Oblivious, page 20
“Home,” she said. “But don’t come here. It’s not safe for us to be seen together. I told Michael what happened that night in the office and managed to keep your name out of it. Tried to put it into his head that you’ve left town. Let’s keep it that way. You have to be safe.”
I bowed my head against the cage slowly closing in around us. Every time we made a move, the department or the syndicate responded, and our room to manoeuvre grew smaller. If whoever controlled the mole knew Jet was onto them, that she’d allied herself with a foreign spy against her department and that she had uncovered evidence pointing fingers at the upper echelon, then all eyes would be on her.
All the more reason to get her out of here.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I—” she started, then stopped.
I focused my attention on the background noise, straining my ears to pick up any static or clicks, anything to suggest Jet and I weren’t alone on the line, but I heard nothing. I tried to assure myself I was being paranoid. These phones were off the grid. For all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist. Even so, I would swap them out for our other set as soon as Jet and I met up. Caution would only help us.
“The situation has changed a bit,” she said, and I narrowed my eyes, unable to tell from her tone if the change was good or bad. “It turns out we’re not the only ones looking into the department. Michael told me some things. Eric, too. It’s possible we have more allies than we thought.”
I leaned back in my chair. Was she serious? They knew about the mole? Had they been working a parallel investigation? How much did they know? I cursed the insecurity of wireless networks that she couldn’t tell me more over the phone.
“I promised Michael I’d wait to do anything until I heard from him. He says he’s working on a lead. But I can’t—Gideon’s blood is on everything here. The fucker ruined my towels and my bathmat.”
There was a catch in her voice, her criticism lacking any of the heat or passion the mention of his name usually carried.
“Are you sure you should be by yourself right now?” I asked, knowing what she would say even as I formed the question. “We could find a place to meet. Go for a drive somewhere.”
“Not until I’m sure we won’t be followed. I can’t take any more chances, Madi. I can’t risk losing you, too.”
I knew my friend and how tightly she clung to the weight of the world, as though the responsibility to bear it was her burden alone. Especially when it came to her job, the greatest chunk of her self-identity.
She’d lost her squad, Lafontaine and Rourke were dead, and now Gideon, all in the line of what she saw as her duty. Her conscience had to be a mess.
“His death wasn’t your fault,” I said, knowing it was pointless.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
The line went dead.
I rested the cool plastic of my phone against my forehead. It wouldn’t have made any difference, but I wished I’d said more. Found the right words to ease her suffering.
But there were no magic words. Talking, hugs, alcohol, walking the city—they might take the edge off for a moment or two, but the only thing that would make her feel better was time. And getting to the bottom of whatever had toppled us into this hellscape. If Michael and Eric could help us do that, maybe it wasn’t as much of a lost cause as we feared.
On shaking legs, I pushed myself to my feet and crossed the room to the window. I’d stared out at Bank Street a hundred times in the past few hours, but now it looked different somehow. More sinister. I half-expected to see uniformed troops on every corner moving towards the building, ready to take me in and shut down whatever operation the three of us had so naively started.
Had we really thought there wouldn’t be casualties? Someone in SMOAC had believed the deaths of the department’s best soldiers were an acceptable sacrifice for their mission—what difference would three more corpses make?
Well, unless they hurried, they’d miss their chance to sacrifice me—and if Jet was right that Michael had a solid lead, then maybe their hidden tyranny was almost at an end.
As much of a relief as it was to know others were tackling the mole from another angle, I wasn’t about to sit idly by while we waited for them to get their ducks in a row.
I tapped my phone against my lip, running more lists of names through my head, sorting out who else would be best to contact. Between the protesters, his own goons, and the traitors he’d recruited from within the department, O’Malley was building an army. It was time we drew a line in the sand and built one of our own. We had to create a wall of defence so Meril didn’t have to do it herself.
Some of the names that popped into my head came with strings, and all of them came with risks, but at this point in the play, a bit of risk could be what it took to win the game.
Chapter 21
Jet
If I’d expected my call with Madison to make me feel better, it hadn’t worked. My veins crawled under my skin, stretching and contracting like burrowing worms. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus.
It would have been better to wait until I was back at the safe house to break the news to her in person, but the idea of seeing the expression on her face when I told her strained the already weak guard around my emotions.
But now that I’d taken a shower and made my phone call, I’d struck off the two items I’d added to my to-do list.
Desperate for anything to pass the time, I shot Travis a text. Sorry to dine and dash. Parked on Bank near Sparks. Send me the bill.
At least he couldn’t accuse me of stealing the damned car or running out on the inevitable parking ticket or towing fines.
So that was another thirty seconds of my day.
I circled my apartment, tidying areas I hadn’t touched in over a week. I wiped down the counters, rearranged my mugs so all the handles faced the same way, swept the non-existent dirt out of the kitchen.
