Resurrecting Midnight (20 page)

The satellite phone rang again.

And rang.

And rang.

Chapter 18

I stood in the window.
The roar of the Atlantic matched my restlessness.

I was naked except for the Rolex. Beautiful woman in my bed. Expensive watch on my arm. Standing in the lap of luxury. Wondered if this was what it felt like to be Scamz.

The satellite phone rang a dozen more times. I had wrapped the sat phone inside a pillow and stuck it inside the hotel safe. Was tempted to throw it out the window, send it to the ocean. I took a deep breath. Hawks’s sweat, perfume, and sex had dried on my flesh.

The shell-shaped roof of the La Perla restaurant was seven floors down. I spied like a sentinel, in my right hand the phone the Lebanese had delivered. My left palm was on the windowpane as I grimaced out at the Atlantic. A tsunami raged inside me as the Atlantic Ocean crashed into the dirty sand, whitecaps abusing the shore like repetitive thoughts.

A different phone. A different threat. Two-million-dollar blackmail. Someone had me in another game of chess. I knew how to play chess. Pawns moved forward. Bishops moved diagonal, forward, and backward. Knights moved in an L-shape. The King moved one space at a time. The Queen moved any direction she wanted.

I couldn’t move because I didn’t know what piece I had, but I knew I was up against a metaphorical Queen. I guess that made me the King on this chessboard. The Queen had power, and when the King is captured, the game is over.

Somebody else had to die. Somebody had to be on the bad end of my fury.

I was tired of being fucked with. It had left me exhausted beyond repair.

I heard a noise and grabbed a gun in a motion so fast the world became a blur, aimed the loaded gun at the heart of the sound. It was Hawks. She was in the bed. She had fallen asleep with her high heels on. Her shoe had dropped off her foot and landed with a soft thud.

I put the Kimber back down, swallowed that anxiety.

Two hits. Three glasses of wine. Dancing for two hours. Sex like warrior gods.

Hawks should be unconscious until the other side of sunrise. Might sleep until noon.

There was a faint hum from inside the safe. The satellite phone wouldn’t leave me alone.

I was temporarily free from my current obligation. But many others enslaved me.

I turned the radio up a touch. Romantic Spanish songs drowned out the buzz.

I needed time to myself. I needed to be alone so I could think.

I took out my iPhone, went into Safari and logged into GOTOMYPC .COM, entered an IP address of a computer inside a home in Powder Springs, Georgia. After I took control of that computer, I was able to tap into the surveillance system. I saw Alvin White was parked two houses away. He was dependable. Any time of day or night, he had my back.

My headache eased up a little. Not much. Just a little. I wondered if the house had been spied on before my enemy had made contact in Florida. If they had, I’d be able to tell.

I inspected three days’ worth of footage on fast-forward, saw Catherine and the boys moving around the house. Steven was studying, then playing Wii Fit with Robert while Catherine read a novel. Nothing stood out. Cameras outside the house showed anyone who came toward the cul-de-sac, cameras in the back showed anybody who came to the back and sides of the house. Motion sensors were around the house, but none had been triggered at night. That meant no one was trying to sneak up to the house.

I went to the camera inside the kitchen. The FedEx box was still on the counter.

I went to the camera outside the house and found footage of a black car cruising the cul-de-sac, slowing in front of the house. Houses were on half-acre lots. There wasn’t any reason for a car to stop in front of that house, not even if they were going across the street. It was a five-year-old Benz. Series 320. Soft-top. A man got out. Average height and build. He checked his watch. Walked the sidewalk. There wasn’t any reason for him to park in that cul-de-sac and look around. He peeped at the house.

My heart raced.

Inside the house, on another camera, I spied on Catherine. She checked on the boys before she walked down the hallway, then down the stairs. She went toward the front door. Part of me wanted to scream for her to get the boys and get down into the basement. But what I was looking at had already happened.

