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"Witness Protection"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Rating: R Warnings: Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots),
some OOC (probably), violence, drugs, sex, a naughty Duo (i.e. he
has a potty mouth and is a bit, er, slutty)…if you are wedded
to the “pure, chaste” version of Duo, he might be a bit
dark and crude for your taste…ditto for the other characters
in here…hey, Quat’s a lawyer…how much lower could he
get? Pairings: 1X2 eventually, 3X4 also eventually, (past 2X3, 6X2) A/N: I’ll apologize in advance that Zechs is, well, deceased right from the start. I like him a lot, and there’ll be mention of him…but mostly in the form of discussing/investigating his murder. Sorry. Summary: When Zechs Merquise is found murdered,
detectives Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang are tasked with the unenviable
chore of keeping the only witness to the crime alive long enough to
testify against the leader of the Oz syndicate, Treize Khushrenada. "Witness Protection"
The night had passed quietly enough; Maxwell stayed in his room, and I stayed in the kitchen, knowing better than to even poke my head in the door to check on him. He’d probably be sprawled naked across the bed with a “screw me Heero” sign in his hand. Okay, that was a total fantasy—but not too far from the truth. I had no doubt that if I’d accepted his earlier offer, he’d have gone through with it. I also had no doubt he’d make the offer again. And what scared me was that I didn’t know how many times I could refuse it. The memory of his weight in my lap, the hot breath on my lips, and the damp warmth that emanated from his freshly-showered body kept me hard for hours, as I tried futilely to be more interested in the computer screen than in the tantalizing daydream. I was never so glad to see the sun come up. I stood and stretched, adjusting my pants to ease the lingering pressure of arousal, and walked down the hall to tap on Wufei’s door. “Awake!” he called in response, and I heard shuffling noises that told me he was up and dressing. While he pulled himself together, I went back out to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. Letting it brew, I pulled out Wufei’s note pad and added green tea to the grocery list. Coffee was great stuff—but sometimes I preferred the mild taste of tea, and I knew my partner did as well. We deserved a little treat for all the hardship we’d endured. “How was your night?” asked Chang, walking in looking refreshed and tidy, even in casual clothes. “Fine. Maxwell stayed in his room—probably listening to the cd player, if the peace and quiet is any indication.” “Have you looked in on him lately?” Oh. How to explain I was afraid of what I might find in that bedroom? “Haven’t heard a peep. I didn’t want to push my luck,” I joked weakly. “Sure he didn’t climb out the window and run off?” my partner quipped in return. Now that he mentioned it—. We both moved like lightning, striding quickly from the kitchen to the first door in the hallway. Chang didn’t knock, but yanked the door open and stepped in. The first place my eyes went was the open window, and I felt a jolt of panic. And then I saw Maxwell, curled up on the bed with a cigarette in his hand, and a book spread out on the comforter, headphones on, and the faint sound of music escaping the edges. As I was breathing an explosive sigh of relief, Chang stalked over and yanked away the offending cigarette. “What did we tell you about smoking?” he ranted, going to the window and lifting the screen so he could throw out the butt after snuffing it on the metal edge. Maxwell pushed himself upright, tugging the earphones off. “Goddamnit, Chang! I didn’t feel like having to haul my ass out to the living room, all right?” He glanced fleetingly at me, and then glared at my partner. “You two are shit for company, and I didn’t want to have to deal with either one of you.” I rolled my eyes. Had my refusal of his advances hurt his precious feelings that much? “We established the rules yesterday, Maxwell,” I reminded him. “You established the rules—and crammed them down my throat!” “It’s not our cabin, or yours. It’s simple courtesy to keep the smoke to a minimum.” “I opened the window so it wouldn’t stink up the room,” he pointed out. Chang slammed the window shut and locked it. “That’s another thing!” he snarled. “Leaving a window open is an invitation. Do you really want to provide easy access to a potential attacker?” Our witness pushed himself up off the bed, fists clenched at his sides. “Jesus Christ! I grew up on the fucking streets, Chang! I ran with a gang. I could scrap with the best of ‘em. And then I worked as a bodyguard. Do you seriously think I can’t defend myself at all?” “I seriously think you’re the stupidest, most stubborn witness I’ve ever had to deal with!” spat my partner. “What will it take to get you to cooperate?” “Take the fuckin’ stick out of your ass, and stop trying to change me! Give me a fuckin’ inch of room to breathe!” “You won’t be breathing at all if Khushrenada has his way.” “Yeah, well, he could hardly stifle me any more than you two!” snarled Maxwell. