by Lauren Carr
Chris stopped Elliott when he reached for his weapon. “I think that’s the maid.”
The two men cautiously moved toward the spider. She waved her antenna at them.
“See, Elliott? She’s offering to take your coat.”
“Rich folks and their exotic pets,” Elliott said with a grumble.
“We’re not rich and we have a female rabbit named Thor who likes to wear pink ruffles and lace,” Chris said while looking around to figure out where to go next.
“That’s not exotic. That’s just plain weird. There’s a difference.”
There appeared to be a choice of directions to go, including downstairs. An entranceway to the right led to a formal dining room. To the left was a long sunroom.
They heard a wail from the living room located down the hallway beyond the sun room. Chris led the way into the elegant room with a granite fireplace that took up an entire wall.
On his knees, Murphy was hugging a woman on the sofa while she sobbed. Enveloped in Murphy’s arms, it was hard for Chris and Elliott to see what she looked like. What they could see, she was attractive with thick alabaster hair down to her shoulders. There was an array of medical books and a laptop on the sofa, where she had been studying when Murphy and the Geezers had arrived with the awful news of her brother’s sudden death.
“I am so so sorry.” Murphy’s eyes were wet as he buried his face in her hair. “It was all my fault, Buttercup. I never should have let him get involved in this.”
Jessica hiccupped. “But he wanted to.”
“He wasn’t trained for it. The people we go up against … human life has no value to them.” He hugged her tighter. “I can only imagine what they did to him before they …” His voice broke.
“Oh, Murphy.” She pulled away and buried her face in her hands.
“Is there anything I can do, Buttercup?”
“Isn’t that what they name cows? Buttercup?” Elliott asked Chris, who responded with a sharp look. “Just saying.”
“It’s not polite to judge,” Chris hissed.
“Murphy, can you get me a glass of water?” she blubbered.
“Anything. I’ll do anything for you, my love.” Murphy rose to his feet and hurried past Chris and Elliott to head for the kitchen.
Francine, Jacqui, and Ripley moved in to comfort Jessica. As they gathered around her, Jessica lifted her dry face from her hands to reveal a slim smile.
Chris spun around to follow Murphy. As he rounded the corner to enter the gourmet kitchen, he heard a male voice.
“Hey, Murphy, can you get me a beer while you’re in the fridge?”
Chris ran in just in time to see Murphy put a lanky man with glasses into a headlock.
“Murph!” the young man cried out while fighting him the best he could, “I thought you’d be happy to see I’m alive!”
“I am happy!” Murphy shook him by his shirt collar. “So happy I want to hug you … until you’re black and blue!”
“We need some help in here!” Chris yelled in the direction of the living room while prying the two men apart.
Bruce and Elliott each took one of the men and pulled them back. Jessica jumped between them.
“You let me think you were dead!” Murphy said while Jessica held him back.
“Gee, Murph, I didn’t know you cared!” Tristan said while taking cover behind Francine.
“I don’t.” Murphy shook off Bruce and Jessica. “I just don’t like knowing that I’m going to get killed in my sleep after your dad got the news.”
“Tristan, what happened?” Ripley asked. “They found a body in your brownstone.”
“They’re going to find a second one, too,” Tristan said while straightening his clothes.
“Who were they?” Bruce asked.
“Assassins sent by Slade Industries.” Tristan waved his phone for them to see. “Recorded the whole thing. Wanna watch?” You would have thought he was inviting them to see the debut of a new movie.
They went downstairs to the family room, which included a bar and flat screen high definition television tuned to a dinosaur documentary. In contrast to the luxurious surroundings, a worn recliner rested in the prime viewing spot. A Bassett hound mix, remote tucked under his paw, occupied the recliner.
“Naw,” Jessica said, “we can’t watch it in here. Newman’s watching Jurassic Fight Club.”
“Newman?” Jacqui asked.
Jessica pointed to the Bassett hound who narrowed his eyes at them. They were blocking his view. Jessica eased Jacqui to the side. “He really loves his television. Whatever you do, don’t touch the remote.”
Tristan trotted into the hallway and opened the double doors. “We’ll watch it in the home theater. You’ll love it.”
“Oh, yeah, I love watching people get killed,” Jacqui said with sarcasm.
“They were assassins,” Bruce reminded her.
In response to a scratch at the glass doors leading to the patio, Murphy opened the door to allow Spencer and Sterling to gallop inside. The two dogs made a beeline for the home theatre.
“Did we get a new dog?” Jessica asked about the German shepherd following Spencer.
“He’s with me,” Chris said.
“He doesn’t steal, does he?”
“No, but he does cheat at cards,” Bruce said.
Tristan was already offering drinks and refreshments from the minibar in the home theater, furnished in leather recliners.
Spencer nudged open the arm cover to reveal a pocket holding dog biscuits. She took one out and placed it in Sterling’s seat in between his front paws. She licked his tall ears while he ate the treat.
