Full Exposure

by Debra Webb

  Just as he’d thought. The door was tied into the building’s security. Would have been truly stupid had it not been. He delved into his bag and placed the necessary electronic devices on the door, then picked the lock the old-fashioned way.

  With that out of the way he slipped the pack onto his back, had to stifle a groan. The burn of the sutures as well as the soreness related to the cracked rib weren’t easy to completely disregard. She noticed his discomfort.

  “You’re sure you’re up to this?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t miss the edge to his voice but allowed it to pass without comment. “What are those?” She pointed to the devices he’d installed.

  “This door has sensors here and here.” He indicated the locking mechanism and the top of the door. “Deactivating the lock won’t be a problem, probably won’t even show up on the security’s monitoring system. But when the door moves away from its frame a fault message will trip the alarm.”

  “These little black boxes prevent that from happening?”

  “Yes. They put off a signal that overrides the current one and remains constant regardless of the door’s position. There’s just one drawback.”

  Her gaze latched on to his. “What’s that?”

  “They only work for five seconds once the door is opened. We have to hurry.”

  She thought about that a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  He had to take a moment of his own. She stood on that roof, shivering from the cold air no doubt flying under the jacket which, as he suspected, hit about midthigh. She wore nothing else that he could see, except her socks and sneakers. She looked incredibly young and far too vulnerable to be involved with the likes of him.

  He shook off the distracting thoughts. No time to think about that right now. He palmed his weapon, braced himself for a fight and opened the door.

  The door closed silently behind them. If any alarm had been tripped it made no sound.

  He surveyed the dimly lit stairs, scanning for electronics now as well as thermal images. He had no desire to run headlong into any of Clark’s friends.

  The stairs led down to the mezzanine. Fortunately the landing at the bottom of the last tread was tucked into a corner alcove. He waited, listening for a minute. A radio or television broadcasted somewhere in the building. The echo testimony to the lousy acoustics.

  Staying out of sight in the alcove, he put his face close to Angel’s, ensuring there would be no mistake in his words or his expression. The next few minutes would be crucial to their survival, as well as Mildred Parker’s.

  “I’m going to make a call,” he told her, bracing for her reaction in much the same way he’d braced for moving in. “I’ll give Clark a time and place. No bargaining. Dawn in Lincoln Park. The same ultimatum he gave us.”

  “Won’t he know you’re here? Trace the call or something?” As calm as she wanted the whispered words to be, he read the rising hysteria in her eyes.

  “He won’t know. My cell phone is secure, untraceable. He will probably rant and rave the way he did before, maybe worse. We’ll have to ignore that. Eventually he’ll calm down. When his guard has dropped enough, I’ll make my move.”

  She chewed on her lower lip, the lushness making him ache to taste it…to soothe it with his own.

  Finally she nodded. “Okay. I guess that’s the best option.”

  Cole was not accustomed to waiting for anyone else’s authorization or approval. Another crack in his armor.

  “Trust me.”

  She searched his eyes, hers calm now. “I do.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Between their hiding place in the alcove and the radio or television, he felt confident his voice would not be overheard by the one man near the side door. There was at least a hundred yards between their locations.

  Clark answered on the first ring. “Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch?”

  Cole indulged in a smile. “Dawn, Lincoln Park,” he told him casually. “Bring Ms. Parker unharmed and we’ll finish this.”

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Danes,” he warned, “but I don’t take orders from you. We’ll do this my way or not at all. The game is over. I’m in charge.”

  “Not anymore. Lincoln Park. Dawn. My final offer. If you’re not there, then you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life because I won’t stop until one of us is dead.”

  “You smart-aleck bastard,” he snarled. “If you knew where I was as you suggested in our last conversation, you’d be here. You don’t know a damn thing.”

  “Perhaps. Are you willing to take that chance?”

  Cole ended the called. Double-checked that his ringer was set to silent vibrate.

  “What did he say?”

  Cole didn’t have to bother with a response. Clark stormed out of the office, sending the door banging against the wall.

  “Am I surrounded by imbeciles?” he shouted. “You couldn’t trace that call? Unbelievable! I thought you said we had the latest technology? How can some guy who works for NSA sneak under our net?”

  “His signal bounced all over the country. Hell, even to Canada. I couldn’t have locked in on his position if you’d kept him online an hour,” his minion argued, albeit humbly.

  Clark moved in on him, stabbed him in the chest with his forefinger. “What I want to know is how the hell he got my number.”

  Cole felt Angel tense next to him.

  “We meet at Lincoln Park at dawn,” Clark continued. “Assemble the rest of the team. I want them onsite well before dawn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clark shouted to the man at the door. “Get your ass outside and start walking the perimeter. We’ve got things under control in here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man entered a code and slipped out the door to do as he’d been ordered.

