Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  …

  It took Francesca a half an hour of directing the cabbie this way and that until she was positive she wasn’t being followed. When she was assured she was safe, she gave him the mansion’s address. Upon arrival, the first thing she did was walk into her father’s office. For once, thankfully, he wasn’t smoking his cigar.

  “Francesca.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Talk to me about Scrivener.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  MacLain drove the black van to the curb a block from Scrivener’s building. Caleb had this building under surveillance for five years now, ever since he’d had the wherewithal to do it, but his people hadn’t seen Scrivener enter or exit it in six months…about the same time as Hamilton was receiving a past due notice from the Keeper of Secrets. The reality was, Caleb had no idea if Scrivener still used this building, if it had been gutted and remade, or if the vault was even in there anymore, never mind located in the same room. Their intel was slim. Scrivener was dead or alive, depending on who he spoke to, but this was the last known sighting of the man and their only lead to the ledger.

  Higher ups authorized a warrant for the seizure of the ledger, but no one wanted a blood bath, so the team was ordered to conduct a surgical strike, get in, get out, none the wiser. Though no one was under the illusion it would be easy. And the operation’s success or failure was officially on Caleb’s shoulders. Money and man hours were being spent here all based on his gut instincts. Tonight was a career maker or destroyer, but Caleb could care less. He just wanted it over.

  “I should be going in there with you,” Marnie said.

  “We’ve been over this,” MacLain said. “You’re pregnant. You need to think of the baby.” He hopped out of the driver’s seat and crawled into the back, kissing her.

  Caleb and the detectives were dressed in black, and armed; their holstered guns at their hips, and ankles, in addition to the armament in the van, and duffel he’d be carrying inside. He made sure they had the weapons and tech they needed, and were prepared to fight if they were caught inside the brownstone, knowing enough to expect no quarter from Scrivener’s men. And nobody wanted Marnie anywhere near that house.

  Caleb pressed his finger on his earpiece, making sure it was secure. “You don’t need to go inside to help, Marnie. We can use your computer savvy in the van, remotely.”

  “We don’t even know if there’s anything in there,” Marnie said. “Scrivener could have emptied the place after we broke in. It’s been a decade.”

  “To be safe,” MacLain said, “we have to assume he’s in there with plenty of armed guards. I don’t want any surprises.”

  Caleb jumped out of the van with the duffel containing guns and equipment they’d need to get past security. He surveyed the street as Marnie and MacLain exchanged quiet words. The couple had done the impossible, broken past personal damage and moved beyond the garbage life threw. Two sides of the law, meeting in the middle. Caleb knew they were an exception to the rule, and was happy for them, even as he envied them.

  MacLain hopped out and stepped to Caleb’s side. Crouched inside the van, Sullivan slid its door closed. He and Marnie would monitor for activity, use directional sonic devices to listen for conversations in the building, search for activity within the fortified brownstone to give them as much advance notice if they were caught. It was Marnie’s job to remotely hack the building’s tech, after Caleb and MacLain hooked her up to its wiring.

  Nope. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  This was Bartleby Scrivener’s house, and was like none other. Armed guards, high tech security, off the grid power system, breaking in wasn’t a sure thing, but it was the only way to access the vault. Scrivener would destroy everything before he allowed the Feds access to its secrets, because its discovery put a target on Scrivener’s back.

  So they’d have to find this vault, hope it’s even in this building, and do it undetected. The only thing they had going for them was Scrivener’s arrogant belief that he was invulnerable. There was a reason no one crossed Scrivener—he was a brutal despot—but that didn’t mean he was invulnerable. Caleb and Marnie’s break in ten years ago was proof of that.

  It did bother Caleb that they didn’t know Scrivener’s motive for the attempted kidnapping. It was an important piece of the puzzle, but he just couldn’t find a motive for it. If he had Hamilton’s ledger, why go for Francesca, too? Extorting Jonathan Hamilton? The king of extortion? Caleb suspected the two titans were waging a battle of attrition, and he and his crew were jumping in the middle of it.

  “I’m scared,” Marnie whispered through her earpiece. “Keep Dane safe for me, will you, Caleb?” He tore his gaze from the building that inhabited too many of his nightmares and locked eyes with MacLain. He’d heard his wife’s plea, too, and it had him glancing at the van, grimacing.

