Robin spoke in a low voice, scattering his distracted musings. “I think that’s it.” She pointed to a house near the end of the block. A long drive wound through a miniature forest of pine trees, and a wrought iron fence surrounded the small estate.
“You’re right.” Chris held out his comm card to confirm the address. They slowed to a steady walk. They already looked conspicuous enough wandering a sidewalk in the dark hours of the morning, and sprinting around wouldn’t help. “So you know this guy better than I do. What’s the plan?”
Robin scratched the back of her neck and left her hand there. “I don’t know. Haven’t had a chance to think too far ahead.”
“Reed looks loaded. Probably has killer security. Can’t sneak in.”
Squinting, Robin slowed as they approached the front gate. “There’s no way he can afford this place. I mean, anesthesiologists make a healthy salary, but...you’ve seen my place.”
“Genetic enhancements?” Chris asked. The extra income from selling gene mods could bolster the lavish lifestyle suggested by Reed’s choice of residence.
Lost in thought, Robin didn’t answer.
He peered at the round, black holoprojection node near the gate’s lock. The device would provide two-way communication to Reed should the man choose to pick up if they requested entry. He doubted the man would be a gracious host.
A low buzzing caused them to jump. The gate swung open without warning. Chris’s comm card lit up, and he read a single message from an unknown source: “All electronic security disabled. Have fun.”
“Vincent,” he muttered. Both gratitude and resentment seethed through him. He hated that the man held this much power, could ease his and Robin’s mission at the touch of a button, and yet still used them as pawns in whatever war roiled on in the underground biotech world.
Robin shook her head. “Scary to know he has so much control.” She shot the comm card a suspicious look.
They dashed across the drive and rounded the yard toward the side of the house. No lights glowed from within, and no dogs barked, no alarms whined. Chris’s heart thumped. He withdrew his pistol, and Robin took out her stunner. “Let’s take a look at the backyard first. Want to make sure we don’t miss any pool house, shed, or anything that might hold something...” He pictured Ana, bounded and gagged, imprisoned in some sadistic dungeon or prison. He shuddered.
“Good idea. Scope it out, try a back door and sweep the interior.” She turned her head up toward the dark windows. Somehow, the doctor appeared composed, confident as though she had been trained like a Green Beret ready to raid a compound. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
He feared what—or who—might be lying in wait in the shadows. Vincent might’ve shut down the electronic security system, but people couldn’t be so easily disabled at the touch of a button from halfway around the world. “Looks can be deceiving.”
In his mind’s eye, he imagined her knocking out those three men in the alley again. He was glad to have her on his side, and she could stand her ground, but the people they faced now might not be as ill equipped as a few drunks and druggies hanging around the street. They prowled toward the rear of the house.
A burbling fountain stood sentinel in the middle of the vast yard. Trees lined the edges and flower beds decorated the terraced landscape, but no other structures warranted interest.
In tandem, they flitted under the windows and through the bushes leading to a patio. Chris pressed his back against the brick wall and inched toward a glass door. With deliberation, he pushed it slightly. A rush of cool air breezed past from within, enticing him to take refuge from the humid night.
But again, no alarms sounded, and no one called for him to stop. He nudged the door open farther and slipped into the house. Robin followed, and they plunged into a room filled with luxurious couches and a commanding fireplace.
The hardwood floor creaked, and Chris stopped, pointing his gun down the halls.
“Sorry,” Robin whispered.
No one responded, so they snuck up a winding wooden staircase. A corridor lined with open doors greeted them. A veritable gallery’s worth of paintings lined the walls. Chris peered into the darkness, wishing he’d taken enhancements for improved night vision. He could only make out the subtle glow emanating from the distant streetlights permeating the rooms.
He thought he saw movement, a shadow, a flicker near a doorway. He squinted, pulse pounding in his ears.
“Something wrong?” Robin asked, her voice low.
