Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(39)

Elizabeth had been assigned to investigate the death of Professor Darvish. She was then officially taken off the case, only to unofficially continue the investigation on her own with me in tow. We had narrowed down to five the possibilities for who that mystery woman was with Darvish, and then I went off to get Julian’s help. I had assumed the woman was CIA, which meant Elizabeth couldn’t know her identity. I had assumed wrong, though. My meeting with Foxx in Chinatown had convinced me as much.

Now it gets tricky.

I could tell Elizabeth about Sadira Yavari. I just couldn’t tell her about Darvish. He was CIA. An informant, at least. An asset. No matter how much I trusted Elizabeth, there were some secrets I simply couldn’t tell her.

Of course, that’s what got you into trouble with Tracy, isn’t it? You ruined everything, you genius. What are you going to do?

“Earth to Dylan,” said Elizabeth. “Are you there?”

I snapped out of it. “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”

“That you needed to borrow me.”

Again, no witty retort. In fact, no anything. I simply stared at her until she was done doing what she always does in her head: figure things out.

Three, two, one …

“You know which woman was with Darvish!” she said.

I nodded. Yes, I did. “Her name is Sadira Yavari,” I said. “And she’s about to be your new best friend.”





CHAPTER 53


DIVIDE AND conquer. Or as the Romans first said it, Divide et impera.

I beat Elizabeth out the door the next morning by a couple of hours. Mayor Edso Deacon sleeps even less than Trump. His Honor’s always up before the sun.

Of course, the ancillary benefit of that was that I didn’t have to sit around and wallow in the absence of Tracy and Annabelle. It was so stupid of me to look into Annabelle’s room before going to bed. Her empty crib was all I could see, even when I closed my eyes.

Okay, Deacon, what’s on your agenda this morning? Surely you want a face-to-face with your guy Eli after his tip nearly got Elizabeth killed. Lucky for me you don’t trust phone calls. Who knows who could be listening in?

If the meeting was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be at City Hall or anywhere else requiring an official log of the mayor’s whereabouts. Deacon would never be so sloppy. Not a chance.

No, I was looking for a meeting that no one was supposed to see.

First decision? Whether I stake out the mayor’s residence at Gracie Mansion or the Excelsior Hotel on the Upper West Side, where Deacon hunkered down during his reelection campaign. The Excelsior was also where he met up with his mistress, the woman Elizabeth unwittingly provided cover for when she was first brought in as a member of his security detail. The guy had no shame. Of course, that’s job requirement number one of any successful politician.

“Start with the hotel,” Elizabeth told me. Then she told me what to look for. “He never uses the front entrance. Always the back. If you see his limo, he’s there.”

I saw the limo.

It was parked by an unmarked door next to the loading dock used for deliveries. The engine was off. The driver looked to be sleeping. That made things a little easier.

Perched on my bike in an alley near the back of the hotel, I watched through the visor of my helmet and waited for that unmarked door to open. A half hour became an hour. The sun was officially up. Could you actually be sleeping in, Deacon? Of all days?

I didn’t care. I was prepared to sit there on my bike for as long as it took. That was the plan. It was all about finding Eli. One way or another the mayor was going to lead me to him.

One way. Or another.

The more I kept staring at that unmarked door, the less I could hear of the city. The traffic, a plane overhead—every noise was fading into the background. That’s when something strange happened. My phone rang.

It shouldn’t have. That was the strange part. The ringer was off. But it still rang.

I glanced at the caller ID before quickly removing my helmet. It was Elizabeth.

“Hi, there,” I said. “How’d you sleep?”

I knew right away from the laugh that it wasn’t Elizabeth. “I slept like a log,” he said with an Israeli accent.

“Who is this?” I asked, although I already knew. He must have air-swiped the IMEI from Elizabeth’s phone at Starbucks. He was now piggybacking on her line. This guy was Mossad, all right.

“I’m the guy you’re looking for,” he said. “Now say ‘Cheese.’”

And like that, I was Al Pacino and his fellow detectives in Heat. I’d been made. Eli had gotten me to take my helmet off. He was probably now clicking away nearby with a long-range lens.

On second thought, I should’ve been so lucky.





CHAPTER 54


FUNNY THING about the mind. You get a certain idea stuck in it and then all other thoughts funnel through like lemmings. That is, until it turns out you had the wrong idea.

I looked everywhere in front of me, trying to spot Eli. Was he on a rooftop? A terrace? In a window nearby? If he wanted to identify me, he had to be able to see my face. That was the idea.

I had my helmet in one hand, my cell in the other. Eli was no longer on the line. Say “Cheese” was the last thing he’d said.

I’d taken the bait.