  “I promise,” Caleb said. Though it was clear MacLain was there to protect Caleb’s ass tonight. Caleb was too invested, too distracted for his own good. MacLain would have his back, and Caleb, well…he’d get MacLain back to Marnie if it took sacrificing his life to do it.

  He adjusted the duffel on his shoulder and tilted his head to the street, indicating it was go time. He and MacLain made quick work, stopping a block from Scrivener’s brownstone. “We good?” Caleb tested the device taped to his neck.

  “We’re good. No sounds from the building,” Marnie said.

  “Our agents are monitoring the block,” Sullivan said. “They’re in the houses to the left and right of Scrivener’s. On the roofs. If there’s trouble, you’ve got backup from all angles.”

  Caleb calculated how damning the streetlights were, studying the row of brownstones, wondering how many prying eyes had seen them in the shadows when they moved. Try as he might, he saw no one and nothing unusual but for the oddly angled satellite dish across from Scrivener’s brownstone. And that was the Feds’ tech.

  “We’re a go,” Caleb said.

  They moved quickly down the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows, and then he and MacLain hurried behind a brownstone two houses down, yard-hopping until they hit their mark, crouched, out of sight, next to the fence separating them from the brownstone. Their agents were on the roof behind them, covering their backs, as Caleb slipped the tranquilizer gun from the duffel, catching MacLain’s attention, who nodded, peeked over the picket fence, and then squatted again.

  “Two guards,” MacLain whispered.

  “Be careful,” Marnie said through their ear pieces, “or I’ll…I’ll never forgive you.”

  Caleb knew she was afraid, remembering the mangled bodies of their friends found in dumpsters throughout the city. They’d been tortured and then killed, left to be found, rather than Scrivener’s normal MO of dumping bodies in the Charles River. Scrivener wanted to make examples of them. It had worked. No one ever stole from the Keeper of Secrets again.

  “I love you, too,” MacLain whispered, lifting two fingers and pointing, indicating the two guards. Caleb stood, located the guards, and darted them. Their bodies dropped. “Sullivan?” MacLain said.

  There was silence from the detective, maybe ten seconds…of hell. “You’re good,” Sullivan said. “Guards in front unaware of your activity.”

  They jumped over the fence, hurried to the locked box protecting the electrical panel. Caleb knew the panel was a dummy, because Scrivener trusted no one. Certainly not the utility companies or his neighbors. He got his juice from a generator, but his phone lines were real. MacLain clipped the steel lock with a bolt cutter. Caleb caught it before it fell to the ground, and then opened the panel. MacLain retrieved the laptop with an attached cable from the duffel, opened it, propping it on Caleb’s extended arms, then used the cable to piggyback on the panel’s coax with a jerry-rigged clip, connecting the panel to the laptop. Marnie, using her phalanx of high tech computers in the van, could now remotely control the laptop and hopefully complete a security server hack on the brownstone.

  The wait was harrowing. Caleb ke
pt expecting Sullivan to whisper in his ear that the guards out front were seeking a sit rep from the sedated guards ten feet from him. And if Marnie failed on her end, they were dead in the water. She’d explained the process to everyone earlier. She was dumping a virulent Skype-like code that gave her temporary control of the brownstone’s router, therefore, their wireless system. It was her backdoor into their security server.

  “Almost in,” she said. “Shit.”

  “What?” Caleb said.

  “Nothing. Give me a second…”

  Caleb could hear the bugs in the bushes, and a whole bunch of silence in the neighborhood. The sedated guards lay there, their role in tonight’s operation done. He supposed it wasn’t a good idea to leave them armed while he and MacLain were inside, so Caleb handed MacLain the laptop and then gathered their handguns, tucking them into the duffel, trying to be silent.

  “We’re waiting, honey,” MacLain whispered, brows lifted, lips pursed. He was the image of impatience. Caleb glanced at the laptop’s screen and saw Marnie’s efforts as code scrolled down faster than he could read it.

