two hookers were waiting.

It was obvious we were cops. We didn't try and hide it. But we weren't here for them, and they knew it. It wasn't the first time we'd been down there.

"Hello, ladies," I said pleasantly. "Seen Ferret around?"

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"What's it to you?" the first hooker asked. Even the dim streetlight didn't hide her tired face, her pallid skin marked by drugs, rough nights, and time.

These women talked two languages; sex and drugs.

So Mitch answered her, amused. "You know, Ferret's been doing us favors." He blatantly grabbed his crotch. "When the need arises."

I tried not to smile.

The second hooker spoke up. "You don't need Ferret for that, sugar. I could help you out right now.

Blowjobs are my specialty. Ten for one, fifteen for both."

I repressed a shudder.

Mitch wasn't so amused now. "Ferret? Where is he?"

The first hooker held out her hand, waiting. I handed her a ten, and she replied with a nod toward the end wharf. "He passed through before, 'bout an hour ago, I s'pose. Went that way."

"Wearin' a long brown coat," the second woman said. "'Bout two sizes too big for him. Musta borrowed it from some Joe."

I snorted at the likelihood of that. Yeah, borrowed.

Like he'd ever give something back.

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I handed the second woman another ten for her

troubles, and Mitch and I both headed toward the end wharf.

The old warehouses on these docks provided shelter for the homeless but were cesspools for drugs, hooking, and death wishes. The drug runners and dealers caught wind of us the second we pulled up and had disappeared, for now anyway. We passed a few other people, either too high to realize we were cops or long past the point of caring.

But we eventually found our man outside, along the far wall that faced the water, finalizing some deal with a guy who scurried off when we arrived.

Ferret was a small, scrawny guy with pointy,

pinched features whose nickname of Ferret described him perfectly. Just as the second hooker said, he was sporting a new brown coat, which made him look even more rodent-like.

Ferret was maybe in his early twenties and had been hooking since he was about sixteen. He was smart enough to have survived this long. He saw what went on, heard street-talk that rumbled underground, knew when to lay low, and knew when to run. He'd been our snitch, our eyes and ears on the streets, for over a year.

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"Gentlemen," he greeted us, nervously. "In your car tonight? Or shall I blow you both here?" he asked, loud enough for the listening ears to hear.

No doubt, someone was always listening.

Without answering, we turned, and he followed.

When we got back to the car, we sat on either side of him in the backseat. The windows were tinted enough, and we were far enough from the streetlight, prying eyes couldn't see what we were doing. To them, we might very well just be clients. In the darkened car, he might very well have been sucking our dicks.

He was all twitchy, adding to his ferret-like

features, and I wondered how much was drug-induced and how much was just him. He reeked. The smell was rank.

"Wassup?" he asked.

"Tomic," I answered, short and simple. "What's the word on the street?"

"You tell me!" the little man said. "He got hauled with all that ice, then twenty-four hours later, he's back out again!"

"What?" Mitch asked, as confused as me.

"All that money must have paid for some good lawyer," he said, still twitching, and his knees were bouncing.

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"Tomic isn't out," I explained. "He's still behind bars at County."

Ferret blinked twice, then twitched again. "I saw him," he said. Then he closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I saw him."

I repressed a sigh. I wanted to ask him how many drugs he'd had today… or when the last time was he'd ate, or slept… or showered. Instead, I asked him, "Where did you see him?"

He scrubbed at his face. "Um…"

Mitch saw exactly what I saw. "Ferret, what day is it today?"

Ferret looked up at him sharply. "I dunno, man!" he cried. "How the fuck would I know? Don't exactly get the LA
Times
delivered round these parts."

"Ferret," I said his name slowly. "I can't pay you if you don't tell us anything—"

"Next block over," he said out of the blue. "Up on Fourth. That's where I saw him."

Mitch sighed, and even in the darkened car, I could see him roll his eyes, fed up. Now he was just telling us anything so we'd give him money. Ferret looked at me; his eyes were wide, glassy and empty. He licked his dry lips.

"Tomic's men are still workin'," he said with a shrug. "But I stay away from 'em. They come in, and I'm gone."

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"Was there someone working
with
Tomic?" I asked, though I'm not sure why. He was hardly making any sense, and I'd asked him this before.

He looked at me and blinked. His whole face

twitched. "I told ya, not that I ever saw. No word of anyone else. His men answered to Tomic. Everyone answered to Tomic. No one else."

"His men are still working?" I asked him, clarifying something he'd said before.

Ferret nodded hard. "Mean sons of bitches. I hide real good when they come 'round."

He started looking out the window, scouting his surroundings, and I knew our time was up. It'd be too suspicious if he were away too long.

I slipped a fifty out of my pocket and handed it to him. "Get something to eat," I told him, knowing damn well he wouldn't. Without another word, Mitch and I opened the doors and got out. Ferret scampered out after me, looked back at us, wiped his mouth for effect as though he just gave two blowjobs, and he was gone.

We headed back to HQ, not really any better off.

Kurt and Tony arrived not too long after us.

"Think he's losing it," Mitch told the others when we told them what Ferret had to say. "Drugs have got him."

