5. Tallus

Diem gave me a rundown of the Rebecca Aurelian case he’d been assembling. It included a few names and basic background information. He wasn’t convinced he’d discovered everyone. In fact, he was positive their boss and leader was still a big fat question mark.

“You need more than three people to run something like this,” Diem grumbled.

Businesses like Aurelian’s would run like a well-oiled machine with a line worker type of process that went from customer to production to payment then distribution. Diem explained how Aurelian’s role was easy to pick out. He had pinned the guy as the one who created the new profiles and inputted them into the big government system, making them as authentic as anyone else.

“Cain Morrison is the artist, I think. He works in graphic design. Vast knowledge of computer-generated art. I think he’s the one who creates the physical documents; passports, driver’s licenses, health cards, you name it. Whatever you need.”

“And these fake IDs function in our system? That’s insane. It’s fraud.”

Diem grunted affirmation, not taking his eyes off the folder of information in front of him. When he’d arrived at the office a few minutes behind me, his coat wafted cigarette smoke in his wake. Ever since, he’d been chewing Nicorette like it was going out of style, popping a new piece every fifteen minutes.

And he wouldn’t look at me.

“Tag Vendor is the muscles, so far as I can tell. I don’t know if he’s a new addition since Becca ran or what, but I’ve got eyes on him, and so far, I can’t see how else he’s involved. He’s the one who’s physically hunting her down. He takes his orders from a guy named Cormac Diamant. I’ve also tagged correspondence between Cormac and the other two, so I have a feeling he’s part of it too.”

“Top guy?”

“No idea. There’s more to this. There has to be. I also tagged a guy named Brad Kent, but he’s still a question mark. If he’s connected, he’s not as involved in the chase for Becca.”

Diem had dragged one of the orange plastic chairs from his makeshift waiting area to the desk, and I sat with my feet propped on top. He had shed the trench coat and fedora, giving me a better view of his face and expressions. Like the previous couple of times I’d seen him, he wore an unreadable stony mask.

Diem had followed the five men several times. He’d taken dozens of clandestine pictures. He’d run his own background checks and used some interesting spyware to eavesdrop on their conversations, but mostly, all he’d overheard were discussions about the importance of locating Rebecca Aurelian.

What he didn’t have was proof of their illegal activity. He didn’t have evidence of money going into offshore accounts or documents passing hands. Not once had he witnessed a transaction. Worse, he didn’t have proof to offer the police that Becca’s life was at risk.

“I have an idea,” I said when Diem had mulled and stewed for too long without talking.

Diem’s massive, hunched form stilled. The pen in his oversized hand looked small. His grip on it grew firmer, blanching color from his knuckles. I’d been in the same room as the guy three times. Three. But it was enough to recognize the tiny gesture as a base reactionary response to stress. If Diem was gearing up to hear something he may not like, he went into fight mode. Coiling tension radiated through his muscles, leaving him stiff and ready to attack. His breathing changed. He unconsciously clenched his jaw.

Stormy gray eyes, shadowed and mistrustful, lifted and met my gaze. He didn’t ask what my great idea was, but his undivided attention encouraged me to speak.

I dropped my feet from the corner of the desk and scooted closer, folding my hands and leaning inward so we were face to face. Diem didn’t scoot back, but I got the sense he wanted to. He didn’t like people in his personal space.

Up close, I noted the jagged definition of those raised white lines that cut into the scruff on his left cheek and marked the underside of his eye. I measured the size of the notch along the bridge of his once-broken nose and counted the various imperfections that gave Diem a brutal, daunting edge I was sure most people found disturbing.

The texture of his shorn hair had left a lasting impression on my fingertips and brain. I knew what it felt like without reaching out and touching it. Thick brows, dark and menacing, dipped lower, joining in the middle.

He wore a T-shirt, plain black, tight over his broad chest. The line of inked Chinese characters stood out among the dark hair on his forearm. Their faded color told me they’d been done long ago. Taking a chance, I touched the symbol closest to his elbow, softly and lightly tracing its contour.

For a second, Diem didn’t move. His ragged, labored breathing stopped.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what the writing meant when he jerked his arm away and sat back, rubbing the affected area like my touch had caustically burned.

“Idea,” he grunted, scrambling for the pack of gum wedged under a folder. It was empty. Cursing, tossing the pack into the garbage pail, Diem stared longingly at his trench coat, where I assumed his cigarettes lived, then abandoned the obvious craving and glared at me. “What’s your idea?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit uptight?”

“Yes.”

“Does the whole prickly attitude get you what you want in life?”

Nothing. No answer. But there was a swirling mess of something happening behind his dark eyes. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand I’d touched a sore spot.

“You need inside their system in order to break it down, right? If you want to catch them red-handed, you need to play their game.”

A deep V appeared between his brows. “Explain.”

“How does a person in need of a fake document know how to get a hold of these underground criminals?”

Diem lost his hardened edge. Not to say that he softened, but the intensity bumped down a notch as he peered contemplatively into the middle distance. “Dark web. Know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy.” He shrugged.

“Okay. How do people get hooked up with Aurelian and his law-breaking posse?”

“Posse?”

“Seemed fitting.”

“I haven’t broken that down.”

“Okay, then we take a more creative angle.”

“We?”

I smirked, sultry and mischievous, as I donned a well-cultivated European accent—thank you, high school drama dialect coach. “But yes, my darling. How else will you bring me into your country?”

“Legally.”

I laughed at Diem’s darkened tone and whip-crack edge. “Come on, D. If you want to win, you have to play the game.”

“D?”

“Slipped out. I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’re bonding. There’s a connection here.” I waved a finger between us.

He frowned harder and deeper. “Sarcasm?”