  “Fuck, Dane. I’m not folding clothes here. Give me a second. Almost…almost…” Caleb could hear her breathing in his ear. Fast, as if she were running. He knew Marnie worked scared, so wasn’t overly concerned. It was the day she became complacent he’d worry. “Done,” she said. “Outer perimeter security is down, but I see something…it looks like an algorithmic detonator. Dane, I think he’s got this building wired to blow. Caleb? Did you hear me?”

  MacLain nodded, holding Caleb’s gaze. “The vault’s here.”

  Caleb nodded once.

  “Ah…guys?” Marnie groaned. “Um…bad news. You have ten minutes before security reboots itself and gives you away. Leave the piggybacked coax wire in place, and prop the laptop somewhere, in case I need access again while you’re inside.”

  “Sullivan?” Caleb said. “Have our agent on the roof tranq any guard that wanders back here.”

  “Contacting her as we speak,” Sullivan said.

  “I’ve done all I can on this end,” Marnie said. “It’s up to you two now, and clock’s ticking.”

  MacLain closed the laptop and leaned it against the quarry stone foundation. Caleb pulled two grappling-hook guns from the duffel, and handed MacLain one. Then Caleb slipped the considerably lighter duffel over his shoulder to free up his hands and aimed for the roofline, then pulled the trigger seconds before MacLain pulled his. The hooks planted four feet apart, deep in the roof. Dropping the devices, they slipped on their gloves and began their climbs, hand over hand. It took them two long minutes to reach the roof, and one more to break in through the attic.

  “We still alone, Sullivan?” Caleb whispered.

  “You’re making a racket, but yeah,” the detective said. “So far.”

  Taking the stairwell to the third floor, they split up and began reconnaissance. Room to room, flashlights scanning the nooks and crannies, they searched as quietly as possible for the vault.

  “Rumors of Scrivener’s New York location say that vault is on the second floor,” Marnie said, “disguised as a closet. Where are you guys?”

  “Third floor. It’s clear, as well as the attic,” MacLain whispered.

  “Coming to the second floor,” Caleb said. The whole place was dark, and silent as the grave.

  After three long frustrating minutes of finding nothing, Caleb heard MacLain whisper, “Smith,” in his ear. “Second bedroom on the left.”

  Caleb hurried down the hall and found MacLain on his knees before a door, a penlight between his teeth, shining on the lock. A SmartCode dead bolt lock, in fact. MacLain took the flashlight from his mouth. “I’ll need the—” Caleb already had the device out of the duffel, and was handing it to MacLain, aiming his flashlight onto the lock. The detective attached its wires.

  Caleb glanced at his watch. “Security’s been down almost seven minutes. This better be the room.”

  “Getting in was too easy,” Marnie said in their ears.

  “Speak for yourself.” Caleb’s palms were covered with friction burns from scaling the brownstone exterior, despite wearing gloves.

  “I keep telling myself,” Marnie said, “I was a kid when we stole from Scrivener, so yeah, my memories of him are scary.” She sounded as if she were talking to herself. “But I’m a fucking grown-up, so why is he still the bogeyman?”

  “A child’s perspective,” Caleb said.

  “You’ve used up eight minutes,” Marnie said. “Get out of there.”

  The lock clicked open just as Caleb palmed his gun from his hip holster. This one wasn’t loaded with a clip of tranquilizers. MacLain stored the lock picking device in the duffel, palmed his Glock. They aimed their flashlights, lining them up with the muzzles of their guns.

  MacLain tilted his head to the door and waited. Caleb nodded once, pushed open the door, and gun at the ready, stepped inside. It was dark, so his vision was limited to what their small flashlights revealed. Then the room’s light turned on, and Caleb’s stomach dropped.

  Francesca.

  She stood in the center of what looked to be Scrivener’s office, her father by her side. Scrivener sat at a desk behind them, wizened, hunched, his black beady eyes crinkling as he smiled. An armed security detail aimed their guns at Caleb and MacLain.

  With a powerful shove, he forced MacLain into the hall, and then shut the door in his face, securing the detective’s safety. Or not. Caleb heard boots running and unfamiliar voices shouting behind him.

  “Drop the gun,” Tate said.