“I thought I saw something.” Chris tilted his head to indicate where he’d seen the shadow. He led them toward the spot. With one deep breath, he twisted into the doorway, pointing his pistol around the bedroom. A lone bed was pushed against a wall next to a set of nut-brown nightstands. A closet door lay partly open on one side, and a wide desk stood in the opposite corner. Expansive windows looked out over the yard, toward the road. A car, its headlights growing larger, trundled down the street. It turned left in front of Reed’s home. The headlights had enough power over the distance to slightly illuminate the walls, and the bed cast a shadow reaching across the hall.
He’d merely seen a ghostly silhouette caused by a passing car, nothing more.
He bent to look under the bed. Chris felt like a child looking for the boogeyman, but he’d long since learned the shadows weren’t as innocuous as his parents had taught him. Still, this time, his father’s words rang true: “There’s nothing under the bed, Chris. You’re safe.”
No monsters in the closet, either. Just an array of dresses and gowns.
Chris arched an eyebrow. “This doesn’t look like Reed’s usual attire.”
Robin let out a chuckle but threw her hand over her mouth and self-consciously glanced back out into the hall. “I think he has a wife.”
“Maybe that explains the big house. Maybe it’s not genie money. Could be his wife is the one with the cash.”
They crept into two more bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom before clearing that wing of the second floor. They treaded back past the stairs and probed another doorway. A massive bed against one wall lay empty. Chris covered Robin’s back as she checked the en-suite bathroom.
“Nothing,” she reported.
Chris positioned himself beside the bed and jumped as the glimmer of metal caught his eye. A softball-sized drone rested in the middle of the carpeted floor. Normally, the bot would hover at eye height and circulate a preordained route.
But this one lay useless, deactivated by Vincent’s security hack. It was another reminder of the power Vincent held over him.
He hated that the man he had sworn to take down now served as their guardian angel. He vowed that when this business with Reed ended, Vincent would be next. His fists curled, and he kicked the out-of-commission drone. It bounced along the floor into the shadows of an open closet.
The sound of metal hitting metal rang out.
Chris cringed. “Shoot. Sorry.”
Robin glowered, but no footsteps echoed down the halls, no voices cried out demanding to know who prowled about the house. It seemed the only guests were them and any other dormant drones.
Wherever Reed was, wherever he might’ve taken Ana, it appeared it wasn’t here. The best they might do was discover something Vincent hadn’t uncovered yet, a clue leading to Reed and, he hoped, Ana.
Chris gulped hard as he thought of Ana. He had no idea what Reed might be capable of or what they might’ve already done to her.
“This isn’t good.” Robin examined something in the shadow.
“I know. I don’t think we’re going to find anything here.”
“No, I found something.” She hoisted out an open metal briefcase. “And this isn’t good.”
No, not a briefcase. A cavity in the black foam appeared molded to hold a pistol. The shape carved out seemed too large to hold the gun in Chris’s hand. He shuddered.
“Reed’s not playing around.” Robin put down the gun case and tightened her grip around
her stunner. “Wherever he is, he’s armed. From what I can tell, he doesn’t usually walk around with a weapon like this. This doesn’t look like the type of gun you’d be able to carry around concealed.”
Chris feared what that meant for Ana.
The creaking of a door jolted him out of his thoughts. Two sets of heavy footsteps echoed on the tiled floor near the home’s entrance.
“If I were a thief, I’d go upstairs,” a booming voice said. “That’s where you get the most bang for your buck.”
“Bang for your buck?” another higher voice said. “Are you dense? They aren’t buying shit. This isn’t a sale. They’re stealing shit.”
“Whatever. Let’s sweep there first.”
So much for Vincent disabling security, Chris thought. Then he wondered if Vincent had set up a trap, if he’d intentionally sent them into a viper pit. He peeked around the doorframe, Robin by his side. His heart pounded as the footsteps climbed up the stairs. “Vincent said he disabled security—maybe he’s playing us. Why the hell are these guys here?”
