by Cassie Miles
“I was determined to prove my worth. Started working out like a woman possessed. I took martial arts classes and boxing, spent hours with the heavy bag, picturing Murano’s face and punching hard. After gallons of sweat and tears, I discovered the skills and talent for honing my body. I got strong. Nobody was ever going to hurt me again.”
“Do you think Murano meant for that to happen?” Gennie suggested. “Maybe he planned it that way.”
“I considered the possibility, but when I tried to thank him, Murano didn’t even remember my name. All he wanted was to sell me another class.”
She looked toward the ballroom entrance, and Gennie followed her gaze. Three other field agents—two black and one white, all former Army Rangers—had their heads together. She knew that they were armed, skilled combatants. With all this security, she shouldn’t have felt apprehensive in the least. Her gaze went toward the poisonous flowers. Warning or threat? “How did Murano connect with the general?”
“His wife took classes with the guru, and she ended up hating him like I do. You’d think that the general would stand up for Ruby. But that didn’t happen. He talked to Murano, and they hit it off, literally. They’re golf buddies.”
Her phone and Zoey’s rang at the same time. Noah had sent a text to the entire ARC team, telling them to be on the lookout for Kenneth Warrick. If sighted, they should detain him. Gennie’s screen filled with a photograph of the man she’d once loved.
“He’s cute,” Zoey said.
“Not my type.” She noticed the tiny scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the only injury he’d sustained in the explosion that changed her life forever.
Zoey reached into her jacket pocket and took out an electronic earpiece. “Have you ever used one of these?”
“Nothing as sophisticated as this, but I understand how it works.” She adjusted the volume and placed the device into her ear before attaching a mic to the collar of her jumpsuit. “It’s weird having people talk inside my head.”
Zoey whispered into her microphone, “Any questions?”
“I’m good for now.”
“Okay, G-Fox. It’s time for you to move into position.”
“Copy that.”
With a nod, she moved to the quadrant of the ballroom that she was supposed to be watching. Because she was the newest member of the team, she was stationed toward the rear at the farthest point away from the riser and podium where a small jazz band was setting up. To her right were the windows that showcased a brilliant Rocky Mountain sunset. The wall to her left held portraits in elaborate frames, including one of Ruby on horseback. Too bad she wasn’t here! Gennie would have liked to hear her opinions about Murano. In spite of what Zoey had said, the guru couldn’t be a total jerkwad. After all, the general liked him enough to host this grand fund-raiser.
She glanced across the ballroom toward where Zoey was standing at the edge of a wide corridor with glass French doors that stood open. The powder rooms, an office and a library were in that direction. A couple of hours ago when Gennie had been scanning for explosives, bugs and other potential problems, she’d explored and fallen in love with the spacious library that had bookcases on every wall and comfortable overstuffed furniture for curling up and reading. The tall arched windows offered a charming view of the stable and attached corral. After this event was over, she might be able to spend some time in that library with the general, and they could reconnect.
Until then, she was on duty.
And the guests were arriving.
This type of high-class security while not in uniform was new to her, and she enjoyed exercising her powers of observation. While she watched and listened, the room gradually filled with polished gentlemen and well-dressed women. If half their jewels were the real thing, the Haymarket mansion would have been a bonanza for a thief. She caught a hint of gossip, mostly suggestions that the general was having an affair. The fact that Ruby had skipped this event fanned those flames.
Tony Vega’s voice came through the earpiece. “Heads up, everybody. The guru is here.”
While continuing to keep an eye on the people in her quadrant, Gennie circled around the outer tables where people were seated and surveyed the central array where others stood and drank and talked. Though many of the guests had arrived, the large ballroom wasn’t crowded. Curious, she took a position where she could get a peek at Murano. Others flocked around him, moths to a flame. In the midst of that adoring group, she glimpsed his shoulder-length black hair, heavy brows and toothy smile. He was shorter than she’d expected, probably only five foot ten. But there was something that made him seem large. His fan club would have called it charisma, but she sensed an over-inflated ego that puffed him up like a balloon. His trademark was a glittering circular brooch he wore at his throat as a bolo tie—an example of the famous Murano glass that was manufactured by his ancestors in Italy.
She spied Noah as he moved toward her. Now, there was a man who didn’t need sparkles to stand out! Her boss did nothing to attract attention, but she couldn’t look away. His stride showed a natural athleticism. Maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like other people cleared a path for him. Gennie wasn’t the only one watching Noah. The bejeweled ladies took notice. And when he came to a halt beside her, she felt a little bit special.
“Have you seen your old buddy from Afghanistan?” he asked.
“He’s not my bud. And no, I have not.” When she looked back toward Murano, he seemed to be watching her...or not. Why would he be interested in her? “What else have you learned about Warrick?”
“He’s been working security for Murano under an alias.”
“That’s a scoop. How did you find out?”
“Anna Rose, our boss and resident cyber genius, tracked him down on her computer. I asked the head of Murano’s security about Warrick, using his alias. He’s not on the schedule for today.”
“How many guests?” she asked.
