Cross Fire

“Apparently not.”
    Then she hung up on me. I was stunned but also a little relieved. Maybe this was some kind of test, to see if I’d call back, but I wasn’t even remotely tempted. I sat on the office couch, staring at the ceiling and trying to collect myself again.
    It was almost shocking, to think how much I’d loved Christine, once. Back then, there was nothing I wanted more than for all of us to be a family forever. Now, it felt like someone else’s history.
    And I just wanted Christine out of my life.

Chapter 54

    IT WAS JUST short of midnight when Agent Anjali Patel stepped out to the curb on E Street in front of the Hoover Building, craning her neck, searching for a cab. As soon as he saw her, Max Siegel pulled around the corner and lowered the passenger-side window.
    “Someone call for a taxi?”
    She gave him a nice view of cleavage as she bent down to see who it was. “Max? What are you doing here? It’s late.”
    “Sorry about earlier,” he said. “Had to run out unexpectedly. I just came back for my car, but maybe I could give you a ride and you can fill me in.”
    Her glance up the street said everything. Not a cab in sight, not much traffic at all.
    Max Siegel’s coworkers seemed to prefer him at a distance, which was exactly according to plan. Distance afforded him the privacy he needed and could always be broached if and when he wanted it to be. Like right now.
    “Come on,” he said. “I won’t bite. I won’t even talk about Cross behind his back. Promise.”
    “Um… sure,” she said with a practiced smile, and got in.
    Her perfume was lemony, he noticed. Or maybe it was her shampoo. Nice anyway. Feminine. She gave him an address in Shaw.
    Then she proceeded to chatter on about the case, making sure to fill up any spaces that might have otherwise been left open to the awkwardness of small talk between them.
    Siegel drove fast, goosing the yellow lights where he could. He hadn’t been with a woman since the real estate agent, and damned if he wasn’t getting a little hard just thinking about her.
    When he turned onto her block, he mashed the gas pedal once more and then coasted to a stop in front of a dark storefront just past her yellow-brick townhome.
    “Hey, that was it,” she said, looking back. “You missed my place.”

Chapter 55

    KYLE LOOKED BACK, too. The block was still clear of any traffic or pedestrians.
    “Oops. Sorry. My fault.”
    “All right, well…” Her fingers were already on the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”
    “That’s it?” he said.
    “Pardon? I don’t think I follow.”
    “See, this is supposed to be the part where you offer to cook dinner for me,” he said.
    Her face fell. She squinted at him in the dark, probably not ready to believe this was anything more than a weird coincidence. “I’m not much of a cook, Max.”
    “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “Ever seen one of these before?” He reached into his breast pocket and took out a small black box, no bigger than a lighter. “It’s one of those GSM ultraminiature transmitters. You can stick them practically anywhere.”
    Patel gave the thing a cursory glance. “Yeah?” she said. Her discomfort, and her attempt to hide it, were absolutely delicious.
    “Let’s just say I made the meeting between you and Cross after all.”
    Again, her energy shifted. Now she was pissed off and a little embarrassed — too much to be scared anymore.
    “You bugged our meeting? Jesus, Max, why the hell would you do something like that?”
    “That’s your first good question,” he said. “How much time do you have for an answer?” But before she could say a word, he put a hand to her lips. “Wait, I’ll tell you myself. You have no time at all.”
    The ice pick, his old favorite, was up and through her larynx before Patel could even scream. Still, her jaw dropped silently open with the effort.
    He was on her now, his mouth covering hers, his hand over her nose — a literal kiss of death, but just an ordinary kiss between two lovers in a car to anyone who might have glanced out his window. Her strength, her desire to live, were nothing compared to his. Even the blood loss was minimal — Patel had been too polite to ask about the plastic seat covers in the car.
    Or the raincoat Max Siegel was wearing on this dry night.
    Once she’d stopped moving altogether, his excitement only grew. He would have loved to climb into the backseat with her while her lips were still warm