“Probably because Vincent disabled security. If all that tripped off, I bet they’re on call to check things out.” Robin slid a finger over the trigger of the stunner. “But why don’t we ask them to find out?”
She sprinted out, stunner held before her. Chris followed, gun at the ready. A blue bolt of electricity lit up the dark corridor as it arced through the air and hit the first guard’s chest. Thick muscles covered the man’s body, and a thin beard traced his square jaw. His eyes widened as he fell, stiff and heavy.
Robin fired another bolt, but the second man ducked. He rolled and landed on one knee, his pistol leveled at Robin. Chris pulled his trigger. A loud blast echoed in the tight hall, and a hole appeared in the wall.
Without firing, the sprier, thinner guard dove into one of the bedrooms.
His voice barked out, but it wasn’t directed at them. “We’ve got two intruders. Hartwig is down, paralyzed. Send backup.”
Chapter 33
Jordan’s windpipe felt as if it were collapsing. His assailant used his free hand to deliver a blow that would’ve knocked the air out of Jordan if he’d had any left.
One of Jordan’s pistols now lay tucked away in his attacker’s waistband. But that wasn’t the only weapon he had.
The cold metal of the pistol in his waistband was sandwiched between his lumbar and the car. His attacker delivered another painful punch. With the world already going black and in the last throes of consciousness, he twisted enough to free the small of his back from being pressed against the vehicle.
He mustered his last reserves of life and energy. In one fluid motion, he retrieved the pistol and fired into the man’s abdomen. The fingers loosened around his neck, and the man stumbled backward. Jordan fired twice more, once in the chest, once in the face.
The attacker’s body dropped. Jordan twisted around to see Hugh still struggling against his own aggressor.
Jordan leveled his pistol at the man’s head. The man swung Hugh around like a human shield. “Drop your goddamn weapon.”
Hugh kicked at the man, and the thug groaned. Hugh was wiry, thin. Not a specimen of enormous strength. Yet the soft-featured man trying to keep him in a chokehold appeared to be struggling. He was not an enhancer like his dead partner.
The man wore a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and reached for something with his right hand.
Hugh elbowed the man, and the attacker lost whatever it was he had tried to grab. The clang of metal against concrete grabbed Jordan’s attention. He started to round the Audi, his pistol still trained on the man. He wasn’t willing to risk Hugh’s life by taking a shot, though.
“Stay where you are.” The man tightened his arm around Hugh’s throat.
Jordan dropped flat to the asphalt and spied the two black boots he knew didn’t belong to Hugh. He fired twice, and the man yowled in pain. Jordan sprung up, and Hugh twisted out of the man’s grip. Hugh slammed the assailant backward. The man’s head smacked against the brick wall behind him, and Hugh dug his knee into the man’s chest, driving the thug down.
Jordan ran around the Audi and pushed the gun barrel into the man’s temple. Sweat streamed down the man’s face, his skin paling and his eyes clenched in agony. Blood trickled out of the two puckered holes in one of his boots.
“Who the hell are you?” Jordan pressed the gun barrel harder into the man’s skin.
The man moaned in response. Hugh dug into his pockets and withdrew a comm card. He booted the small device up, and his brow wrinkled in concentration as he read the holodisplay. “Says this guy’s Gordon Huff.”
The name sounded familiar. Jordan gave the man another glance. He tried to imagine the sandy haired, round-faced man without a pained grimace. But he couldn’t place him.
“You have any idea who this asshole is?” Jordan asked.
Hugh shook his head. “Never heard the name before. Never saw the face.”
“Gordon, Mr. Huff, whatever you’d like to be called, I need you to tell me why you were after us and who you work for. Pretty standard stuff.”
More agonized gasping and moaning.
“If you think you’re in pain now, I can double it.” He pressed a heel into the man’s sternum and aimed the pistol at his undamaged foot.
“No...” Gordon rolled his head to one side, his tongue lolling out. “No...Police. I’m...police.”