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the night stand. “I’m going to finish my smoke by the goddamned fireplace.” He stalked out, and I sighed wearily. Chang darted me a sharp look. “I know. I was supposed to try harder, wasn’t I?” I merely shrugged, too tired after a long night of monitoring the perimeter to argue. “I’m just relieved we didn’t find an empty room,” I said frankly. My partner’s gaze went to the window, and a thoughtful look settled on his face. “Now that you mention it—maybe we should do something to ensure Maxwell can’t sneak out.” I gave a wry chuckle. “Short of nailing the windows shut from the outside…” My voice trailed off as our eyes met in sudden realization and agreement. “I’ll get on it after breakfast,” Chang promised. “Can you keep him busy enough to not notice what I’m up to?” “I’ll let him walk the perimeter with me. That should keep his attention off you for an hour or so. Just try to keep the noise to a minimum.” “I saw an electric screwdriver in the garage. I could use that, and then Winner would be able to remove the screws at a later date with a minimum of damage.” “Perfect,” I agreed. “Now let’s go eat so I can take Maxwell out for his walk.” And yes, I deliberately phrased that to make him sound like a pet who needed to be walked. It got a smirk from Wufei. “Of course.”
Since we had a limited supply of food, breakfast consisted of coffee, toast, granola bars, and doughnuts. I had toast, while Chang ate a granola bar. And when Maxwell wandered in and headed for the coffee pot, my partner slid the plate of doughnuts over to him. Glancing warily at Chang, the braided man picked up a fat jelly doughnut. He took a bite, catching a glob of filling as it oozed out the opposite end, and sucking it off his finger. I closed my eyes, trying not to groan aloud. At the rate I was going, I’d have to take a shower for the sole purpose of masturbating. It was for damn sure I couldn’t get away with it anywhere else in the house…not with two roommates. When I dared to look up again, Maxwell was on his third doughnut, and Wufei was busy scribbling more things on the rapidly growing grocery list. “Maxwell—if you’d like a breath of fresh air, you could help me with my perimeter survey after breakfast,” I said, making it sound casual. He looked surprised, pausing in mid-bite. “Y’gonna let me outside?” he asked in disbelief. “We discussed it after you left, and decided it might be a good idea,” I told him, borrowing enough of the truth to sound sincere. His smile almost made me feel guilty. “Yeah, it would,” he assured me. “I need the exercise.” He made a vague gesture to the dwindling plate of doughnuts. Chang gave a short laugh, and shook his head. “It’s amazing you stay so thin eating garbage like that, Maxwell.” The sly indigo eyes turned his way, and a smirk curled the full lips of our witness. “Why Wuffers—I didn’t think you noticed,” he crooned in a teasingly sultry voice, half-closing his eyes. “Maybe you’ve been watching my ass as much as Quatre has, hm?” Chang turned a lovely shade of beet red, and he sputtered indignantly, lost for words. Maxwell immediately went for the throat. “Want a closer look?” “No!” My partner stood quickly, shoving his chair back so fast it bounced against the wall. “I have things to do,” he added, heading for the garage—and the electric screwdriver, no doubt. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “See if he ever gives you a compliment again.” Maxwell’s return smile lacked the sarcastic edge I was used to seeing. “He deserved that,” he said with surprising frankness. “He’s such a fucking prude!” “What does that make you?” I countered, unable to resist. “A slut?” “Only if you want me to be,” he riposted smoothly, turning that heated gaze on me. I felt warmth creep up my face, and saw the glimmer of satisfaction in the indigo eyes. “All I want you to be is a good, well-behaved little witness, Maxwell.” “Hm. Maybe you’re a prude too,” he sniffed disdainfully. I stood up and downed the rest of my coffee in a gulp. “Let’s just get to work.”