  Clark stood in the middle of the vast warehouse a second longer.

  Cole tensed, drew farther into the shadows. The man’s instincts were very good. He still felt that something wasn’t as it should be.

  Foolishly ignoring the instinct that had likely kept him alive many times in the past, Clark flipped open his phone once more, stabbed the necessary numbers.

  He waited for an answer, apparently through three or four rings, then he said, “I want to meet.”

  Cole’s tension moved to a new level. Who the hell had he just called?

  “No.” Clark shook his head. “Four o’clock this morning. I’ll give you the directions en route.” He provided a general direction for the caller. “Come alone or she dies. Is that clear?”

  Satisfied with the response, he ended the call.

  Clark glanced around the warehouse once more then disappeared into the office.

  Cole waited ten minutes before making a move. During that time he considered who Clark could have called. Cole knew with complete certainty that Clark was the last of the original team. That he had at his disposal another team of mercenaries was no surprise. But to have a contact, someone who would care one way or the other whether Mildred Parker lived or died, was another factor altogether.

  He looked at his watch—12:45 a.m. Three hours and fifteen minutes until this unknown person arrived. As much as he wanted to kill Clark right now he had to wait.

  He’d literally had the man in his sights during that last phone call. But his man had been in the office with Ms. Parker. If ambushed, Clark’s men likely had orders to execute the hostage. SOP. Standard operating procedures for military and civilian operatives alike.

  It was a risk he couldn’t take…not with Angel right beside him. He couldn’t do that to her.

  Cole scrubbed a hand over his weary face. He’d waited so long to finish this. How could he let anything get in the way?

  Fate had played a very bad joke on him, it seemed.

  Whatever the case, he had no choice now.

  And he definitely needed to know who Clark had contacted. It had to be som
eone with ties to the Colby Agency. As unlikely as that seemed considering Cole’s thorough investigation, it was the only answer.

  Come 4:00 a.m. he would know.

  After ten minutes of no activity below, Cole decided to make his move to better cover. A place he could safely leave Angel when the time came.

  He inched out of the alcove and surveyed the options to his right. The flat panel doors he presumed to be offices or smaller, private storage rooms. One door, about three doors down, was clearly marked maintenance. That would be the one least likely to be locked.

  Angel moved up beside him and he gestured to the door. “Stay low, move slowly and quietly, but wait for my signal.”

  She nodded but didn’t meet his gaze.

  There was no time to ask questions now. Besides, he had an idea what was on her mind.

  He crept out of the alcove, then moved quickly, keeping low as he’d instructed Angel, until he reached the door. Hoping like hell he’d chosen well, he turned the knob. The door opened without resistance. He visually checked the area below, beyond the mezzanine’s railing, then motioned for Angel to come.

  She did just as he’d told her, moved quickly, without hesitation.

  Cole didn’t breathe easy until they were both securely ensconced in their new makeshift quarters. He’d stuck a small, wireless video-and-audio transmitter to the outside of the door near the knob to keep tabs on the goings-on below. He used his tools to lock the door from the inside. With the right tools and skills, keys weren’t necessary.

  After switching on a small flashlight to cut through the consuming darkness he quickly placed a series of six matchbox-size black boxes around the small maintenance closet. The room housed a basic cabinet with sink, another floor-to-ceiling cabinet marked Supplies, and a mop and bucket propped in the corner. The odor of cleaning products lingered in the air.

  “What are those?”

  “In the event,” Cole explained as he made the last adjustment, “Clark decides to use a thermal scan to detect the presence of warm bodies in the warehouse, these devices will conceal our presence. They mask the actual temperature of the room, ensuring that it shows up at a temperature comparable to the other rooms around it.”

  “Oh.”

  He set the flashlight on the sink, directing its beam toward the supply cabinet, allowing for some illumination of the space without calling attention to the door and any light that might slip beneath it.

  Her expression was closed, her lips drawn in a grim line. He wondered how long this eye of the storm would last. Not nearly long enough for his liking he felt certain.

  Focusing on the other necessary tasks, he set his handheld monitor to the right frequency and adjusted the zoom of the lens on the electronic eye outside the door. He set the sound on the midrange since he wouldn’t be able to adjust it until there was actual sound coming from the targeted area.

  He placed the monitor next to the flashlight and relaxed against the opposite wall. Now all they had to do was wait for 4:00 a.m.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  So it began.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Tell you what?” he asked, keeping his voice low in hopes she would do the same.

  “That you could call Clark. That you had his number when you lied to me and said his call was impossible to trace.”

  “I told you what you needed to know, nothing more.”

  Fury gleamed in her eyes, giving the pale blue color a kind of iridescent quality. She closed the distance between them in two deliberate steps.

