us.”
For some reason, he felt it necessary to defend his own libido. “I have just as many needs as he does. I’m just as sexually active.”
She gave him a knowing grin. “Yes, honey. You’re a virile He-Man beyond compare.”
“See that you don’t forget it.”
They enjoyed the rest of the ride together, the mood lightened some. So what if they’d been forced to delay consummating their relationship? Bastian was alive and healing, and the three of them were together. His friend would be smiling soon, his grumpiness a thing of the past.
And when Michael caught Dietz and sent him to hell, their lives would be perfect.
At the compound’s gate, the day guard waved them through. When the car stopped, he got out first and gave a hand to Katrina, pointedly ignoring the stare of one curious agent who glanced back and forth between them. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what his employees were saying and knew Bastian would hold his own, but he worried about the effect on Katrina.
“Does it bother you that they’re probably talking about us?” he asked as they disappeared inside.
“No. Remember, I was raised in a nontraditional environment and I have a thick skin when it comes to those who don’t understand.”
Earlier in the week, she’d told him about her parents’ loving three-way partnership. It had made sense to him then, how she could be so accepting of alternative lifestyles. She was a wonderfully sexual woman, open even to exploration and play with other partners, and he felt like he’d won the fucking lottery.
“But I’m willing to bet your parents don’t work together,” he pointed out. “And one of them isn’t the boss at work over the others.”
“True. But I still don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”
“That’s my baby.”
He’d worried about the work angle, but if any of his people didn’t like it, they could hit the road. SHADO didn’t even officially exist, for fuck’s sake, so who were they going to complain to? The president?
At the corridor that led them in opposite directions, he gave her a kiss and went to tackle the pile of crap waiting in his office. The stack was twice as big as normal with both Bastian and Michael out for the past few days, and Bastian’s return on hold indefinitely. Common sense would dictate getting a temporary replacement to handle Bastian’s load — either Ozzie or Blaze would do a fine job — but he couldn’t bring himself to make the call.
Cursing himself for going soft, he dove into the pending cases on his desk. Checked top secret status reports from the FBI and CIA on some of America’s most-wanted criminals, spoke to the agents in charge for updates. Three of the fugitives had been captured by SHADO, two more busts were imminent, and the president had phoned to check on Bastian’s recovery and praise Michael again for “neutralizing” Tio. All of which heralded a good day in store.
He’d worked through half of his 146 e-mails when Blaze walked into his office without knocking. He peered at his friend around his computer monitor and immediately tensed upon seeing the man’s serious expression. “What’s up?”
“Randall Burns wants to talk,” he announced. “He’s decided our accommodations aren’t up to his standards.”
Michael snorted. “Poor little felons just don’t get a fair shake these days. I assume he has a sad story to share in hopes of improving his future?”
“So he says, but he won’t spill it to anyone but you.”
“Fantastic. I knew this day was going too well.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “And I suppose he wants a golden ass wiper installed in his cell in exchange for this tidbit? Maybe a steak dinner thrown in?”
“He wants to walk.”
For about two seconds he stared at Blaze, then burst out laughing. “Sure. Right. I’ll put that on my agenda, right next to launching my ‘Hit Men Are People, Too’ campaign.”
It took him a few more seconds to realize Blaze wasn’t laughing. And that he’d closed the door.
Cold washed over him and he sobered, studying his friend. “Okay. You know more than you’re saying. Tell me.”
Blaze remained standing, one hand gripping the back of the guest chair in front of him. “He claims he can give you Maggie’s killers.”
The breath left Michael’s lungs with the force of a blow from a sledgehammer. He sagged in his chair, one palm pressed to his chest. Maybe then he could hold his heart together, keep it from finally falling apart. His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. “He’s a fucking liar.”
“Could be. But you’re the only one who can find out because he won’t say jack to us. We’ve tried, believe me. Nobody wanted to come to you, upset you, if he was spouting a load of bullshit.”
He took a few deep breaths, tried to compose himself. “I appreciate that. You guys did what you could. Where is he?”
“In the interrogation room.”
“All right. Let’s go hear what this asshole has to say.” He stood on shaky legs.
“Michael… what are you going to do if he’s telling the truth?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? He had no answer, and Blaze didn’t press him as they rode the elevator down and strode through the maze of corridors to reach the small, sterile space where Burns was waiting.
The man was sitting at the sole table, hands folded on top. To Michael, he looked like any average man — a coach, a car salesman, a teacher, your next-door neighbor. There wasn’t much remarkable about him, save for the fact that he’d been hired by Dietz to kill Bastian and had attempted to follow through. Burns was an amateur, and as Michael slowly approached the table, flanked by Blaze and Ozzie, he got the impression that’s all the man would ever be. A loser looking for a quick buck.
Michael took a seat at the table, folded his arms on top. He stared dispassionately at Burns for several long moments, letting the man sweat. As most dogs do, Burns looked away first, unable to hold his stare. Michael took grim satisfaction from the telling body language.
“Talk,” he ordered Burns.
“What are you going to do for me?” The man’s attempt at bravado was spoiled when he wiped the perspiration from his upper lip.
“Doesn’t work that way. You’re at a disadvantage. You want something from me, not the other way around. You want to deal, give me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, you can rot in your cell for the rest of your miserable life — where nobody can hear you scream.”
Burns licked his lips nervously. He seemed to consider, but must’ve known his captor wasn’t bluffing. “You had a wife who got mugged last year. Stabbed to death for her purse.”
He longed to crush the man’s throat in his bare hands.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How about this — it wasn’t no mugging. It was a
The statement blasted through him, left a ragged, bleeding hole. Old grief and helplessness washed over him, through him. Rage. Some shred of the steely agent clung to the necessity of finishing this interview. Because now he had a chance to learn what had really happened to Maggie.
“Don’t you think I considered that possibility? No evidence of a higher plot was ever found.”
“That’s because you weren’t
Michael shook his head. “Already checked. The manager at the station claimed the camera wasn’t working during the week in question. The tapes were blank.”
“That’s what the manager, Gene, told you and the cops. Funny how he ended up dead four days later, killed during a home burglary. Bet nobody told you that.”
Nobody had. Michael’s hands clenched into fists. “Go on.”
“Gene’s place was torn up, but hardly anything was taken. Hell, he didn’t have nothing worth stealing, ’cept
