Trained To Kill (12 page)

Walking over, she took the time to
study him. His dark brown hair was wavy, almost touching the collar
of his light blue sweater, with light streaks from the sun. His
eyes were turquoise-blue and they crinkled at the corners when he
smiled at her. He was 5’10 ½” she would say, and he was big. He
looked like he chopped wood for a living. His shoulders were round
and his biceps were cut, she could see it through his sweater. The
sleeves were pushed up and she could see his forearms were tanned
and chiseled, just like his face. He was extremely handsome, in a
woodsman sort of way.

He held out his hand as she neared.
“Isa? Hi, I’m James.”

“
Hi James,” Isa smiled
back and shook his hand lightly, sitting down in her chair. “I’m
sorry I’m late, there was an accident down the street.”

“
No problem. I hope it
wasn’t bad. The snow’s been pretty steady all day. I thought about
calling and asking you if you wanted to reschedule, but life must
go on, even in the winter.”

“
I’m glad you didn’t
cancel. I needed to get out the house.”

“
Are you one of those
people that get winter madness?”

“
I might be. I’m not used
to winter. I’m from New Orleans.”

“
New Orleans? I’ve never
been. But you don’t sound southern exactly, what…?”

“
My father is British and
my mother was Cajun.”

“
Cajun? I’ve heard of
that, but what exactly does that mean?”

“
Cajuns were originally
from Acadia and were exiled to Louisiana centuries ago. It’s a
French-Canadian accent.”

He was smiling at her again, “I like
it.”

Isa smiled back and checked her menu.
“So coffee or dinner?”

“
I’m actually starving, so
if you don’t mind…?”

“
No, that’s
fine.”

The waiter stopped by and they ordered
dinner and after-dinner coffee drinks. Looking at his hands holding
the menu, Isa saw he used them often. They were rough around the
nail beds and had calluses.

“
What do you do? You work
with your hands I can see, sometimes outdoors judging by your tan
lines.”

“
Wow, you’re really good,”
he said laughing and looking down at his hands. “I’m a carpenter. I
make furniture and cabinets from the ground up.”

“
So, you chop the wood and
sand it and nail it together?”

“
Roughly speaking,
yes.”

“
Now that’s something I
can say I don’t know anything about.”

“
You know a lot about
everything else?” he grinned at her, teasing.

“
That sounds like
bragging, but I do have varied interests and skills.”

“
Like what?”

“
Ah. Well, let’s see.
Computers, martial arts, travel, languages. Things of that
nature.”

“
So you’re cultured.
That’s pretty groovy.” The waiter came and they sampled their wine,
approving, he poured their glasses and left. “What languages do you
speak?”

“
All the romance
languages.”

“
Is there any other
kind?”

Isa grinned and continued, “Japanese
and Chinese. Oh and some Russian.”

“
Wow, I’m beginning to
think Maarten and Jorge were laughing at me.”

“
How so?”

“
Well I only speak 5
languages.”

Isa laughed harder and James leaned
over his elbows and grinned back at her.

“
No, sadly I only speak
English.”

“
Don’t be sad, English is
extremely difficult.”

“
It is. I got a C minus on
my English AP Test in High School. Ok, so the languages you know, I
assume, because of the traveling. Where have you been?”

“
Name it.”

“
A challenge?” He sat back
in his seat, crossing his arms and watched her. “Japan?”

“
Clever.”

“
Russia, France, England,
Portugal, Italy, China.”

“
You are absolutely
correct. Among others.”

“
So where’s your favorite
place to be?”

Isa sipped her wine and picked at the
salad that came with her dinner while she considered. “I’m not
sure. I loved Japan, but that could be because of where I was at
that time in my life.”

“
What was happening at the
time?”

Isa smiled sadly and said, “My little
sister Anna had just died and I left New Orleans, wandering around.
I ended up in Japan studying under a Sensei. He and a friend I met,
Ben, they helped me out in a big way.”

“
I’m sorry about
Anna.”

“
Thank you.”

“
My brother died when we
were five. He was my twin. He drowned in the lake where we were
vacationing that summer.”

“
That’s terrible. I’m so
sorry.”

“
Well, it was a long time
ago. I imagine you’re still mourning Anna. How long has it
been?”

“
Nine years.”

James nodded his head and they were
quiet while the waiter brought their dishes. She had ordered veal
parmesan, James the lasagna.

“
Well, on a lighter note.
I don’t think your description of yourself was
accurate.”

“
Oh no?”

“
No, you are absolutely
nothing like a Victoria’s Secret model only prettier. With your
blonde hair and green eyes. Hideous,” he tsked.

Isa choked on her laugh and veal.
“Well I’m disappointed too; I thought you would at least put on a
fake Hitler mustache.”

He looked up at her in astonishment.
“Damn, I should have thought of that.”

“
Right?”

“
Now I’m disappointed in
me too.”

Isa shook her head in mock
shame.

“
So, what do you do,”
James asked.

“
I own a couple of
businesses with a partner.”

“
Oh cool, what
kind?”

“
A dojo and a nightclub,
The Inferno.”

“
A dojo, I see you put
your money where your heart is. Do you enjoy it?”

“
Well, I’m mostly a silent
partner. We’ve had some trouble recently with the club, but other
than that, Ben takes care of the day to day stuff.”

“
What trouble?”

“
There were some low level
mafia dealing drugs out of the club and a police man was undercover
and he arrested them. They caused some damage and there were some
people involved…it’s just a mess.”