Bruce and Jacqui were quick to accept Murphy’s offer of a fine wine from the wine cellar. Since Murphy didn’t drink, Jessica, who knew more about fine wines, went to fetch a worthy bottle.
“Wasn’t your computer lab blown up?” Francine accepted the bottle of beer Tristan offered to her. “You don’t seem upset.”
“I keep everything on the cloud off-site,” Tristan said. “All I lost was hardware and equipment. That’s replaceable.”
“But if you killed them, why did you blow up your own lab?” Bruce asked.
“So that Slade Industries would think they did the job,” Tristan said.
“How do you know the hitmen had been sent by Slade Industries?” Bruce asked.
“They told me,” Tristan said. “And they had no reason to lie, seeing as how they were about to kill me. It isn’t like I was going to tell anyone.”
Once everyone was seated, Tristan directed Nigel to play the security recording that had been stored to the cloud.
With the date and time noted in the bottom corner of the recording, the screen revealed the front stoop of the brownstone. People could be seen walking by the row of brownstones, many stoops decorated with colorful mums in the fall season. A black SUV parked far down the street—just within view of the camera shot. Even before the two men who climbed out came into shot, it was plain that they were interlopers. Those in the home theater recognized the bulges under their coats.
“They actually got there a little later than I expected,” Tristan said.
“You were expecting them?” Francine asked.
“The tracking device I had attached to the travel mug was made by one of Slade Industries’ computer tech companies,” Tristan said. “As paranoid as that company is, I knew they would instantly find the device and use the lot number to track where it was sold and who to. Considering that I bought it online and used my credit card, it was only a matter of time.” He gestured at the two assassins. “They stopped for lunch first. Mexican. I could smell the enchilada sauce on their clothes.”
“But we still don’t know exactly what it was Cross was passing to the courier,” Murphy said.
“Well, considering tha
t they wanted to kill Tristan just for tracking whatever it was to them, I’d say we can safely assume it was something he shouldn’t have been sharing,” Chris said.
With a sense of purpose, the two assassins made their way to the stoop where one held out his arm to stop his partner. “This is it.” He gestured for him to loop around to the back of the townhome. “Keep your com on,” he ordered him to stay in communication with him.
As his partner disappeared out of view, the first man cautiously made his way up the stoop to the security panel. Adjusting his earbud and mouthpiece, he lowered his body to peer through the windows to make sure he was not being watched. His face became magnified as he moved in closer to examine the camera and mike. A malevolent grin crossed his face as he fished a device out of his pocket and plugged it into the unit. He pressed several buttons on the keypad.
Beep!
Letters across the bottom of the screen read: Suspect Disabled Security System
With a chuckle, the assassin said into his mouthpiece. “Security system disabled.” He pressed his phone against the door’s smart lock. They could hear the application shuffle through the various number combinations before striking the code to unlock it. The whirling noise of the lock disengaging was followed by a click.
“Easy as pie.” The assassin took the semiautomatic out of his holster and pushed through the door.
“He’s just walking in,” Jacqui said. “Did you see how easy he took out your security system?”
Tristan shrugged his shoulders.
“You set a trap for them,” Bruce said with a wicked grin. “I like the way you think, Faraday. Ever think of going into law?”
“Never.”
The recording shifted to a view of the back door where the other assassin picked the lock in a matter of seconds. “The system in the rear isn’t even on,” he told his partner through the earbud while extracting his gun. “Deadbolt isn’t turned. Some people are so sloppy with their security systems that they deserve to get robbed and killed.” He made his way through a rear office to the hallway.
“Wait a minute,” Jacqui said, “how are you picking up their radio communications?”
“My sloppy security system hacked into it.” Tristan waved his hands. “It’s airwaves on my property. That makes it all legal.”
The recording transitioned to the kitchen where Tristan was packing up his backpack.
“Intruders have now entered the premises,” Nigel said. “Emergency services have been notified. Should I give the medical examiner a head’s up?”
“That would be polite. Tell them to send fire, too. Lots and lots of fire trucks. I like fire trucks.”
Tristan checked the time on the clock on the microwave while taking a jar of mayonnaise out of the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer as well. He closed the door and turned around to see the first assassin aimed a nine-millimeter Berretta at his mid-section.
“I assume you’re from Slade Industries,” Tristan said while holding up his hands with the beer and mayonnaise.
A split screen showed the assassin’s partner making his way down the back hallway toward Tristan with his weapon aimed at the back of his head. He entered the kitchen.
The split screen showed the kitchen at a downward angle from the far corner of the kitchen. The other angle was at eye level from behind the sink.
“I guess you know why we’re here,” the lead assassin said. “Saves us having to listen to you begging to know why we’re going to have to kill you.”
“This has everything to do with me tracking stolen government secrets to Slade Industries.” Tristan set the mayonnaise on the kitchen table. “Of course, your boss sent you. Is that Leban Slade himself or one of his presidents?”