  Caleb flipped the gun, holding its barrel, and then bent his knees, slowly lowering it to the dun-colored carpet. When he stood back up, Scrivener waved at a guard, indicating he should chase after MacLain. Well, Caleb wasn’t in the mood to lessen his friend’s odds of escaping.

  The guard didn’t make it past Caleb’s first punch. He fell, broken jaw, knocked out cold. The next three guards converged on Caleb at once, guns holstered, forgoing sheathed knives. It telegraphed that Scrivener had ordered Caleb kept alive. Big miscalculation.

  “Let’s do this.” He winked at the guy in the center, recognizing his hesitancy, so it was no surprise when the other two guards attacked in tandem, and the middle guy held back. One got a boot to the knee while the other managed to duck Caleb’s eye slice. He didn’t evade Caleb’s follow-up left cross, though, and fell to the ground. Caleb smiled at the center guy, the hesitant one…who then Tasered him.

  Caleb’s body froze in a paralyzing seizure. It felt like his heart stopped, and then he fell with a loud boom as his weight hit the floor. When the Taser’s pulse was turned off, his body’s relief was short-lived. No time to recover as his attackers converged, zip-tying his wrists behind him and then pummeling and kicking him until he was forced to curl into a ball to protect his ribs and center. Two other guards ran past into the hall as the remaining guards patted Caleb down, divested him of his ankle guns, and then dragged him toward the desk, center room. They set him on his knees.

  Kneeling before Francesca.

  He smiled up at her, tasting blood from his cut up mouth, knowing he’d finally done something right. Odds were he’d bought MacLain enough time to escape the house. Once outside, he had the full force of the FB-fucking-I behind him. Soon, those same agents would be busting down this office door and saving his ass, too. There were enough felonies going on in this one room to guarantee Hamilton and Scrivener’s arrest. All Caleb had to do was survive to the good part.

  Francesca stepped toward him. Just one step. A tiny step. As if she hadn’t meant to, but hadn’t stop herself in time. She was paler than he’d ever seen her, and she looked like the lady of the manor, wearing bridal white with gold chain necklaces and bangles at her wrists. Bleeding and bruised, his eye swelling and tearing up, he’d never felt more of a mongrel. He still remembered his days of stealing from women like her to put food in his belly, and seeing her there, under tight control, he wanted to push back a
nd rage at her, but refused to risk her sympathy or disdain. Either would finish him off.

  “I’m sorry.” Francesca’s tone matched her controlled expression. Not even a warble.

  Who was this version of Francesca? he thought. The Francesca he knew could never be a part of what her father and Scrivener had planned for him. Then it hit him. He didn’t know her any more than she knew him.

  While Caleb thought he was seducing her, she’d been setting him up for this very moment. The con was flawless.

  The Feds chose Caleb because this operation was custom made for him. Seduce a daughter, cyber security contract, the CEO/president position up for grabs…one or all of them would have lured Caleb to the mansion, whether or not the Feds were involved. Hamilton said he’d studied him. Caleb believed it. How else could he have manipulated him so well? Hamilton kept Caleb at the mansion, dangled him out there while he went about negotiating with Scrivener, because Scrivener had something Hamilton wanted: the ledger. And Scrivener wanted Caleb.

  Francesca was never in play. Caleb was the bargaining chip.

  Well played Hamilton.

  Strangely enough, Caleb felt no acrimony toward Francesca. In fact, there was nothing he’d done over the course of the last few weeks that he’d do differently—the definition of a perfect grift. Exploit the mark’s weaknesses. Francesca played her role perfectly. He’d come to the manor to seduce and instead was the one seduced. Now he was on his knees, looking at the business end of a gun.

  “You win, Francesca.” Caleb searched her expression for anything—regret, despair, or even fear—then told himself to stop looking for excuses to absolve her of guilt. What a fool he was. This whole time he’d been thinking her the fool for projecting a hero onto him, when he’d been projecting innocence onto her. “But it was fun. Wasn’t it?” He winked, hiding his pain behind rueful amusement. If possible, she grew more pale.

  “Stall,” Marnie said through his earpiece. “Dane is extracted. The Feds are locking the street down. Lucas and I are shutting down the electricity, so…stall, dammit!”