L.A. Bytes (36 page)

The front door of the van opened and Adnan climbed in. He glared at David over the driver’s seat. David froze as their eyes met, praying the knife under him wasn’t visible.

Adnan showed David a cell phone. “Your boyfriend thinks he’s beaten me. Well, I think we’ll see about that.”

“What do you mean? Chris? What did he do—?”

“It’s still going to happen. Especially now.”

“Don’t, Adnan. You don’t have to do this.”

“Sure I do.” Adnan’s face twisted in a forced smile. “I’ve killed fi ve people already. What’s a few more?”

David’s insides shrank. So Adnan
had
killed his mother. “Why, Adnan? Your mother—why?”

“I told her. I thought she’d be happy I was avenging my father. But she said it would only help the wrong people. She said I was dishonoring him! She was going to call the police if I didn’t stop.”

“If people heard what happened to your father, they would understand—”

“Do you take me for a fool, old man? They would only have to hear ‘suspected terrorist’ and they would kill him all over again.”

David winced, knowing there was some truth to his claim.

“But not everyone thinks like that now, Adnan. There are people who don’t like what’s been done at those prison camps. You have to believe they would be outraged at what your father went through—”

Adnan clambered through into the back of the van. He sorted through a metal box by David’s head.

“Your boyfriend might have stopped me from triggering it remotely, but if he thinks that’s going to stop me, he’s as big as fool as you are.”

“Adnan—”

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Adnan reached over into the front of the van and came back with the Sig Sauer. He pointed it down at David.

“Shut up, old man. Or I will use this.”

David shut up. He watched in mounting dismay as Adnan fell to building what even David could recognize as a trigger.

He looked around the van, but didn’t see anything that looked remotely like an explosive device.

“Where is it?” he whispered. “Where’s the bomb?”

Adnan only smiled.

Wednesday, 3:00 pm, One Wilshire, Grand Avenue, Los Angeles
Martinez forced Chris to sit on the nearest curb. He slumped back against the no parking sign and stared at the blue van that Martinez wouldn’t let him approach. He almost wished he could just lie back and rest, but he knew if he closed his eyes he would pass out and it would be all over.

So he forced his eyes open and stared dully at the parking ticket that fl uttered in the brilliant afternoon sun. He could see the heat wavering off the nearby surfaces and somewhere in his head an alarm went off. Hot. It was so hot.

He shook his head to clear it. Unbidden came memories.

Memories of David; David as he had fi rst seen him, all no-nonsense cop, brusque and cold, but even then there had been an underlying feeling of warmth. David cared. He cared about justice, and people and doing the right thing.

Which was a lot more than Chris could say about himself.

But later, when Chris penetrated David’s guard, he knew what David really was. A passionate, loving, moral man who would die rather than betray the people he loved. And he loved Chris, something Chris still marveled at.

Lover, friend, husband; Chris never expected he could feel these things for one man. He’d always thought playing the fi eld
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worked best. No ties. No emotional risks. Cruise the circuit until he found the cutest guy with the biggest dick and spirit him home for a night of hard fucking.

Without even trying, David changed all that. Now Chris couldn’t imagine life without him.

Above him, Martinez stared grimly ahead. All Chris could see was the severe set of his mouth and his unblinking eyes.

Suddenly his face changed. His mouth popped open. “Why that little shit.”

Chris looked around to see what Martinez was looking at. He saw a slightly built youth open the van door and clamber inside.

Chris climbed to his feet. The kid looked familiar, even in the grungy hoodie he wore over a pair of baggy jeans. “Who is that?”

Martinez ground his teeth together. Together they watched the youth move from the front seat of the van to the rear. The van rocked.

“Martinez.”

“That was your hacker.”

“That’s Adnan? Jesus, you didn’t tell me he was a kid—” Chris shut his mouth and stared. The memory came to him. “That’s the janitor,” he said, his gaze never leaving the van. “From the hospital. That’s what Terry fi gured out. That’s why they killed him. Jesus, how old is he?”

“Twenty. But don’t let the age fool you. He’s a kid who got accepted to CalTech because he’s some kind of fucking genius. I wouldn’t start underestimating him now.”