I was just about to go so far as to dust my shelves when my phone buzzed on the kitchen island.
Eyes narrowed, hoping it wasn’t Madison calling me back to check in, not needing her hovering concern, I approached the phone and stared at the screen. Not Madison, Michael. I’d forgotten I’d given him my new number. I hadn’t wanted to, not wanting to compromise my only means of communication, but I’d had no choice. He needed to reach me to tell me about his lead, and my old phone was off and stowed away under my bed at the safe house. Besides, this phone had been out of my possession for at least an hour in the parking garage, killing its usefulness. For all I knew, Carstairs had taken the opportunity to glean everything he could from it. Fortunately, we’d been careful enough that there wouldn’t have been much for him to find.
My heart thrummed in my chest with the possibilities that awaited me on the other end of the line—a goal, a purpose, something that might bring us one step closer to an end—and my hand trembled as I answered.
“Colonel,” I greeted. “You have something for me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded gruff, exhausted. “For the record, I’m not happy with you for twisting my arm on this. If it were up to me, you’d be on a plane to Alberta to spend the next six months with your family.”
“Understood,” I said, my eagerness for his order no less intense for his reluctance to give it. I had to get out of my apartment. Although I knew it was in my head, I couldn’t escape the stench of Gideon’s blood.
“I think someone on the twenty-fifth is helping O’Malley expand his business into the States.”
My stomach dropped. The rumour Gideon had been following. The reason he’d come here in the first place. I swallowed hard. “You think we might find evidence of it?”
“It won’t be out in the open, but if there’s government involvement in his distribution, there has to be paperwork somewhere to make it look legit. I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground, and more than one person’s mentioned that someone in the department is turning the security office’s head the other way, making room for the syndicate to move around as much as it wants without anyone noticing.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Look through the files in the minister’s office.”
I blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
“You asked me for a task, Dawson. This is where we’ll find the proof. It has to be. If O’Malley is getting that much slack, direction has to be coming from the top. Either from Bastien or someone close to him.”
I tapped my fingers against the island, my nerves jangling with uncertainty. “How am I supposed to get into the minister’s office to snoop around? I’m supposed to be on suspension, remember? Anyone sees me, I’m toast. That’s what you told me. No one’s going to open the door to his office to let me riffle through his papers.”
“I gave Aline a heads-up that you’ll be going in today to sign your suspension paperwork. She’ll escort you upstairs. Gagnon is acting minister, but he’s working out of his own office, so ask for a quiet place to review the documents before you sign them.”
Panic squeezed my throat closed. Suspension paperwork. Official documentation of my disgrace.
“Don’t give me that silence, kid. It has to be done if we want O’Malley’s people to buy that you’re off their heels.”
“I know, sir. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The words came out, but I didn’t mean them. My signature would make the black mark all too real. And depending on how the situation wrapped up, there was a chance it would mean the end of my career. No going back.
It’s already done. Your name on a piece of paper doesn’t change anything.
I breathed through the tightness in my chest and curled my fingers into a fist.
“I’ll head over there now.”
“You’ll find the codes for Bastien’s filing cabinets under his keyboard. He was never good at remembering them. Call me when you’ve finished, let me know if you’ve found anything. If the syndicate’s using our resources to peddle their bullshit, I want to know it.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up and straightened my shoulders. I’d asked for a mission, and this was it. Just because I didn’t like it didn’t mean it wasn’t a necessary step. A few hours of misery for potential victory. It would be worth it.
Hell, it’d be worth it to get out of this apartment.
I slipped my wallet into my back pocket, my knife into my boot, and headed out the back way to get to my car.
If my baby was still there.
I imagined the various ways I would tear people apart if anything had happened to my Mustang, venting some of my frustrations on the made-up vandals, and was almost disappointed to find her unscathed. Not even a scratch.
Nothing except the bloodstains on the front passenger seat.
“Fuck.”
There was no way in hell I could drive to the office with that mess on display. Probably for the best. My head was still reeling from the madness of the morning. The last place I should be was behind the wheel.
But I couldn’t leave her here another night.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s put you to bed,” I said as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
I wasn’t normally a “talk to my car” kind of person, but the constant babble as I pulled out of the alley and circled around to pull into the parking garage distracted me from the memory of a broken Gideon dragging himself out of his seat. Panicking about his missing bracelet, which was as lost now as he was.
By the time I turned off the engine, my car safe in its assigned spot, I was shivering through my sweat. Acid burned a hole through my stomach, and I scrambled to open the door, ready to vomit all over the ground.
The cool draft coming through the vents, reeking of the same lung-clogging exhaust as the garage where Eric had pulled the trigger, both helped and hindered. My chest squeezed, and the world felt as though it were tipping on its axis, but at least I was no longer pukey.