“Three hundred fifteen, including spouses.”
“And how many security people does Murano have with him?”
“Today, it’s three.”
ARC had twelve, including the guy on the roof, and Murano had three. Fifteen trained security agents to handle a couple hundred people at a fund-raiser in Denver seemed way over the top. The atmosphere felt forced, like the jazz band playing upbeat tunes. No blues for Mitch Murano. “What kind of event is this? When I worked security for the US Embassy in Kabul, we had fewer guards.”
“It’s what the general wanted. Not the way I would have handled things, but I’m not paying the bill.”
“Did you set up the metal detector?”
“Upon consideration, the general agreed with Slocum that his guests would be insulted by us asking them to disarm.”
“Wouldn’t want to upset the donors.” She felt like they were in a war zone.
“When I mentioned Warrick to the general, he denied having contact with him.”
Though she really wanted to be friends with the general again, she didn’t altogether believe his denial. “Wasn’t he the one who warned us about Warrick?”
“The instruction actually came from Slocum.”
“But the general must know that Warrick works for Murano. They golf together. Wouldn’t the general have run into him?”
“I’m not going to push. Figuring out the undercurrents isn’t our job.”
The hell it wasn’t. “With all due respect, Noah, you’re dead wrong. Security is about more than reacting to an overt threat. We need to be able to decipher the undercurrents and anticipate the enemy’s next move.”
She held her breath, watching him and waiting for his response. The minute she’d opened her mouth, she knew that she was being seriously insubordinate. Noah would be justified if he fired her on the spot.
“With all due respect?” He grinned. “You’ve got a real talent for making en
emies.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“But I’m not going to line up against you, Gennie. I hate to admit when I’m dead wrong. So, I’ll just say that you’re right about figuring out what the hell is going on here. We need to know. In the meantime, we’ll watch over the valuables and try to keep these people from killing each other.”
“Yes, sir.”
A tall man in a rear admiral’s uniform waved to Noah. “I’ve got to meet and greet some of our past and future clients. If you see Warrick, use your mic and let us know. Hang in there, Gennie. You’re doing a good job.”
“Copy that.”
She restrained an urge to hug him or follow him across the room like a besotted puppy dog. Of the many officers and supervisors she’d worked under, very few would admit a mistake. Noah was a good leader. He made her feel valued, as though her insights mattered.
Milling around and trying to be invisible, she observed as the guests munched on native Colorado foods, including the infamous Rocky Mountain oysters, and drank Colorado brews and placed their bids on silent auction items. She’d spotted a rancher in a Western-style suit with a holster clipped to his belt and a sweet-faced lady who revealed her Colt .45 when she opened her needlepoint satchel to take out a hanky. In spite of the artillery, neither seemed prone to violence.
The crowd swelled as the band switched to a couple of John Denver songs designed for singing along. As the guests chanted “Rocky Mountain High”—officially designated as the second state song—she heard Tony Vega through her earpiece. “I need backup at the entrance to handle a couple of drunks.”
“I’m on my way,” Zoey responded. “G-Fox, you need to cover my area, as well as yours.”
She turned on her microphone with a touch. “I’m on it.”
The corridor where Zoey had been standing was a lot busier than Gennie’s area because the restrooms were down that hall. Trying to avoid looking like a bathroom monitor, she paced behind the silent auction tables where well-displayed photos showed the vacation trips, jewelry, electronics and other goodies.
Outside, the sunset was turning to dusk. Several small crystal chandeliers glimmered and artful, indirect lighting spread a flattering glow throughout the ballroom. Gennie wished the lights were brighter so she could see clearly.
After a few minutes, Tony’s voice came through the earpiece again. “All clear.”
Gennie wasn’t so sure. She didn’t feel like they were in the clear. Something was off. Though the air was still, a sudden chill sent goose bumps up and down her arms.
Then she saw him.
Kenneth Warrick turned away from her and sauntered toward the corridor that led to the restrooms. Though she’d only had a quick glance, she could tell that he’d altered his appearance by changing his hair, covering the scar in his eyebrow and growing a beard. He didn’t look much like the photo Noah had sent to the team, but she knew him. Gennie would never forget the set of his shoulders and the cocky way he walked. He paused at the open French doors outside the corridor, turned his head and made direct eye contact. Then he blew her a kiss.
Bastard! She activated her mic. “I need backup. Kenneth Warrick is in the hall outside the bathrooms.”
Leaving the auction tables, she took her Beretta from the holster and held it close to her side to avoid frightening the guests. At the entrance to the corridor, she glimpsed the door to the library closing.
Before she could follow, a man grasped her left arm. She didn’t feel pain but the pressure alerted her to a strong grip. Acting on pure instinct, she broke free and whirled. Before she retaliated with a blow to his throat, gut and crotch, she stopped herself. “Mr. Murano,” she said.
“Actually, it’s Dr. Murano, but I don’t like to stand on ceremony. Please call me Mitch.” He treated her to a close-up view of his twinkly white smile and the glittering fastener on his bolo tie. “You’re Gennie Fox, aren’t you? The general told me about you.”