Tristan waited for an answer and received none. “You have to know if Leban Slade is involved in it. His conglomerate is the government’s biggest defense contractor. Wouldn’t it be a kick if it turned out that he got those contracts because he had inside information about what our military and intelligence agencies needed in order to gear his bids for the contracts?” He opened the bottle of beer and took a drink of it. “Or maybe the information he’s been getting is personal info that he can use to extort preferential treatment when it comes to deciding on contracts?”
“Shut up, kid.”
“Whoever is behind collecting this stolen classified data has to be aware that if I figured it out, that others have figured it out as well. Maybe Slade doesn’t care.” Tristan took another drink from the beer. “Certainly, you don’t because it means job security for you. The more people find out, the more you have to silence.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me I’m the first.”
“Get down on your knees,” the lead assassin ordered.
“Targets locked,” Nigel said into Tristan’s earbud. “Defense systems activated on your command, Tristan.”
“I think you should get down on your knees,” Tristan told the assassins. “Put your hands behind your heads. The police will be real impressed to find you ready to go when they arrive.”
The hitmen looked at each other and laughed.
“You’re funny, kid,” the second one said.
“And you’re stupid,” Tristan said. “You broke into a smart house. You have no idea what this house is capable of.”
“We broke through your system like a hot knife through butter,” the head goon said. “Your house ain’t very smart. As a matter of fact, it’s stupid.”
“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Tristan said. “Nigel is very sensitive.”
Both hitmen laughed. The second one looked up at the ceiling. Seeing the security camera, he held up his middle finger. “Not only are you stupid, Nigel. You’re downright retarded.”
“Can I kill them now, Tristan?” Nigel asked into his ear com.
“Yes,” Tristan said.
Four shots rang out from various points of the kitchen. The gunmen dropped—both with a shot through the heart and another through the head.
“Told you Nigel was sensitive.” Tristan set down his beer and knelt next to the bodies. He searched their pockets for their wallets and cell phones.
“Law enforcement will arrive in ETA two minutes,” Nigel said.
“Set timer to detonate in ninety seconds,” Tristan said.
“Detonate explosives?”
“Detonate the lab, Nigel.” Tristan placed the wallets and cell phones in the backpack with Monique on top. “Ensure everything is on the cloud. One minute and fifteen seconds.” He zipped up the backpack. “I want the brownstone to go up before law enforcement arrives on the scene.”
“Files already backed up, including security footage. Lab will detonate in one minute.”
Tristan opened up the sliding glass door and stepped outside.
The screen filled with the numbers counting down as the sirens in the distance grew louder.
They were still in the distance when the screen went black. The noise of the explosion filled the home theater.
Chapter Sixteen
“Blair certainly liked angels,” Helen said as she repacked the last of a box filled with angel figurines.
“That’s where Emma gets it.” Doris opened the last box, a small one that rested in the far corner of the storage room in the farmhouse’s basement. “Blair liked clocks and angels.”
“Then she should have these,” Helen said with her hands on the lid that she was about to set on the box. “It’s a shame to leave them in this dusty old box when they can be set out and admired.”
“You’re right. We’ll give them to her when she comes back from the ride.”
“We’re ba-ack!” Emma sang as she raced into the room with Sadie and Mocha directly behind her. In her sock-covered feet, she was almost dancing on her toes. She launched herself into Doris’s arms. Doris tickled the little girl, who squealed with delight while
squirming to the floor, at which point she started wrestling with Mocha.
“Hey, Sierra! They’re down here in the basement.” Curiosity filling her face, Nikki stepped over Sadie, who took her post by the door. “What are you doing?”
“Going through your mother’s things,” Doris said. “I keep telling your father that we need to go through them. I’m sure she wanted you to have her stuff.”
“Like what?” Nikki asked in a sharp tone.
Helen presented the box of angels to Emma. “Your mother had a whole collection of angels. I’m sure she wanted you to have them, Emma.”
A wide smile filled Emma’s face as she tore into the box. When Sierra joined them, Emma proudly showed her one angel after another. “My mommy is an angel. She watches over me every night from her home in the clock in my room. She sings to me, too.”
Nikki rolled her eyes.
“I’m sure your mother would like for you to have this picture, Nikki.” Doris picked up a framed photograph of Nikki, as a small girl, dressed in full cowgirl gear, sitting on top of a pony. She held a blue ribbon. “It’s you at your first riding competition on your first pony.”
Nikki backed away from the photograph. “I already have that picture. Dad keeps it on his dresser.” She stepped over the two furry bodies lying in the doorway and ran up the stairs.
Doris and Helen exchanged sad glances.
“Nonni, do you think Dad can build me a case to put all my angels in so they don’t fall and break their wings?”
“I’m sure your father would be glad to do that for you,” Doris said.
Sierra offered to carry the box up to Emma’s room to sort through the collection.
Doris waited for them to be well out of earshot before rolling her eyes. “You don’t think Nikki has any resentment toward her mother, do you?” Her tone dripped of sarcasm.