Sake Bomb (13 page)

“Exquisite?” Xander asked when Freddy was
out of earshot. The brow with the scar Kizzie found so damn sexy
lifted. “Curves?”

“Looks like a dirt mound. But we really
don’t have time to chit chat about dubious art over tea with Freddy
who, incidentally, seems far too sensitive to be associated with
the likes of you. Did we stop off in Tokyo just to bring him an
overpriced lump? I thought the hit from the necklace came in from
Shimoda. That’s over a hundred miles away. Plenty of airports
closer.”

Xander turned to Phil. “You didn’t tell her?
I told you to tell her.”

“‘Tell me?’”

“I thought you should do the honors,” Phil
said, shrugging.

She turned to Phil. “Tell me what?”

Xander chafed his hand over his face and
groaned. “You’re killin’ me, Phil…”

Phil laughed and took his phone from his
pocket. “Hey, I’m still sore about the twenty grand she cost me.”
He grinned at Kizzie, handed the device to Xander.

Kizzie crossed her arms over her chest and
let them go back and forth while murmuring over the cell phone,
completely oblivious to her presence. The roar and whine of a jet
engine indicated a plane had landed.

She waited.

A take-off and a touch-down later, she was
all waited out. “Should I guess, or you want to save time and just
tell me what the hell’s going on?” Another withering glance at Phil
and Xander turned the phone so Kizzie could see the picture filling
the display. The same picture Phil had sent her, still just as
blurry.
This
was the delay? “I’ve seen it already.
Phil—”

“Told you this is the shoulder of a dead
girl?”

Kizzie’s head whipped around.

“I forget to mention that?” Phil beat a
quick exit, boots thudding up the plane steps.

Hooking his wrist to angle the phone better,
Kizzie studied the picture again and Xander closed the space
between them. His warmth seeped into her skin, and whatever spicy
cologne he wore obliterated the smell of jet fuel. Tempted as she
was to snuggle closer, she stilled, squinting to cull more
information from the same pixel composition. “Sumi’s…dead?”

Sumi was the only lead to the salted bomb.
With her dead, this entire trip was a waste. “We should still
follow up on it.” Although she had no idea how to go about doing
that.

“That’s not the only one.” Xander flipped to
the next picture. “These came in before we left Paris.”

In terms of clarity, this one was better. A
face, the skin pale and lacking the glow of life. Eyes closed, same
went for the mouth, and straight black hair hung limp around the
head. No way to tell how long she’d been deceased. Touching the
screen, Kizzie selected the ZOOM function, scoured every detail
again.

Several more shots from different angles
brought Kizzie to one conclusion. “It’s not Sumi.”

“I know. But this is the girl with that
tattoo.”

“Not a coincidence, either, so who is she?”
Xander shrugged; Kizzie struggled to make the connections. “Send
those to my e-mail, I’ll check into it.” And by ‘I’ll’ she meant
Fletcher. “Anything else I should know?”

Phil returned with his bag and headed to the
car not far away. “Still haven’t told her?”

“I’m getting to it.” Xander picked up
Kizzie’s bag and then his own. “It doesn’t matter who the dead girl
is. Not to us, anyway.” He backpedaled a few steps and then
pivoted.

Didn’t matter? Their cavalier attitude
toward this situation was starting to wear on Kizzie’s frayed
nerves. She followed behind him, came to a stop where he stood by
the open trunk. “Why not?”

Xander set their bags inside. “Network’s
live.” The trunk lid slammed shut and he faced her. “A quick run
through Tokyo and we’ll have Sumi. Sumi leads us to her Mistress;
her Mistress gets us…?”

Kizzie smiled. “Harvey.”

Tokyo, Japan

T
he newest hit from
the tracer put the necklace in Kabukichō
,
a neighborhood
filled to bursting with neon lights, love hotels, hostess clubs,
and the run-of-the-mill unsavory types needed to occupy them. And
just like any other sin city, this one was run by the mob: the
Yakuza—Japanese mafia. Sprinkle in the Chinese Triad gang for
flavor and it all boiled down to one hard rule for foreigners:
Don’t make waves.