I made sure to keep plenty of distance between us as we headed outside, though it wasn’t hard when Maxwell eagerly strode ahead of me to explore the yard. I let him meander around a bit, checking out the landscaping and plant life, before suggesting we start our work. When we got to the foot of the driveway, he found the hanging camera before I even pointed it out, since the sun was gleaming off the metallic surface. “What’s this?” “Mini-cam,” I said shortly, picking it up and examining the exterior for damage. “Has a three-hundred and sixty degree view.” Maxwell turned a suspicious look my way. “I never knew cops had that kind of technology. Looks more like CIA shit.” “It’s mine,” I said with a noncommittal shrug. “How’d you get it? You an inventor or something?” I paused, scowling at him. “What difference does it make?” “I just wondered,” he shrugged, looking mildly affronted. “Sheesh…ya try to make conversation…” “Don’t.” I heard a muttered “asshole,” before he subsided, sauntering over to look at the daffodils poking out of the soil by the driveway. That kept him occupied while I repositioned the camera just slightly, wanting a better angle for my surveillance. Then I was ready to move on to the motion sensors. “Maxwell—.” He straightened, looking a bit sullen, and followed me to our next check point. “This is boring,” he said flatly, watching as I raised the sensor a few inches. “It’s security,” I replied. “When it alerts us to a prowler, you’ll be glad it’s here.” “How much motion will it detect?” He seemed to gain interest as I showed him how the width of the sensor range could be adjusted with the turn of a tiny jeweler’s screwdriver. “I could narrow it down to a one-inch band of coverage, or leave it to detect movement in a full hundred and eighty degree swath.” “What about the vertical?” “That’s why I set them at different heights. If I leave them wide open, a fucking leaf fluttering in a breeze could trigger them. And along a game trail, I have to set them higher than a deer’s back, or risk having false alarms all night.” “Complicated,” he commented. “Not really. It just requires a bit of planning…knowledge of subject.” He chuckled wryly. “Another mission.” I shrugged. “Guess you could call it that.” We spent over an hour on the various devices along the boundary of the clearing, but as we made our way from the front of the house towards the back, I glimpsed Chang rounding the corner with a tool bag in his hand. Unfortunately so did Maxwell. “What’s Wu-baby doing?” “Checking windows—house security.” Maxwell shot me a wary look. “Making sure I can’t sneak another cigarette in my bedroom?” “Making sure no one can gain access without alerting us,” I said vaguely. “Here. Make yourself useful.” I pushed a sensor and the screwdriver into his hands, eager to divert his attention. “Three half-turns to the right on that little screw there.” He followed the instructions to the letter, and then held it out to me. “Somehow, this wasn’t how I pictured you an’ me screwing,” he smirked. I rolled my eyes, realizing how neatly I’d set myself up. “I take it Wuffers doesn’t know you’re gay.” “I’m not!” I blurted reflexively. “Oh, right. That bulge in your pants last night was what—my imagination?” “You must’ve been dreaming,” I muttered defiantly, heading for the next motion sensor. “Wet dreaming,” he purred, jogging to keep up. “Well do it with someone else,” I said curtly, not looking at him, but focusing on my task. “There is no one else,” he pouted, edging into my personal space just enough to make me drop both the screwdriver and the sensor. “Fuck!” I hissed, looking down at the tall grass in dismay. “My sentiments exactly.” I turned to face him, my temper flaring. “Goddamnit, Maxwell! I’m not interested! I don’t know how many times or ways I have to say that! Now get the fuck out of my way so I can find what I dropped!” I shoved him bodily aside, dropping to my knees to sift through the grass in search of the very small screwdriver. I wouldn’t miss the sensor that much—but I didn’t have a spare adjustment tool. “You’re a bigger asshole than your partner, Yuy,” I heard from behind me. “At least he’s just a prude—not a liar!” His footsteps faded away, and I glanced over my shoulder as he reached the porch and stomped up the steps. I didn’t know or care whether Chang had finished securing the windows—at least not until I’d found the elusive screwdriver, and amazingly, the thumbnail-sized sensor. Then I quickly finished my job and headed inside to check on Maxwell’s whereabouts and Chang’s success. The braided man was on the couch watching television again, and didn’t even look up as I walked across his line of sight and into the kitchen. Wufei was sipping a cup of coffee and looking a bit smug as he continued the grocery list. “I take it you finished?” I asked, pouring myself a cup. “All secure,” he replied smoothly. “And he’s none the wiser. I anchored every window a person might use for access—in or out. Why don’t you catch a couple of hours of sleep? I’ll wake you when I’m ready to leave for the grocery store.” “Wake me before that,” I told him. “I need a shower before you go; I can’t very well take one and watch Maxwell at the same time.” Wufei smirked irrepressibly. “He might argue that point.” I gaped at him. “I don’t believe you just said that.” “I know,” he sighed. “But it popped into my head and I couldn’t resist. I think we’ve been around him too long—he’s starting to rub off.” “That’s a scary thought.” “Isn’t it?” I tried not to dwell on that conversation as I made my way to the bedroom and sacked out for a couple of hours. And although I was afraid I would be unable to sleep, I dozed off almost immediately.