Catherine was at the front door; the strange man who had been standing by the car went to the porch. Catherine hurried down the hallway. I thought she was about to call the police. She stopped at the alarm panel. Hit buttons and deactivated the alarm. Went to the front door and let him inside. He stood by the front door while she went back to the panel. She turned the alarm back on. Then she went to the man she had let inside, led him toward the living room. The lights were dim. It was hard to see his face. She poured him a drink. Used a wineglass. Poured herself the same. They were talking. Smiling and laughing. Then kissing. Catherine was in his arms, being felt up like a teenaged girl on prom night.

Childhood memories flashed. Red-light district memories.

She unzipped the man’s pants. Her smile was clear as her face moved into his lap.

Memories thundered inside my head. I’d seen her do that many times. As a child. When she worked in piss-smelling brothels. Had seen her do the same to many men. Italian men. French men. Canadian men. Had seen her do things with women. Had seen things no child should ever see. I watched her with a maddening disdain. Memories were unearthed. Nothing had changed. I lowered the iPhone, headache rising again, a silent scream thickening every vein in my body. I raised the phone and what I saw, it felt like the sun was inside my head, burning my brain. I fast-forwarded. Almost two hours later, he tiptoed out of the bedroom. He was alone. The man eased out into the hallway like a criminal after a crime. The way I’d left many scenes.

My heart thumped.

Catherine came out of her bedroom. Barefoot. Now she had on a satin housecoat that hit the top of her thighs, opened enough to show she was naked underneath. Her hair was pulled back, no longer perfect like it had been two hours ago, that time based on the digital readout. More smiles. Short conversation. Then she went to the panel, turned off the alarm, kissed him again at the door.

I looked for the exchange of money; there was none, not out in the open.

Whoever that motherfucker was, he kept his head down, hurried to his Mercedes, and drove away. He had left the way men exited brothels. Head down. In a rush. Not wanting to be seen. If that had been a setup, a sting operation, she’d be taken away to the Powder Spring jail while the boys were taken by social services. They would end up in foster care.

I saw her soft reflection in the patio’s window, saw her behind me.

Hawks was awake, watching me like the bird from which she had taken her name.

She sat up. Her dramatic mane fell, covered her breasts and thighs. She rested on white sheets, moonlight lighting up the contemporary room, an erotic painting come to life.

She yawned. “Everything okay?”

“Was checking on Catherine and the boys again. Just the cameras.”

“They’re okay?”

“I think so. So far.”

“Was hoping that blow job put you to sleep. That was my best to date. I should be patting myself on my back. You should be in fetal position sucking your thumb.”

“I’m tired. But I’m wide-awake. Thoughts are like caffeine.”

“I’m going to keep having sex to keep your mind here. I will do whatever it takes. You’re all mine in Puerto Rico. Now, if you want to talk to me about what’s bothering you, want to figure out how to fix it, I’m here for that too. I don’t care if it has to do with Catherine and the DNA. Or with the fuckers who are trying to milk you. Or if it has to do with South America. But whatever it is, you need to make me a part of it.”

“Okay, Hawks. You’re right. We had this planned, then the unexpected happened.”

I turned the iPhone off. Put it next to the Motorola. Problems lined up like tin men.

Hawks reached for her fallen high heel, slipped it back on her foot, slid her other foot from underneath the white sheets, showed me both of her shoes, shoes she had worn while we had sex, a French number, open-toe stilettos with a rhinestone brooch as an accent piece.

She stuffed a white pillow between her long legs, her hips moving against that softness.

Her eyes were wide open. A fire was burning. Restlessness was in her eyes.

Hawks extended her hand, palm up, her finger making a slow come-here motion. I went to her. She moved the pillow, pulled the covers back. Hawks opened her legs. I eased down on top of her. Licked her nipples. Her nipples were lovely. Hard. Round. Thick. I touched between her legs, felt how wet she was, slipped inside her, made her moan.

I stroked her in slow motion. Made it build. Then slow strokes became deep and intense. Hawks turned me over, took my erection in her hand, put it between her breasts, put her hands on her breasts, moved up and down, moaned while I moaned, then guided it inside her mouth, sucked me in slow motion, stroked me in slow motion, sucked me harder, drove me crazy.