A horse cop came by, escorting a large group of businessmen.

Martinez waved to get his attention. He pulled out his badge as he walked over.

Chris took advantage of Martinez’s inattention to stroll toward the rear of the van. The only windows, on the back doors, had been painted over. It was an older model Ford panel van with L.A. BYTES
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a simple latch that would pop open the right door, which would then allow the left door to be unlatched and swung open.

Knowing they couldn’t see him from inside the van and seeing that Martinez was still engaged with the horse cop, Chris ran his hands over the sides of the van. He hissed and jerked his hand back at the searing heat. Jesus, the thing was an oven. If David was in there he must be cooking. He eased his ear as close as he could to the side panel without touching it.

Hearing muffl ed voices, the hairs on his neck stood on end.

He rubbed his sweating palms along his jeans. He reached up to grab the door handle.

“Get away from the vehicle, Chris,” Martinez’s voice called out. “Step back immediately.”

Chris froze. He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t do that. I have to know if David’s in there.” Turning, he backed up, until his shoulder blades were pressed against the van door.

Through the sweat that dripped down his face into his eyes he saw Martinez, legs spread in a shooter’s stance, arms extended, trained his weapon squarely on him.

“I can’t let you open that, Chris. Not until we know what’s in there.”

Chris stared into Martinez’s eyes and saw anger and regret and something else he couldn’t quite read. Respect?

“You know I have to do this,” Chris said. He fumbled his right hand to the rear door of the van. His heart hammered in his chest and this time the rush of adrenaline didn’t wake him up, it left him dizzy. He barely heard the next shouted command.

His fi ngers closed over the door handle.

“Don’t—”

Chris shut his eyes. Wondering if he would hear the shots before the bullets obliterated him. Would Martinez really shoot him? He yanked on the door.

“Hold it right there,” Martinez stepped closer. He fractionally lowered his weapon and reached for Chris.

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He grabbed Chris’s arm. But before Martinez could haul him out of the way, Chris snapped. He jerked away from Martinez and with a yell, swung his fi st into Martinez’s nose. He yelped when his fl esh connected with bone. Taken by surprise, Martinez fl ew back, his eyes wide in surprise.

Shaking his stinging fi st, Chris spun back around. This time he locked both hands around the door handle and yanked.

Something thumped on the inside of the van.

The door popped open, releasing a rolling wave of hot air that stank of blood and sweat and the sour reek of adrenaline and unwashed fl esh.

Startled, Chris fl ew back. He tried to hang on, but the handle slipped out of his grip. He stepped away from the van, arms pin-wheeling over his head. One heel hit the curb and he fl ipped backwards.

He landed fl at on his back, the breath exploding out of his lungs.

Before he could suck in a single breath Martinez grabbed him and hauled him upright. He dragged him so close Chris could see dark hair inside Martinez’s fl aring nose.

“You are more trouble than half the assholes I deal with every day. Now will you—”

His voice trailed off and Chris followed his gaze into the rear of the van.

Adnan, the slight youth they had watched climb into the van earlier, straddled David’s head in a gun fi ghter’s stance. The gun he held in one hand visibly shook, as though he was having trouble keeping it steady. The muzzle of the gun was pointed somewhere between David and the open door, as though he was uncertain where he should aim. Chris was afraid to move. Afraid to breath.

Chris’s gaze locked on David, then moved back to Adnan.

Chris swallowed past renewed terror as he saw that in his other hand Adnan held a brace of wires, the twisted ends separated only by his index fi nger and thumb. The wires disappeared into L.A. BYTES
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the side of the van, which appeared empty except for Adnan himself, and David.

“He’s bluffi ng,” Martinez said. He kept his weapon trained on Adnan. His grip was a lot more sure than Adnan’s, which did nothing to reassure Chris. “There is no bomb.”

“You really want to take that chance, Detective?” Adnan held up the hand gripping the wires. “What if I told you the stuff is like shaving cream. I just fi lled the panels of the truck with it.