The next thing I knew, Chang was shaking me awake. “C’mon, Yuy. If you get up now, you can shower while I make an early supper. The Captain will be e-mailing at 1700 hours, and I’ll leave to go get food right afterwards.” “Where’s Maxwell?” “Asleep on the couch again. I turned down the noise and left him resting.” “Maybe you should put sleeping pills on that grocery list,” I joked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “He seriously is much easier to supervise when he’s unconscious.” “Yes, but he might notice if we start to spike his food with sedatives.” “And he might not.” I made my shower a quick one; and no, I didn’t need to—relieve myself. That urge had dissipated since I put some distance between Maxwell and me. Not that it wouldn’t be back in spades the next time he purred out a suggestive comment; but for the moment, I was in control again. When I got to the kitchen, Chang was dishing up a dinner of canned hash and green beans, and I breathed a silent prayer that this would be our last such meal. “Get some fresh vegetables, would you?” I asked, as I choked down the canned ones. “You couldn’t stop me if you tried,” my partner quipped. “I think the one thing Maxwell and I have agreed on is that this place has a poorly stocked pantry. He ate a little earlier—said something about preferring his own company to ours.” “If only,” I sighed. “I thought I’d take Winner’s SUV to the store. He did say it was all right to use it, didn’t he?” “Absolutely. And there’s no point in exposing that rental car any more than necessary. You can top off the tank for him—I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” Once we’d eaten, Chang went to check out the SUV, while I moved the laptop into the study just off the kitchen so I could hook up to the internet. I logged a quick message to Po to alert her to the server I’d be on for our communication, pausing when I heard a sharp clatter in the living room. Curious, and wary, I went to the door and looked across to where the couch was, only to see Maxwell staring at the television screen, his face taut with pain, and the controller on the floor beside the couch. “What the—?” I followed his gaze to the screen, where they were showing a vid-clip of Zechs Merquise’s funeral. Shit. \ In today’s top story, Zechs Merquise was laid to rest at Peacemillion Cemetery in a private ceremony. The man who owned half the downtown club district, and was reputed to be involved in an underground crime syndicate, was found shot to death in his penthouse apartment last week. / A picture of Merquise went up on the screen, showing a man with ice-blue eyes, sleek platinum hair, and a perfect smile making his way through an admiring crowd outside one of his nightclubs. I spared a glance at Maxwell, watching the play of genuine emotion across his face as the camera tracked his deceased lover. I didn’t need Winner’s empathic nature to perceive the very real grief in the indigo eyes, or catch the slight hitch of breath and the convulsive swallow. \ Sources in the police department are keeping very quiet about the case, but word on the street is that multimillionaire Treize Khushrenada is suspected of involvement in the murder. He and Merquise were business associates and federal investigators have been trying for years to connect their jointly-owned enterprises to organized crime. / Maxwell gave a skeptical snort, sounding more like himself. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” I walked closer, curious now. “Why? What do you know about the Oz syndicate?” “I know they launder money with the best of ‘em,” he shrugged. “How?” Shrewd indigo eyes fixed a calculating look on me. “You looking for more out of me than a murder charge against Khushrenada?” He shook his head. “Sorry, detective, but all I know about the money laundering is hearsay.” He gave an almost wistful smile. “Pillow talk, y’know.” His gaze went back to the screen as they showed a video clip of the funeral, with a small box in the corner of the picture still displaying Merquise’s regal face. I had to admit—the man was gorgeous. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Maxwell sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with his fingers, as if he were tired. I opened my mouth, on the verge of commenting on Merquise’s lifestyle, but that would have been an awfully low blow, considering how obvious Maxwell’s pain was. Instead I found myself saying something totally out of the blue. “He had lovely hair.” Maxwell’s head swiveled around, and he fixed a wide-eyed look on me. I shrugged slightly, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, hell…you’ve got to admit it’s eye catching.” A hint of a smirk curled Maxwell’s lips, and his eyes brightened. “Soft, too. It was like silk—spun silk.” His voice trailed off dreamily, and then he kind of shook himself, like a dog coming out of the water. His smirk widened into an evil grin. “So—does the illustrious Detective Yuy have a little hair fetish?” He