It felt good. But it disturbed me.

I’d just witnessed Catherine on surveillance doing the same.

And the undesired memories of our wretched relationship became too strong.

I was a young man again, a teenager, Catherine’s mouth between my legs.

I held Hawk’s head, wanted her to stop, at least until the horrific images went away.

Again a noise made me want to reach for the Kimber. It was an abrupt ringing. The phone the Lebanese had left behind had come to life. Another enemy was calling.

Someone else was trying to enslave me. I didn’t like being a fucking slave. To my emotions or to any man, I didn’t like being a fucking slave.

Hawks groaned, frowned, stopped pleasing me, and whispered, “It’s them.”

I nodded. “It’s them. Whoever tracked me to Starbucks in Florida.”

“Those jerks have bad timing. Real bad timing.”

“Hawks. Need to get that.”

She took a frustrated breath, staggered to the desk, and handed me the phone.

She said, “Can you trace the call?”

I said, “Will know in a few minutes.”

“I’ll handle that if you want. Get me a name and an address. Will take off these high heels, put on my cowboy boots, get on the next plane, and fix that for you.”

Then I’d owe Hawks again. That was my thought. I’d remain indebted.

I answered but didn’t say anything.

“Gideon.” The same electronic voice. “Long time, no talk to.”

I said, “Cut to the chase.”

“Okay, let’s get to the endgame. Three days. You will have three days to transfer the money.”

“Where is this money being transferred?”

“You’ll be contacted.”

“You haven’t shown me anything worth buying.”

“Fair enough. I will transfer you a sample of what I have.”

“You could’ve done that hours ago.”

“First thing tomorrow. In the meantime, start preparing the money transfer.”

They hung up.

Hawks asked, “That was them?”

I nodded. Then pulled her back. Had Hawks straddle me. Wanted to finish what we had started. Two seconds later, my iPhone rang. Hawks cursed again, then leaned over and handed it to me. She didn’t get off me that time. She put her face in my neck and moved up and down.

I checked the caller ID. It was Arizona.

Hawks rolled against me, made me moan, made me hesitate, then I answered.

Arizona said, “They were in Memphis.”

“Not Atlanta.”

“Memphis.”

“You sure? Want to make sure they’re not heading toward my family.”

“Not in the ATL area.”

“Could they be bouncing their signal?”

“Doesn’t look that way.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“They are in Memphis.”

Whatever magic Arizona had done with the SIM card had enabled her to piggyback the phone I had. When this phone rang, she was alerted, and she heard every word that was exchanged.

I swallowed before I asked, “You don’t have an exact location?”

“Not exact. Triangulating off cell towers.”

Hawks moved, her breathing staccato, rocked like she was about to come again.

I asked Arizona, “You know where they are, don’t you?”

“They could be bouncing the signal off a few satellites.”

“You know where and who, but you know if you tell me, I’ll head in that direction.”

“The IDs you gave me for Nicolas Jacoby, both were fakes. Great work, and both were fakes. Not a Nicolas Jacoby with those ID numbers in Florida or Denver. Whoever you’re after, you had a link to him or her or them in your hands at Starbucks, and they walked away.”

“What about the Lebanese?”

“I picked up information on over two hundred credit cards, lifted data from forty laptops, just as many BlackBerrys and cell phones. Add in the information snatched from the computers from the cars in the parking lot. I’ll need a little more time.”

“More time. This is simple shit for you. Have your database sort the data, female names, age between eighteen and thirty. That’s simple shit. Why is it taking so long?”

“Give to get. You scratch my itch, then I scratch yours. You raise me on your list of priorities and I’ll reciprocate. Don’t blow me off and expect me to break my neck helping you.”

Hawks held me, bit her bottom lip, and tried to swallow her rising moans.

Arizona said, “Are you okay?”

Hawks’s moan slid inside one ear while Arizona’s voice penetrated the other.

I said, “I need that problem off my plate. I need that problem off my mind.”

“My team has been calling you for hours. Guess you only answer when it benefits you.”