“Nothing gets past you. A brute with brains. Never thought I’d see the day. Well? What do you think?”

Diem seemed to need a minute to process my comment, then, “How do we arrange that exactly?”

“We go direct. Pretend a friend of a friend of a friend sent us to Aurelian to get some work done. We put pressure on him if he refuses. Name-drop the few associates we know he has. Threaten to take it to the boss man. Act like we’re important somebodies in the grand scheme of things. Acting is about confidence and believing you are the character you’re portraying. We need to unsettle him a bit. Shake him up. I saw this done in a movie once. It’ll work.”

Diem made a gurgle-choke-grunt noise that was rich with dismay.

I chuckled. “That one’s new. Not sure I understood the meaning. Try words.”

Diem shoved back from the desk and snagged his trench coat, still sputtering nonsense. He punched his arms in the sleeves, violently donned his ridiculous fedora, then pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from a pocket, fitting one between his lips.

Only then did he manage to form a coherent sentence. “No. You’re out of your fucking mind. I’m not putting your life in danger too. Out of the question.”

He aimed for the door, lighter already in hand, thumb flicking the wheel unsuccessfully.

“FYI, Guns, the Surgeon General claims smoking is bad for your health.”

He slammed the office door behind him.

***

Diem was calmer when he returned. I had wandered into the next room, his living space, and was admiring his pet snake from a safe distance. It was coiled inside the hollow half log like the previous time I’d been over, unmoving, yet feeling like a bigger threat than its miserable owner.

The office door shutting announced Diem’s arrival. Without a word, he aimed for the mini fridge, pulled out two beers, thought twice about it, replaced them, and found a bottle of Bacardi instead. He swigged twice from the bottle before crossing the room and offering it to me. At least he wasn’t kicking me out.

I stuck with a less serious mouthful, knowing I’d be on my ass in no time if I wasn’t careful, and I had to drive home at some point.

Unlike before, Diem didn’t land on the couch and turn on the TV. He stood in the middle of the room, shifting his weight restlessly, meeting and avoiding my gaze in intervals.

Two more swigs, and he talked. “You don’t work for me. I work alone. I’ve always worked alone.”

“Because you don’t play well with others. Glaringly obvious fact. Is that why you left the department?”

He took another drink instead of answering. Fair enough.

“You need help exposing Aurelian.”

“No I don’t.”

“You kind of do. From what you’ve told me, you’re in a tight spot and need answers.”

I took the bottle from his hand and enjoyed another sip of burning rum. Not my drink of choice. I preferred a fine wine or cocktail. “I admire the solo gig you have going on here, but if you want to move this case, you need me. I’m your guy. I’m easy, agreeable, and a decent actor. I’ve been on stage more than once. Put me in, coach. I can do it.”

I smirked and took another drink.

Diem’s attention drifted to my neck as he watched my Adam’s apple bob with the swallow. When I lowered the bottle, his gaze snapped to my face, then slipped to my mouth a moment before jerking away. He tore the bottle from my hand and chugged, glowering at his snake over my shoulder like the reptile had insulted him.

“You got caught up on the easy comment, didn’t you? Your mind slipped into the gutter. I saw it.”

“You need to leave.” But for the first time, there was no conviction behind Diem’s words.

“Thought we were having a drink. Besides, we haven’t finished talking out the plan.”

“There is no plan.”

“Sure there is. Do you have Aurelian’s work schedule? We should catch him off guard when he’s leaving some night. It’ll have to be a day Kitty’s working so I can slip out a bit early. Nothing freaks a guy out more than a random rendezvous with strangers in a parking garage, especially strangers who know too much about his secret life.”

Diem held a death grip on the neck of the Bacardi bottle. His chest rose and fell. His biceps pulsed. A vein in his neck rapidly ticked.

I purposefully licked a trace of rum from my lips, and sure enough, his gaze slipped to my mouth again. “Poor guy. You’re thinking about how we first met, aren’t you?”

The bear in his chest awoke. Diem was more beast than man.

I closed our distance, leaving only a scant foot between us, and craned my neck to look into his eyes. “How about Thursday for our rendezvous with Aurelian?”

“No.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you here at four to discuss the specifics. I’ll script some stuff out during my downtime. I’m also going to suggest you let me do most of the talking, especially if we want to make it believable.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, I lowered my voice, injecting the perfect balance of lust and seduction into my tone. “Come on, Guns. Let me help. I know you want me.”

“It’s not a game.”

“I can be careful, and…” Another step closer. I skated my fingers over the series of tattoos running down his arm. “I don’t scare easily.”

That time, Diem didn’t pull away.

His throat bobbed.

A beat passed, then another, but he didn’t take the bait. I’d invited him across the line, but he stood his ground.

I didn’t know what his deal was, but apparently, I needed to be blunt. “Want me to stay this time?”

“No.” The single word came out strangled and without thought.

“Are you sure?”

He paused, then quieter, “No.”

“So why are we standing here? I could be demonstrating my flexibility and shoving my dick in your face for real this time. No barriers.”

A low growl emanated from his throat. He glanced almost longingly at the couch, then at the door, and then back to me. His lips parted, closed, parted again. Then he shook his head and croaked, “Thursday at four?”

I chuckled. “That was hard for you.”

“Thursday at four,” he reiterated.

“Yeah. Sure.” I motioned between us. “Are you really dismissing this?”

He stared for far too long as though tallying every nook and cranny of my face, contemplating his answer.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure, but if I did…”

“I get it.” I wasn’t a man to beg, nor would I allow a closed-off Diem Krause to hurt my feelings. “See you Thursday.”

I thought his reticence might be a test and Diem would stop me when I tried to walk out the door, but he didn’t. He let me go without another word.