Hugh rifled through the man’s front pockets then turned him over to check his back pockets. He yanked out a leather wallet and unfolded it. A silver Baltimore PD detective badge gleamed under the dull alley lights. Jordan’s heart sank deep into his stomach.
“Oh, God, what did we do?” Hugh’s mouth fell open, and he stood, backing away. His arms shook and he dropped the badge.
Then Jordan recalled how he recognized Huff. He’d never seen the face before, but he’d heard the man’s name. His eyes narrowed as he replayed Ana’s story in his head. The police detective, someone from her Bio Unit, someone supposedly on her side, had been an accomplice in the sabotage of the Baltimore PD evidence holding room.
Detective Gordon Huff was no loyal protector of the law. Jordan kicked him in the ribs, and the man curled up.
“Tell me who the hell sent you, detective,” Jordan said.
“He’s police, Jordan. We’ve messed up. Real bad. We have to get out of here.”
Jordan ignored Hugh. “Come on, Gordon. You’re not with the police now, so quit pretending. No cop is being sent for backup. There’s no officer down. Just a traitor, a liar. Isn’t that right?”
Gordon pulled his knee to his chest and curled into a ball, holding his right foot. Blood streamed between his fingers. He nodded weakly.
“Here’s the deal.” Jordan knelt by Gordon. The man was weak. Not only physically because he lacked enhancements but mentally. No wonder he’d fallen in with Reed’s crew, become corrupted, a cancer to the police department.
Jordan had his own history of evading the police, covering up his own illegal trails years ago, but he respected that, for the most part, the cops were doing their job. It didn’t mean he needed to like them, but he accepted they’d be after him like a hound on a fox. It was what they did.
But this man, this Gordon Huff, had betrayed the good people he worked with. Criminal and cop.
He had no reason to respect Gordon, and the man had already threatened his life and Hugh’s. But he couldn’t kill him. Not yet.
“Listen close, Gordon,” he began again. “You’re a dirty cop. I don’t know how many of you in that department are pigs like you, but I’m certain none of them are going to lift a finger to help you when they find you bleeding out in an alley next to that guy.” He nodded toward the body of the man in the tracksuit. “My man, you’re going to want to help us. Help us, so we can help you. Why do you want us?”
“We...don’t. We wanted the doctor. Wanted you to give us the doctor.”
“She is prettier than us,” Jordan said, “but I’m s
ure you have a better reason for wanting her.”
“Don’t know.” Gordon groaned.
Jordan pressed the pistol against the man’s temple again.
“Really. I don’t...know.”
A host of questions swirled in his mind like a flock of gulls diving for food. Gordon didn’t look to be in good shape. The man hadn’t been shot fatally, but his face drained of color, and he began hyperventilating. If he went into shock, he’d be near useless. “Where’s Ana Dellaporta?”
Gordon’s eyes fluttered open briefly. “I don’t know...the others took her...took her to Reed.”
“What does he want with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t—”
“All right, you don’t know.” Jordan brushed a hand over the stubble on his head. The mere fact these others had taken Ana away evoked a faint shadow of hope. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have bothered taking her alive. Maybe she was with Reed; maybe she was still breathing. His eyes narrowed. “Where the hell is Reed?”
“I really...I really don’t know...I’ve never even seen him face to face...he sends me messages...encrypted messages.” Gordon shivered, and his eyes closed again. He stopped groaning, and his body fell limp. He had passed out.
“Do we leave him? Kill him?” Hugh asked.
“No.” Jordan stuck his gun back into his waistband and picked Gordon up under his armpits. “Worse. I’m sure Ana’s going to want to personally deal with him.”
With Hugh’s help, he loaded Gordon into the rear of the Audi and slammed the door.
“For now,” Jordan said, “we have to see what our friends have found.”
Chapter 34
Robin peeked out of the doorway. The thin man’s shoulder appeared from down the hall as he leaned out. She fired off the stunner, but the arc of electricity faded out harmlessly.
The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3 Page 71