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Surely, you can spare a few minutes. I’m fascinated by your insensitivity to pain. Does it affect the dexterity in your hands?”
There was no polite way to end this conversation. “I can’t talk now.”
With a pivot, she dashed down the corridor toward the closed library door. She was pleased to see that Zoey and one of the other guys had responded to her call for backup and joined her. To her chagrin, Murano was close behind them. Where the hell is Noah? Gennie wanted him to be there when she met Warrick. No time to wait.
She tried the handle on the door. Of course, it was locked. She was reminded of when she had to break into the mountain cabin to rescue the fake hostage. Dropping to her knees, she picked the lock in seconds.
Behind her, she heard Zoey talking into her mic. “We need backup at the library.”
Gennie pushed the door open and raised her Beretta in both hands. The lights were on, illuminating the horror. She saw blood, so much blood. And then...
“Noah!”
He was exiting the library through a tall open window. His bloody handprint smeared the glass.
Chapter Five
The killer was getting away. Noah stumbled through the hinged library window onto the lawn, staggered to his feet and tried to focus his blurred vision. The last rays of sunset were fading into dusk, making the world indistinct. In the distance, he saw the killer escaping, riding a chestnut horse toward the stable. Noah had to stop him.
He remembered the sniper on the roof. Hoping to alert the shooter, he reached for his microphone. Gone! He’d lost his mic and earbud. His gun had been taken and his cell phone. What the hell happened? He’d gotten a call from Slocum asking him to meet in the library. Noah remembered opening the library door, wondering why no one had turned on the overhead lights, and then...
His memory returned in flashes. Zapped by a stun gun, he fell to the floor, writhing. High voltage shock tore through his body. Every cell screamed in pain. Darkness consumed him. After a moment of unconsciousness, his eyelids pried open. The room was lit. He saw Slocum sprawled on the sofa with his pale blue eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. A chest wound desecrated his uniform. The captain must have struggled because his blood was spattered and smeared everywhere. His throat had been slashed.
Noah had tried to help him, to put pressure on the carotid. He’d been too late. Dean Slocum was already dead. And the killer was getting away.
“Noah, what are you doing?”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw Gennie climbing through the window. Good, he needed her help...and her cell phone. He stuck out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“What happened to your phone?”
He didn’t have time to explain. “Your mic, give me your mic.”
“Or you could tell me who I should talk to and what I should say.”
Stubborn woman! But he was too groggy to argue, and daylight was almost gone. “Tell Tony I need his bike.”
She gently touched his arm. “Please tell me what happened.”
“I’m still in charge, and I need a motorcycle. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
Verifying that she was doing as he’d ordered, he tried to gain his equilibrium while struggling against a whirlpool of vertigo. His knees threatened to buckle. If he didn’t get moving, he’d go unconscious again. He set out toward the horse barn in a lurching, clumsy gait. The shock from the stun gun shouldn’t have had this sort of effect. While he was unconscious, he must have been drugged.
Gennie stepped up beside him. “We should wait for Tony.”
“No time.” He pointed toward the stables. “The killer went this way. On horseback.”
“Did you see him commit the murder?”
“I was unconscious, hit by a stun gun, maybe drugged.” When he shook his head, the inside of his skull rattled and throbbed. “I tried to help him but couldn�
��t find a pulse.”
“If you’re so damned determined to walk, you might as well hang on to me.” She draped his arm over her shoulder to give support. “Can you identify the killer?”
“The window was open.” A memory slipped through his mind like a shadow in the wind. “After I knew Slocum was dead, I went to the window. I saw him mount the horse.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing? Or his hair color? Anything?”
“Not enough light. It was too vague.”
“You’ll remember,” she said.
His movements were still awkward, but his mind had begun to clear. Even if he and Gennie didn’t catch up to the man fleeing on horseback, there were surveillance cameras at the general’s mansion and Morris, the Marine-trained sharpshooter on the roof. “Morris might have seen the killer.”
Tony rode around the corner of the house on his lightweight two-rider Yamaha. Avoiding the new grass, he parked on a pathway, jumped off the bike and rushed toward them. “Are you okay, Noah?”
“I’ve been better. What the hell are you wearing?”
“Sorry about the sweatshirt,” Tony mumbled. “I was handling a drunk, the situation got gross and I had to change.”
Later, they’d laugh. “You need to contact the police, shut down the library crime scene and don’t let anyone leave the grounds.”
“Got it.” Tony knew what to do. In most circumstances, he was second-in-command on field assignments.
“Also, contact Morris on the roof. Find out if he was in position to see anyone leave the library.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to catch this guy.”
Gennie opened the trunk on the Yamaha, took out a rag and tossed it to him. “You need to clean up. We’re going to ride together, and I don’t want to get blood all over this jumpsuit.”
He rubbed at the blood in the creases of his hand and dabbed the smears on the cuff of his white shirt and his jacket sleeve. Too much blood! He tore off his jacket and threw it on the ground, then rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. “How’s this?”