It’s very stable too.” Again he moved his hand, the wires coming perilously close to touching. “Only this can set it off. Instant oblivion.”

He looked past them to the thronging streets beyond. “Do you think they’ll remember me, Detective?”

“Jesus, man, there are kids out there,” Chris said.

“Did they think of that when they took my father away from me? I was only a ‘kid’ too. But they took him from me and tried to make me believe he was an evil man.” Adnan’s fi st closed on the wires, which writhed like a nest of snakes. “My father never hurt anybody.”

“Then tell people that!” Chris couldn’t take his eyes off the innocuous-looking wires. “This is only going to make them believe the worst.”

“It no longer matters,” Adnan said in a fl at voice. “Too much has already been done.”

Chris met David’s gaze again. “No,” he whispered. “You can’t—”

Two things happened simultaneously. David bolted upright and lunged at Adnan. And a shot was fi red.

Chris yelled and scrambling to his feet, dove toward the van.

Behind him he heard a grunt and the thump of a body smacking against pavement. He had eyes only for David.

David and Adnan were locked together. The wire Adnan held waved loosely, no longer attached to the side of the van. David
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had ripped it loose. Adnan dropped the useless wires and now fought for control of the gun.

It was obvious to Chris that David was in trouble. His face was gray with fatigue and he was covered in blood.

Behind him he heard Martinez shout, “Drop it, Adnan.

Now—”

Chris didn’t wait to see if Adnan would obey. He scrambled into the cargo area and from a half crouch launched himself at the two struggling men.

“Down!” Martinez yelled. “Chris, get down now!”

This time the bullet passed so close Chris could feel the short hairs on the nape of his neck sizzle. In mid-fl ight he tried to duck and roll at the same time. He slammed into a human body.

A sharp woof sent a gust of hot breath past his shoulder. He tried to roll off, but the arms that wrapped around him weren’t letting go.

He raised his head and found himself staring into David’s green-fl ecked eyes.

Their hearts thudded together. Chris craned his head up and realized Adnan lay slumped against the driver’s seat, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes were already empty.

The gun lay across his lap, still held tightly.

Chris turned back to stare down at David. Their faces were inches apart. Chris could see every pore on his face, every hair of his mustache, half of which was gone. His face, always rough from childhood acne, looked abraded. His eyes looked weary, but amused. “Hey,” he whispered.

“We really gotta stop doing this,” Chris said. His breath ruffl ed David’s hair.

“What, and miss all this excitement?” David muttered as he closed his eyes. But his grip on Chris never loosened.

Tuesday, 3:55 pm, USC County General, State Street, Los Angeles
Chris rolled his wheelchair into David’s room, startling an orderly who had been delivering clean towels and a carafe of water. Chris grinned at the young hunk and fl uttered his fi ngers in a gesture of dismissal.

“Run along, sweetie,” he said. “I’ll take care of him now.”

The orderly left, though not without a few backward glances that Chris took fi rmly to heart. Once more he was attracting the right kind of attention. The bags under his eyes were history and he’d wrangled a haircut out of Des, who had talked his favorite stylist into visiting the hospital. He’d taken care of David too, and now it was just up to Chris to shave him every day, though David was making serious noises about doing it himself. Chris was reluctant to give the job up. Shaving David was his way of reassuring himself they were both safe.

David was propped up in the bed, his pajamas open to the waist. Chris admired the expanse of furry chest.

“Hey,” David said.

“Hey yourself. How you feeling?”

“Good.” When Chris left the chair, he sat on the edge of the bed David reached out and took hold of his hand. “You?”

“They’re letting me out tomorrow. Finder’s giving me a clean bill of health. All I need to do is rest, and I can do that at home just as easily as here.”

“Well, good.” Only David didn’t look all that happy.

“Hey, I’ve already talked to your doctor. They want to keep you in at least another few days, but then you can come home too.” Chris stroked his cheek, now mostly back to normal, the
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marks from his ordeal fading. “I’ll be here every day to visit. Has Martinez been in to see you?”

“Yeah, he came by,” David said. “They dismantled the truck.

Adnan wasn’t lying when he said he’d fi lled it with that foam.