“John Quincy Adams. No, I’m not joking — Special Agent Adams. He was working out of HQ. You’ll be briefed on it tomorrow morning.” Uzi moved the toothpick around his mouth with this tongue. “They’re getting rid of people who knew something, Hoshi, I’m sure of it. We just have to find out what they knew. What’s ARM afraid of? Some other part of their plan they’re about to implement?”
“Who’s handling the Adams investigation?”
“Fairfax PD. And possibly someone out of HQ. But we need someone from the task force looking things over. Do me a favor, call Jake Osborn, ask him if he wants it.”
Hoshi’s eyebrows rose. “Jake Osborn?”
“Yes. Osborn. I think he’d appreciate it. Adams was a friend of his.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
Uzi looked at her. “No, actually, I’m not. Please, just give it to Osborn.”
After Hoshi left his office, Uzi leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, hoping the Excedrin would win the battle with the headache mallets pounding away inside his head. Fifteen minutes later, his cell phone jolted him awake. He rooted it out of his jacket pocket. It was Leila.
“How about dinner at my place? Chinese takeout. Soft music, a bottle of Rombauer Zin. Full bodied, fruity, with hints of sensuous raspberries. Irresistible, actually.”
Uzi pulled his feet off his desk and sat up. “Are you describing the wine — or yourself?”
“I think you should take a tasting and decide for yourself.”
“I’m there. Around seven?”
“Make it six. Then we’ll have time for a bath, too.”
He dropped the phone back into his pocket, then realized that the Excedrin had reduced his headache to a dull jab. He could live with that — and after the day he’d had, he could use a romantic evening to take his mind off Nuri Peled, the death and destruction of the past eight days, and the pressure that came with having few answers and many questions on the eve of an important deadline. Re-energized, he lifted his phone and began to dial.
The next ninety minutes seemed to crawl. He approved Hoshi’s choice of agents for the Peled investigation — Danielle Phish and Bob Mason — then met with various task force members, cleaned up several dangling issues that needed to be addressed, and got status reports from a number of agents, including Felder and Brown, who were less than pleased with their newly imposed deadline. Heat at the top always trickled down to those below, Uzi told them.
Hoshi assured him they would find another way of getting the NICS database info, but Uzi wasn’t so sure. He hated being handcuffed — literally and figuratively. As soon as the meeting broke, he went back to his desk and breezed through his emails, leaving him fifteen minutes to get to Leila’s.
He paused at Madeline’s desk long enough to say good-bye, but not long enough to get sidetracked. He wanted to get to the elevator, then his car, then the front door of Leila’s apartment.
He pulled up in front of the Hamilton House at six, took his familiar spot in the passenger loading zone by the front curb, and dropped his keys with Alec.
“Miss Harel told me to expect you, Mr. Uzi.”
“Thanks, Alec. I appreciate your help.” Uzi hurried toward the bank of elevators, making a mental note to pick up a gift at the FBI Academy’s PX shop — an FBI or DEA baseball cap or gym bag would no doubt make Alec and Jiri big shots with their friends.
He was at Leila’s apartment moments later, his knuckles rapping on her door. He heard high heels clacking against the tile entryway, followed by the metallic slip of a lock sliding open.
She greeted him in a red negligee. Uzi stood in the open doorway, his mouth salivating like a wild cougar licking its chops as it looked down on a young doe. Leila reached out and took his hand, then pulled him inside.
They lay in the hot water, candles flickering around them, their glasses of Zinfandel — and the empty bottle — sitting precariously on the tub edge. Leila spread oil across his shoulders and rubbed, working out the knots with her strong thumbs.
“You’re a mess,” she said. “Even after the wine…”
“I didn’t take this job because it was dull and boring. Stress comes with the territory. I’m sure it’s the same with you.” He thought of telling her about Nuri Peled’s death, but as quickly as it leapt into his consciousness, he shoved it aside. He didn’t want anything spoiling the moment.
“I know how to ease the tension. It usually works really well. Want to know my secret?”
Eyes closed, he absorbed the kneading relief of her hands. “You’re killing me with the suspense.”
“Yoga. Yoga is the key.”
“Yoga.”
“And meditation.”
Uzi reached over and lifted the wine glass to his lips. “Yoga and meditation. Good to know.”
“I’m serious. Have you ever tried them? I can teach you some moves.”
“I can think of some other moves I’d like you to teach me.”
She leaned forward, her chest resting against his back, as she drew her arms around to his front. “Are you ready? Here’s the first one.”
Uzi awoke at 11:20 and reached for his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed any important texts or emails. It wasn’t in his pocket or coat — but he had to pee badly, so he ran into the adjacent bathroom. On returning, he checked his jacket again — and noticed Leila stirring. He gave her a peck on the lips and she looked up at him, then smiled.
He knelt beside her, took her warm hand, and smiled back. “I didn’t think I’d find happiness again,” he said. “I figured I’d be alone the rest of my life.”
“The pain must be unbearable, constantly thinking about your wife and daughter.”
Uzi nearly jerked backwards. “Yes.” How could such a heavenly moment come crashing down to reality so fast? “Unbearable.” He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Shit. Why’d she have to bring that up?
“You okay? Did I upset you?”
“No,” he said. He remembered his phone, and needing a diversion before he started bawling, said, “Can’t find my phone. Must’ve left it in the car. If anyone’s trying to reach me…” He leaned on the bed and pushed himself off the floor.
“You’re coming back?”
“Of course,” Uzi said as he pulled on his pants. He slipped on his V-neck sweater, then grabbed his jacket and headed out.
His ride down to the first floor seemed to take longer than usuaclass="underline" alone with his thoughts, the guilt burrowed into his gut. Making such a precipitate emotional descent left him feeling like he was skydiving without a parachute.
He wiped the tears from his eyes as he stepped out of the elevator, then walked to the concierge’s desk, where Jiri was reading a magazine.
“Mr. Uzi, is everything good?”
“Everything’s fine. I think I left my phone in the car.”
“Alec went to move it. Limo coming with the Chilean ambassador. We need the front curb open.” Jiri craned his head to peer out the large windows that fronted the street. “You might catch him soon. He just leave.”
Uzi turned toward the ornate lobby and took off toward the front doors, sidestepping the overstuffed chairs and sofa. “Thanks,” he yelled over his shoulder.
If Alec drove off before Uzi could reach the car, he’d have to wait till the doorman parked the car and made his way back to the lobby through the parking structure on the other side of the enormous building. Then Uzi would have to get his keys, find his Tahoe, and retrieve the phone. This late at night, in his current frame of mind, he was not in the mood to go searching through a parking garage. He cursed himself for leaving it in the car. He shouldn’t be out of touch.