tossed his braid over his shoulder, giving me a sultry, half-lidded look. “I do not,” I said firmly, trying not to let my gaze follow the heavy rope of chestnut hair as it slithered across his back. He crossed his arms on the back of the couch, resting his chin on them. “I think you do,” he cooed sweetly. He put a hand to the nape of his neck, drawing the braid slowly around to the front and holding it out. “Wanna touch it?” he asked huskily. “No!” I blurted, taking a step back and crossing my arms resolutely. “You know you wanna touch it,” he crooned in that same low, suggestive tone he’d used in the car, and on my lap. He looked up at me from under his lashes, lips parted and his cheeks faintly flushed. “C’mon and touch it, Yuy…touch me,” he challenged, pushing up to his feet and climbing over the back of the couch to stalk towards me. I backed two more hasty steps, only to collide with a hard chest as my partner walked into the room. “Goddamnit, Yuy! Watch where you’re going!” Wufei’s hands settled on my shoulders, shoving me forward, away from him—almost directly into Maxwell’s arms. But I was able to twist aside at the last second, sidestepping the braided man and darting a glare at my partner. Maxwell’s eyes fairly sparkled with mirth, though a flicker of what looked like resentment flashed through them. “Aw—Wuffers,” he pouted. “You ruined my fun.” “I am not ‘Wuffers,’” he snarled at Maxwell, onyx eyes ablaze with anger. “It’s Detective Chang to you—or just detective, if you wish. But never ‘Wuffers.’” Maxwell looked him squarely in the eyes, defiant as ever. “Bite me, Chang,” he challenged, brushing past him and walking off down the hallway. My partner rolled his eyes in a long-suffering gesture, and I merely shrugged. “Give it up,” I suggested. “We only have to put up with him for a few weeks.” “It will seem like an eternity,” he sighed wearily. Then he seemed to recall what he was there for. “I’m going to get the groceries now, Yuy. I’ll steer clear of the local store and go up the highway to the Megamart…make less of an impression.” I nodded agreement. We’d discussed exactly that plan the day before. “Have you got the list?” At that point Maxwell came dashing back down the hall, apparently having eavesdropped on our exchange. “Cigarettes!” he blurted hastily, sliding to a stop in front of Wufei. “Could you get me a carton of menthols, ‘Fei?” He pulled a pack from his shirt pocket, brandishing them to show Chang the brand. Wufei arched an elegant eyebrow. “What was that, Maxwell? Did you want something? From me?” Maxwell bristled at the tone, and I could see him warring with his pride. “I need a carton of cigarettes—please,” he said carefully. “No ‘bite me Chang,’ this time?” my partner sneered. Maxwell sighed explosively, and grudgingly shook his head. “Please who?” Chang pushed. God, he knew how to get on someone’s last nerve. When Chang had the upper hand and knew it, he could be downright insufferable. “Detective Chang,” came the precise, clipped response. Wufei appeared to consider the matter, one hand cupping the opposite elbow while he tapped thoughtfully on his cheek with an index finger. “I think I’d like an apology first,” he mused. “For what?” Maxwell demanded, beginning to lose it. “For butchering my name—repeatedly,” said my partner. Indigo eyes narrowed dangerously. “It’s a free country, y’know. There’s no fucking law against nicknames.” “Yes, there is,” came the infuriatingly calm reply. “It’s called Chang’s Law. And it states that you shall under no circumstances shorten, alter, or disgrace my name for as long as I’m stuck babysitting your sorry ass.” Maxwell squirmed, glaring heatedly. I could tell he was on the verge of seriously abusing Wufei’s name, if not the man himself. “Well, Maxwell?” taunted my partner. “You ready to obey Chang’s Law? Or do you want to go cold turkey on your precious menthols?” The braided man took a deep breath, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Y’know what, Chang? You can go fuck yourself,” he snapped icily. “I’ll get my own fuckin’ cigarettes and you and your partner can just drop dead.” He turned on a heel and stormed off down the hallway. I sighed, rubbing at my temples with my fingertips. “Chang,” I sighed. “Y’know, he did ask politely.” “That’s not good enough. He needed to learn a bit of respect!” “And do you think tormenting him that much taught it to him?” “I think he’ll think twice next time.” “I don’t.” I shook my head. “Pick up his damned cigarettes when you shop, okay? Now’s not the time to play games with him. He just watched Merquise’s funeral on television.” “Sorry I missed it,” sneered my partner. “I’d have liked to see another crime lord put six feet under.” “Jesus—have a little compassion!” I snarled back. “He watched the man’s brains get blown out.” “I’d have liked to see that, too.” “Not if you were his lover,” I pointed out. “You mean his whore, don’t you?” “Just get the cigarettes.” He sighed and nodded. “I never planned otherwise.”