On shaking legs, I got out of the car, locked it, and marched outside, needing to get as far away from the ghosts in my mind as possible.
As I made my way up Gladstone, I spotted a blue shirt stopped on the corner behind me. The shirt on its own meant nothing, but part of my brain was aware I’d seen it on the corner outside my apartment building as well. Whoever wore it blended in well enough with the crowd that I couldn’t make out a face, but I homed in on them with my third eye, pinpointing the shadowy details so I could follow them without giving away that I was watching.
Could be coincidence. The walk from Centretown to downtown was common for the people who lived here, and I’d chosen one of the most direct routes. Blue Shirt could be a university student looking to hit the shops, or a public servant on their way back to work. I had to remember that, for most of the city, today was a normal day.
Eric might have been right that my paranoia was getting out of control.
Regardless, being cautious couldn’t hurt. Laurier Avenue was a good hike up Bank Street, but there were a lot of places to stop along the way. Being on one of the best thoroughfares for neat boutiques and coffee shops meant I could weave in and out of stores for the better part of the afternoon. Let anyone following me have fun with that.
With the aim of bringing my potential tail on a milk run, I ducked into the nearest coffee shop. The moment I stepped inside, I realized my mistake. The place was crowded, the air thin, the exits blocked by people and display stands. But I couldn’t turn around and walk out without buying something. It was exactly the sort of move that would attract unwanted attention. I was a captain on suspension, licking my wounds and making the most of my first day of forced vacation. I didn’t want anyone watching me to be able to say anything different.
I ordered a small black coffee and settled by the window to stare out at the street. Anyone else would see it as a perfect day. Sun shining, parents pushing strollers, couples holding hands. Business suits, summer dresses, laughter, and that look of extreme calm you really only see when the weather is just on the right side of too warm.
I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin. I caught myself jogging my leg under the table and pressed my heel into the floor to hold myself still. How was I supposed to spot anyone paying special attention to me if I was drawing the eyes of the entire room? I wasn’t a junkie jonesing for my next fix or a woman waiting for her blind date to arrive. I was nothing to look at. Calm, in control, relaxed.
I sipped my coffee, leaned back in my chair, and scanned the street with both my waking eyes and my psychic one to spot the person who belonged to the shadowed details I’d picked out.
Blue Shirt was still out there. I glimpsed the increasingly familiar hue on my third sweep across the block. Our safe house was just across the street, sitting on the corner going ignored by the mundane masses as the neighbourhood’s oldest eyesore. No one appeared to be coming or going, but that didn’t mean much from where I sat. The door was at the back of the building, tucked deep into what the mundanes would see as a construction site, though it appeared to the rest of us as a bright, arched doorway.
I wondered if Madison was upstairs looking out the window. Had she seen me walk by? I debated calling her to warn her about Blue Shirt, but left it for now. No point making her worry when I hadn’t yet identified the problem.
On my next pass, I swore I caught a flash of brown hair in a ponytail above the blue shirt before the figure disappeared around the corner, following the same trail as the details I was tracking. The height of the figure, the darting way it moved…
Is that you, Dougall?
I watched the corner, waiting for another peek, but either my imagination had played tricks on me, or he’d found a better vantage point.
I hated feeling like a bug under a microscope. What did my stalker want? To catch me? Hurt me? Track my whereabouts to update someone else? Although my frazzled mind had picked out a hint of that grungy ponytail, it didn’t make sense for Dougall to be my tail. Why would O’Malley use his chemist for surveillance?
Why would O’Malley have me followed at all? Unless he knew I was onto something. Dougall had messed up by being caught in his attempt to kill Madison. His identity had been outed, and the witnesses who were supposed to be dead had survived. O’Malley had to be worried about what that meant for his plans. It was only a matter of time before someone believed poor, scrawny, nervous Peter Dougall was the mastermind behind the city’s most lethal street drug.
Was Dougall waiting to get close enough before setting off another bomb? Something more personal?
If so, the bastard wouldn’t get a chance.
I thought about the knife in my boot and was glad I’d brought it. If he laid a hand on me, he’d walk away a few fingers short.
I noticed my leg jogging again and gave up. My tail wasn’t leaving, so it was time to move on. There was no way I was heading to the office with this guy on my ass. Michael had told me to be discreet, which meant no leading the syndicate straight to our evidence and potentially tipping off the government mole that I was snooping.
First step: lose my buddy.
I dumped my half-finished coffee and headed out to the street, and within another block, my stalker returned. I continued up Bank Street towards Wellington, surrounding myself with the tourist crowds coming to check out the Parliament buildings. The crowds were heavy enough I thought I stood a chance of disappearing, but not so thick I couldn’t move with ease.
To have come here again, so soon after this morning, was a mistake. I knew it the second time I spotted Gideon’s face on some random person.