“
I saw that in the paper,
that was just a few days ago.”

“
Yes.”

“
Wow, what’s going to
happen?”

“
Well the damage is
already under repair, and we’ll open up again next weekend. As to
the people involved, I don’t know what will happen, it depends on
the DA and the lawyers I suppose.”

“
Are you and your partner
in any trouble?”

“
Not at the moment. The
police are still investigating.”

“
Well I hope everything
works out ok. That sounds like a major headache.”

“
Let’s hope
so.”

Dr. Jannsen was right, Isa liked James
a lot. Even if they never went out again, she had a nice time. So,
why was that image of Alex still floating in her mind? Stop
thinking about a cop for God’s sake. Do you want to rot in prison?
Isa scolded herself.

James was nice and funny and safe. Or
so he seemed. And he had nothing crazy in his background that Isa
could find when she had done a background check on him before their
date. Maybe she would see him again. Jannsen was right, dating was
normal.

James walked her to her car even
though it was still snowing and they made tentative plans to see
each other again next week. She liked how he smiled and raised his
eyebrows in a silent question before lightly kissing her lips. They
said good night and Isa drove off. The snow was falling hard now,
so it took her double the time to make it home.

Once inside she smiled at herself and
shut herself in her bedroom. She threw herself on the bed face
down, to think. Would she be happy dating someone like James? Or
would she grow bored outside a month? She didn’t know, she had
never dated. The only way to know for sure would be to
try.

Her smile disappeared when her
thoughts turned toward Rafael DeCarlo. She needed to find out more
about him, and why he sent goons after her. She wondered if he had
anything to do with The Inferno or if Malone had done that on his
own.

Although someone like DeCarlo was more
apt to know about her relationship with Roger Thorn than a two-bit
dealer like Tyler Malone.

She needed to know what he knew, and
there was only one to do that.

Chapter 17

Crouched down behind a dumpster at
midnight in February in New York wasn't Isa's idea of a good time,
but if she wanted to find out what Santinez/DeCarlo wanted with
her, she needed to get in and bug his office. She was going to
freeze to death if he didn't come out soon. Even as she thought it
the door opened and DeCarlo and two body guards came
out.

Rafael DeCarlo was quintessentially
Italian. Black hair, black eyes, olive skin. He was lighting up a
cigarette as a black SUV pulled up. They climbed in and left. Oh
thank you sweet Baby Jesus. Isa waited 10 more minutes in case they
came back for something and then began to work on the locks. She
had already taken care of the camera overlooking the alleyway. If
anyone were to watch, they would see a continuous loop of the empty
alley.

Taking out a small zip pouch, she took
out a screw driver and took off the face of the keypad for the
lock. Stretching out a thin wire, she attached it to the wires
within. Numbers on the screen flashed by, illuminating her face in
green. Keying in commands, a small, satisfied smile appeared when
the door quietly clicked open. She entered silently, sliding from
one shadow to the next until she was in DeCarlo's
office.

The store front was just that, a
front, with some cigars and wine to look like a shop. But it was
here in this office that the real business occurred. She glanced at
his computer wishing she could take it with her. Unfortunately,
that would be a stupid thing to do. Taking out a miniscule
microchip, she bugged his phone.

Taking out her screwdriver again, Isa
got to work on taking off the backing to the computer. She couldn't
take it, but she could still look inside. Finishing up, she
replaced the panel and backtracked to the alley door, exiting as
quietly as she came.

Just as she was turning from the door,
she felt a heat at the base of her spine and she went up on the
toes of her boots, kicking back and spinning to face who was there.
She felt her heel connect and heard the grunt. She went into a
defensive stance.

"Alex!" Isa cried. "What the fuck are
you doing here?"

"Me?!" Alex yelled back rubbing his
side where her boot had connected.

"What are you doing?" Alex had his gun
out. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you!"

He shoved his gun back in its holster.
"Are you breaking into DeCarlo's store? Are you insane?"

"Jury's out on that one."

"Don't be cute," Alex dragged his hand
over his head in frustration. "This is serious. I could arrest you.
Tell me what you were doing."

Isa looked around, "Fine, but not
here."

Alex hesitated, his eyes hidden in the
dark. "Ok, come on. There's a diner around the corner."

Isa reached into one of the pockets of
her black cargo pants and took out her handheld, keying in a code,
she prepared to un-jam the camera.

"What is that?"

"Quiet. Not here."

As they left the alley, Isa pushed
Enter and they were gone. They walked away quickly, their heads
down against the wind, not speaking.

Entering the diner, they took a booth
in the back corner. It was an all night place with stained Formica,
chrome and burnt coffee. A place for men with manual labor jobs
drinking coffee, preparing to go to work the graveyard shift. The
waitress came and brought coffee without asking. They wanted
nothing else.

"Speak," Alex said he was very clearly
livid.

"I'm not exactly one to incriminate
myself to the police."

"You say that like you've committed a
crime."

Isa's face remained impassive.
Patient. Alex narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over the
table.

"What if I tell you that everything
you say is completely off the record?"

"Off the record? You're not a
reporter. Nothing is off the record with a cop unless they're
dirty, and you Sergeant Jackson, are not a dirty cop."

"Izzy..."

"What?" She faltered at the nickname
he had bestowed upon her.

"I'm not going to arrest you, no
matter what you tell me, no matter what you were doing there." Alex
stared into her eyes. "You have my word."