A chime from my laptop alerted me that Captain Po was messaging us, and I jerked my head to the side to indicate Wufei should join me. The screen was lit with a single sentence. CPo: Status? I slid into the seat and quickly responded. Y: Secure. CPo: Have bad news. Your snitch visited. Said there’s a web site offering a reward for a certain item. Y: How much? CPo: Double the original figure. Y: Shit! Since when? CPo: Today. Go to silencer dot com—check it out. Wufei and I exchanged a long, worried look. “Go get the food,” I told him. “Add some lightweight travel rations, just in case. I’ll check out the web site and fill you in later.” “I’ll be sure I’m not followed,” he said firmly. Then he was gone, and I was logging into the web site, only to be treated to a stunning, full-page layout of Duo Maxwell photographs. It was complete with descriptions of height, weight, hair and eye color—not that anyone could mistake that chestnut braid for anyone else’s. There was a list of favorite haunts, recent sightings, and last known location…which was still the Sisters of Mercy hospital. “Jesus!” I blurted in horror. Whoever had posted this info knew more about Maxwell than I did after three days of being thrown together. “No, but I’ve been called ‘Angel’ a time or two,” came a teasing voice at the door. I looked up over the laptop to see Maxwell leaning in the doorway, wearing a ratty tee shirt and sweatpants, and carrying a towel and some clothes. “What do you want, Maxwell?” I snapped crossly, letting my unease at the Captain’s revelation affect both my mood and my tone. Something flickered in the indigo eyes—a dark, hungry look—and an even darker smirk twisted Maxwell’s lips. “A nice piece of ass, for starters,” he leered. “But since that’s out of the question, I guess I’ll settle for a long, hot shower.” He hefted his armful of stuff. “I was just checking in with you—warden.” He flipped me the finger and turned on his heel, stalking off down the hall. I half-rose, intending to go after him and explain that I’d only snapped at him out of frustration and fear. But I quelled that impulse and settled back into my seat. He should understand that the restrictions we’d placed on him were for his own safety—intended to make our job of protecting him a bit easier. Maybe if I showed him the web site, he’d get it—just how sought-after and vulnerable he really was. There was a blinking message at the top of the chat box when I minimized the “death to Duo” site. CPo: Still with me? Y: Affirmative. Not pleased at the new info. CPo: Advise you to be prepared to move at a moment’s notice. Y: Already am. Will share the word. CPo: Your benefactor said to take the vehicle at your location. Y: Understood. Convey our thanks. CPo: Already done. Y: Also, someone would like a dialogue with our benefactor. Can you arrange it? CPo: Will try to have benefactor present for next contact, which will be in twenty-four hours, unless things change. Y: Understood. Out. I logged out of the chat window and pulled up the web site again, grimacing at the amount of information spread out for the world to see. Of course, whoever posted it had gone to great lengths to cover their tracks—but the ad promised the funds would be wired to an untraceable account upon completion of the job. Two-hundred thousand dollars. Mind you, it wasn’t in the millions…yet. But it was more than enough to tempt every would-be assassin out there to make a play for Maxwell. And if anyone got wind of the connection between Winner and him, I held no illusions that our cover wouldn’t be well and truly blown. We’d need alternatives—and fast—if we were forced to flee the umbrella provided by the wealthy defense attorney. I went to the kitchen for a bottle of water, vaguely hearing the sound of loud music from the bathroom, and what I guessed was Maxwell’s voice accompanying it. He carried the tune quite well, most of the time, but occasionally threw in a little off-key improvisation—no doubt for my benefit. He underestimated the thickness of that door, though, because in the kitchen I could barely hear him, and in the study, not at all. He’d have to find some other way to be irritating. Granted, the fact that he’d noticed the boom box on a chair in the corner of the bathroom was irritating enough. Next he’d probably drag it out into the kitchen to drown out any attempt at conversation Chang and I might make. The brat. I returned to the laptop, pulling up my security logs for a quick scan, and then I went back to the site, morbidly fascinated