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I sighed. "He's never let us down yet," I countered quietly. "But maybe there is some truth somewhere in his madness."

Mitch leaned back in his chair and frowned.

"Matt…"

I sighed again and nodded. Ferret was losing it, he was as high as a kite tonight and not making a great deal of sense. "I know. I know."

"What's the word on your side?" Mitch asked Kurt and Tony.

Both men exhaled at the same time. "Just what the boss said," Tony explained. "Business as usual."

Kurt agreed. "We take down one ring, and another just pops up in its place." He rubbed his hands over his face. "There's always another asshole wanting to make a name for himself as the kingpin."

"But not Tomic," I said with a sigh.

Mitch shook his head at me. "It's not Tomic. The bastard's behind bars, Matt." He was clearly sick of having this conversation with me. "Ferret doesn't even know what day it is."

"Right," our boss said with a finality that meant we were done with this for tonight. "It's two AM. Go home."

Mitch, Kurt, and Tony all stood up and when I

grabbed the file on my desk and opened it, Mitch sighed.

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"Let it go, Matt." He clapped his hand on my shoulder. "Go home. Go to Keira's."

Kurt and Tony stopped in their tracks and turned to look at me.

I stared at Mitch. "Nice, Partner. Real nice. So much for 'Partner's Code of Silence'."

"Keira?" Kurt said with wide eyes and a bewildered smile. "As in Keira Knightley?"

Mitch laughed. "Nah, apparently it's not."

Tony looked at Mitch. "Does she have an English accent? Because then we'd know for sure."

Mitch laughed. "No, I never spoke to her." Then my partner looks at me. "Is she English?"

I cleared my throat and shook my head. "Um, Japanese…" I stopped myself short on adding Spanish. I didn't know why I even told them that much.

All three men stared at me. Mitch grinned, then looked at Kurt and Tony. "This is new. I didn't know that before now."

"Didn't know what?" Berkman asked, walking in on the conversation.

Kurt was quick to spill. "Matt's new love, Keira, is Japanese."

Berkman looked at me for a long second, then

shrugged like he couldn't give a shit and kept walking.

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Kurt and Tony both joked with Mitch, and I could hear him explaining as they walked toward the elevator how he'd only got a first name and now he had a nationality. "I'll know who it is soon enough, boys."

I rolled my eyes, even though they didn't see it, picked up the Tomic case file, and started at the beginning.

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Chapter 8

I caught a few hours' sleep at my desk, enough to tide me over, and although I spoke to Kira on the phone, I didn't see him until Wednesday.

Finally getting my head out of paperwork, I kept my usual Wednesday gym appointment. When I walked into that boxing room, thank God no one else was in there, because his smile was blinding.

I could tell he wanted to speak freely, or touch me, but considering where we were, he couldn't. "You look tired," he said quietly as he helped me strap my hands.

"I'm okay," I told him, tracing his fingers with mine.

I spoke so quiet only he could hear, "I'm sorry I haven't been around."

"It's okay," he answered with a smile. But then he tapped my hands and quickly tapped my cheek. "I'll get good payback for sleeping alone."

I laughed. "So every time I have to work late, you're gonna kick my ass in here?"

He grinned. "Something like that." He stood in the middle of the floor, stretched his neck, shook out his arms and bounced on his toes. "Come on, Detective. Give it your best shot."

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Just when I thought this was gonna hurt, he actually took it easy on me. We went through the usual one-two jab sequences, but he still habitually lifted his right foot, his kickboxing foot.

I stepped back and dropped my hands. "Teach me kickboxing."

His hands lowered, and he stood up straight.

"Why?"

"I want to learn."

"You're too tired today."

I knew he was taking it easy on me, because I hadn't slept. "Do you think the guys I track down care if I'm tired?"

He didn't answer, but he still looked hesitant.

"Do you think drug dealers give a shit if I don't sleep?" I asked him. "In fact, it's when I'm most vulnerable that I should know how to defend myself properly."

He glared at me. I think he might have even

growled, and I knew I'd won this one.

But fuck, he let me have it. We faced each other in mirrored stances, and showed me the basics. And little by little, he let fly, tapping my shin and thigh with his foot.

It fucking hurt.

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He was glorious. He was so damn fast… and fit. He barked instructions at me, and I had to admit, it was a bit of a turn-on.

I'd seen how commanding he could be in the

bedroom. I'd seen how he took charge. It was fucking hot.

But the burning sting of his foot connecting with my calf and thigh ruined any chance of this being arousing.

When I knocked on his door at ten that night, he leaned against his door and smiled at me. "How's the leg?"

I walked inside and toed off my shoes. "Sore, but thanks for asking."

He closed the door, leaned against it and his smile twisted into a pout. "I'm sorry."

I walked up to him, right up to him, pushed myself against him and kissed him, hard. He responded in kind, slipping his hand around my neck while his tongue invaded my mouth, and I just melted into him. I just fucking melted.

I couldn't explain it. It was foreign to me. It was a feeling I couldn't describe, being with him. Sure, it was desire and heat, and want and need, push and pull.

But it was something else.

Something I'd never really felt with anyone.

Safe.

I felt safe with him.

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