Evidence of the city’s rep met them in the
form of a body sprawled on the sidewalk, face down in his own
vomit. The crowd flowed around the poor sap—who’d probably had his
pockets picked dry by now—and continued down the narrow pedestrian
walks. The deeper in, the more intense things became. Peep shows
abutted nightclubs, and nightclubs flanked sex shops and bars with
the occasional eatery thrown in for good measure. Nearly every
available surface had been plastered with fliers, which only added
to the leaflets being handed out at random intervals, all
advertising sex in some form or fashion, the entire place one
unified, orgiastic soup.

A wall covered in lime green sheets caught
Xander’s attention and he snatched one off as they passed; tucked
it in his pocket. Beside him, Kizzie lofted a smart comment to yet
another tout who’d grabbed for her arm, but it was her earlier
words that echoed in Xander’s head:
“The Point left me…”

Kizzie didn’t elaborate. He’d caught her
off-guard at the outset, her reaction too quick to school the
visceral response and drop into the snark she usually hid behind.
But that was it, a handful of seconds with her guard down. After
that, the harder Xander pushed the more Agent Baldwin emerged, a
trained, emotionless machine—held eye contact, steadied her
breathing, turned his questions around on him. Repaired the tiny
crack he’d made in her wall. Still, she’d given him something to go
on.

Joe.

A friend. A
former
friend. Possible
boyfriend.

Was Joe connected to why she’d left The
Point?

Information was gold in Xander’s line of
work. Knowing an opponent’s secrets gave him the upper hand, and
Kizzie wasn’t exactly on his side. They were still using each
other—3-19 for her, Harvey for him. There was no telling if she’d
actually live up to her end of the bargain and let him walk off
with the nuke. No telling if he’d actually give her the truth about
3-19. Worst-case, whatever her secret surrounding The Point, it
could pay huge dividends in keeping her in line later.

Pants
, as Naima would say.

The job had nothing to do with his
curiosity.

It was her eyes. The haunted gaze that
filled Kizzie’s pretty browns when she spoke of Joe was the same
pained look he’d glimpsed after whipping her in Helsinki, like her
entire world was held together by a single strand of spider’s silk.
Xander wanted to know what caused that look and break it.

He balled and unballed his fists in his
pockets, struck by the primal urge to hit something for her.

On the edge of his awareness, Kizzie rattled
something off in effortless Japanese, and her fourth harasser in
ten minutes backed away. Without thinking, Xander took her hand,
laced her slender fingers through his. Her brow squished together
and she discreetly tried to pull out of his hold. He dragged her
back. “They get a kick out of harassing single women. And you’re
running out of insults.”

Hand in hand, he guided her through the
throng, refocused on their purpose. The necklace and Sumi were
close, so much so they no longer needed the network to amplify the
range. A little patience and they’d have her, and a way to reach
her Mistress.

Up ahead, Phil stared into the window of a
“health club”—a massage parlor where the treatment undoubtedly
finished with a happy ending. Not a bad way to get the heart rate
going.

“You good?” Xander asked, pulling alongside
him.

Phil nodded slightly, glanced down at his
phone, and then moved on, once again putting distance between them.
Phil wouldn’t admit it, but he was walking dead right now. They
both were. It was just after one in the morning local time. Too
many flashing lights and too little sleep had an ache tap dancing
behind Xander’s eyes. And like anything with talent, the pain took
the act on the road, stopping to entertain for his temples before a
full-on performance at the base of his skull. The quicker they
located Sumi the better.

At the back of the red-light district, the
crowd thinned to businessmen in search of spread thighs. Two women
exited a building, one of them wobbling so badly she needed the
other to prop her up. Both wore short skirts, skimpy tops, and
strappy heels that made the going even rougher.

A dark figured peeled away from the shadows
to join them. Male. Yelling. The sober girl recoiled from his
raised fist. More yelling, and then he shoved them forward,
propelling the pair up the street. He glanced back over his
shoulder before tailing them.

Phil crossed to the other side of the
alley.

Someone started singing. The drunk girl. A
slow, intoxicated wail. She staggered to her left and almost
smacked a pole. Her friend nearly fell trying to keep her
upright.

Phil signaled Xander.

“Up ahead,” he whispered, giving Kizzie’s
hand a slight squeeze. Approaching from the back he couldn’t see
their faces, but from what he recalled of Sumi—similar height and
shape, straight black hair—either of the women fit the profile.