by the sick mind that had created it. Khushrenada couldn’t have dreamed it up—I smelled Une’s handiwork. It had the attention to detail I’d expect from an administrative assistant—and the vengeful touch of a woman. I started scrolling through the pictures of Maxwell…several of him standing beside Merquise at various public venues looking more like a bodyguard than a lover, in his leather jacket and dark glasses. But there was one…something about the way Merquise’s head was turned, his ice-blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and a soft smile on the aristocratic lips…that spoke of a deeper relationship. Maxwell’s head was cocked to the side, his dark glasses missing, the indigo eyes half-lidded, and a sensuous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. I’d seen that smirk more than once already—usually as he was making a lewd suggestion—and I thought I knew the cause of the flush on Merquise’s cheeks. Other pictures were obviously publicity shots for The Jungle—which told me the site administrator was no one close to Maxwell. There were no personal or candid shots—just media and advertising pics. I don’t know how long I spent exploring every facet of that warped advertisement, half-tempted to send a message to the contact address just to see if they’d respond. But it was going to be tricky enough to cover my back trail through the internet to be sure they couldn’t tag and trace my signal. I was more grateful for my misspent youth than I’d ever been before, when it allowed me to piggyback and obscure my IP address, jumping it through a series of servers before logging off the morbid site. I was resetting the computer to monitor the surveillance system, when I looked at the time and realized the shower had been running for over an hour. I knew Maxwell’s copious hair was probably a bitch to wash—but an hour seemed excessive. So I walked down the hall and banged on the door. “You about done?” I called through the solid wood, hoping he’d hear me over the loud music still playing. There was no response, and I realized it had been some time since I’d heard Maxwell singing along with the music. “Maxwell?” Nothing. “Maxwell! Open up, dammit!” I figured he was just being obstinate—sulking after his spat with Chang—or maybe trying to lure me in to see him naked and make another attempt to coax me into his bed. But when there was still no response, a sudden jolt of fear tightened my gut. Could someone have gotten to him? The only window in the bathroom was small and high—I couldn’t imagine anyone might have gotten in. But, oh how ironic would it be if Maxwell slipped and fell in the shower? I was torn between panic and slightly hysterical laughter, when I finally kicked the door open and burst in, gun drawn and ready. The shower was still running, though no one was in it. And clean, dry towels were piled on the toilet lid. But there was no sign of Maxwell. Jesus fucking Christ!! I turned off the raucous rock music, and then the ice-cold water, looking around the room to see how Maxwell could have been spirited away. And then in the sudden stillness, broken only by a lingering drip of water from the spigot, I noticed the open window, and the chair pulled up next to it…and I felt a jolt of realization. “Oh shit no…” “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” I dashed from the bathroom through the house to the garage, flinging open the door, only to find my worst fear confirmed. The fucking Harley was gone. The little shit! Goddamned, motherfucking little piece of street trash shit! Maxwell had apparently found our rules too confining and had slipped his leash. I couldn’t believe he’d managed to fit through that tiny bathroom window (that Chang had apparently neglected to screw shut)…and get past my motion sensors (of which I’d shown him the precise location)…and into the garage to hotwire the Harley (whose keys I clearly remembered putting in my pocket). My hand slipped into my pocket, closing on the motorcycle keys, even as a voice in the back of my head laughed mockingly at me. Why the hell had I ever thought Maxwell would need a key to use the Harley? For Christ’s sake, he’d been a car thief! All he’d had to do was push it through the side door and down the driveway far enough so I wouldn’t hear it start up. And then he was home free. Winner was going to fucking kill me. So was Chang. Unless, of course, I could track Maxwell down and get him back in his room before my partner returned. Right. And I’d said Maxwell was dreaming?
tbc... |