A cough. A moan. A gag. The drunk girl
turned her head and lost it.

The side view ruled her out, which meant the
other one was Sumi. The man spun toward Phil, who lifted his phone
and started speaking into it as though lost. Phil went past the
trio, headed toward a larger throughway 50 yards ahead.

“That’s not her.” Kizzie slipped her hand
free of his, steps quickening. “Neither one.”

The second girl stooped to help the first,
her face visible to Xander now and he almost pulled up short. No
idea how Kizzie knew, but she was right. Phil had a lock on the
necklace, but Phil didn’t know what Sumi looked like. Something was
wrong.

More yelling from the man in Japanese as
Xander and Kizzie approached. Phil was out of sight now, having
made it to the main street and turned the corner. The sober girl
got her footing and hauled the drunk up with her. In the same
moment the guy looked up and his gaze locked with Xander’s.

Then he pushed both girls down again and
ran.

“Shit.” Xander took off, darting past the
screaming girls. Kizzie ran beside him, light and fast, also
swerving around the two bodies on the ground. Xander picked up
speed, gaining on the guy. Where the hell was Phil?

The throughway loomed ahead, well-lit
compared to the street they ran down, and with a bit of a crowd.
Bad sign. Two
gaijin
chasing after a local? That made one
hell of a wave. Things could get messy. Fast.

Xander sprinted faster, needing to limit the
attention this pursuit might cause. Kizzie’s boots struck the
ground not far behind, a rapid staccato echoing off the cramped
buildings around them. Their target banked left just before
reaching the main street and Xander followed without hesitating. A
handful of surprised touts were in the alleyway blazing a joint. He
sprinted by, coughing through the cloud of skunky smoke, tempted to
turn and make sure Kizzie wasn’t bothered but her footsteps didn’t
falter.

The rabbit hooked a right down another
alleyway, this one heading toward the main street again. He risked
a look over his shoulder, then his torso jerked abruptly and his
feet left the ground. For a second his body was airborne, and then
he slapped concrete with a nasty thud. Heart racing, Xander slowed
to a stop near where the guy had landed and Kizzie pulled up beside
him not long after.

“Hate it when they run,” Phil said, fronting
the guy, his breathing also hurried. He hefted the groaning man up
by the plackets of his coat, and then swiped his legs out from
under him, slamming him down again. An audible
whoosh
left
the man’s lungs, and then caught as a choke in his throat when Phil
yanked him upright once more.

“I need him conscious,” Xander said.

Phil shrugged, locked the guy’s arms behind
his back.

On closer inspection, he was really young.
Late teens, early twenties at the oldest. Nothing more than a
kid.

Xander went through his coat pockets. A
phone, butterfly knife, and a wad of
yen
. He tossed the haul
to the ground and Kizzie reached for the boy’s hip. She tugged hard
enough to rip the belt loop of his too-tight jeans.

“What do you want?” the kid wheezed in
Japanese. “Money?”

Kizzie held up the gold lock with the ruby
centerpiece that Xander had given her in Helsinki. It was connected
to a silver chain, the other end linked to a wallet. She ripped
apart the Velcro keeping the billfold closed and removed an ID.
“Koji here is just nineteen.”

“And already living the fast life.” Xander
tsked, head shaking. “Poor misguided youth… Don’t catch ‘em early
and they end up… well, they end up like me.” He grinned. “You speak
English, Koji?” When no answer came, Phil tightened his grip.
Koji’s head jerked furiously.

“Good.” Xander pointed to the lock. “Where’d
you get this?” The kid’s gaze shifted to Kizzie and back. “If
you’re thinking about lying to me, Koji, don’t.”

He blinked rapidly, still trying to catch
the wind Phil had forced from him. “There was a girl…a-at the
tattoo shop.” His wiry limbs shook harder than a stripper working
for tips. “She sold it to me.”

“Sold…” Xander inhaled a long breath;
glanced down at the sleeve of his jacket and dusted away
non-existent lint with the back of his hand. “You right or left
handed?”

“W-w-why?” Phil made another adjustment and
Koji groaned. “Left! Left!”

Xander looked to where Kizzie had removed
the wallet. “Break the right one.” He turned on his heel.