  “I was worried sick that he wouldn’t contact me again. You let me believe that.”

  “But he did,” Cole countered, seeing no point in this exchange. “Your aunt is safe. In a few hours she’ll be free and Clark will be dead.”

  “Why wait?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “Why not just move in now. You’ve had a number of opportunities to shoot him.”

  “And the guy in the office would have executed your aunt. Don’t think I didn’t consider it.”

  A fraction of her anger diminished. “That still doesn’t explain why you lied to me.”

  Ah, the proverbial “you lied to me” routine. They weren’t lovers, they weren’t even friends. His own anger sparked. He’d gotten her here. Her aunt was still alive. How the hell could she question his methods at this point? “I kept certain things from you because you weren’t ready to hear the whole truth,” he fired back, sealing his fate in her eyes.

  He manacled her hand a split second before her palm made contact with his jaw. “Get some rest. We only have a few hours.”

  “I hate you,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re no better than they are.”

  He released her, lacking the energy or inclination to refute her claim.

  She backed away, stopping only when she encountered the wall opposite him.

  She was right anyway.

  He knew what he was.

  A man who left heavy collateral damage in the wake of each assignment. A man whose face and name few ever forgot.

  No matter what happened this morning, she would not forget.

  If only he could…just for a moment.

  Chapter Twelve

  1:55 a.m.

  Angel fought the exhaustion dragging at her. She’d spent the last hour thinking of her sweet baby and her aunt, reliving the happy times. Those days seemed so far away now. She desperately hoped their future together would not end tonight. Her aunt was still alive and safe for the moment. Emotions tore through her. She felt too many to label them all. Relief, profound relief. Some level of uncertainty still. The past forty or so hours had been like a nightmare or a bad movie about someone else’s life.

  How could she have gotten in this deep with madmen like Stephens and Leberman? Don’t leave Clark out, she reminded sarcastically. Why did they keep coming back? Leberman, supposedly the leader, was dead. Stephens was dead. Why couldn’t the last of his men just let this whole thing go? Because terrorists died for their causes. And these men were nothing more than terrorists.

  The thought sickened her, but it was true. Relentless bastards who cared nothing for anyone who got in the way of their goal. How on earth had her quiet, ordinary life attracted the attention of such madmen? The Colby Agency. Her aunt’s connection to the Colby Agency. In a moment of utter clarity, Angel realized that her family, as well as Victoria Colby-Camp’s were victims of the same terrorist. It wasn’t supposed to make sense, it was the idealism of a man both obsessed and insane. Leberman had started it, his men would finish it.

  And somehow the conclusion had something to do with Cole Danes.

  Her gaze drifted to the man. His eyes were closed. Like her, he leaned heavily against the wall. Fatigue lined his face, the one that had grown so familiar to her now. It didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to know his injury added to the burden. The pain would nag at him still. She thought of the way he’d thrown his body over hers that morning, of how he’d come through again tonight and rescued her and the EMT by distracting Clark somehow. That part still wasn’t clear, but whatever he’d done, it had worked. She shuddered when she considered that she’d almost shot him. Her finger had been so close to squeezing the trigger. The relief she’d felt at seeing his face when that shower curtain drew back was immeasurable…indescribable.

  Each step he’d taken, every single move he’d made had been toward one end. Accomplishing his mission.

  He’d found her aunt.

  Now stood prepared to try and free her.

  “Why can’t we call for help?” she asked, voicing the next question that entered her mind. She cringed at how loud her words sounded in the cramped room when she knew she’d barely spoken above a whisper.

  His eyes opened, the blue so dark it looked black in the dim lighting. “Any outside interference would motivate an attempt to escape. Your aunt would be executed. That’s the way these men work.”

  She shivered at his words as well as the deep, rich soun
d of his voice. She shook herself. From the moment they’d met a war had started inside her. Part of her repulsed by his cold, relentless attitude, another drawn to him like a moth to the flame. “How can you be sure? If you told someone where we were, how many men they had and what their positions in the building were, it might work.”

  His eyes closed once more. “Don’t believe everything you see on television, Miss Parker.”

  Fury whipped through her, shoving aside her fatigue. She wasn’t that stupid. She abhorred his insistence on calling her Miss Parker. “It makes sense,” she hissed, careful to keep her voice low in spite of her anger. “Anything’s better than just standing here waiting.” Claustrophobia had started to unravel her nerves or maybe it was merely the sound of his voice or even his words. She should have left well enough alone. She’d spent the last hour distracting herself with thoughts of her daughter and a happier past. Staying lost in the past had helped keep her calm. But now, reality was crashing back down around her.

  Her aunt was in this warehouse. Angel’s heart wrenched. There were only three men holding her just now. Surely a man like Cole Danes could take down those three. She said as much, laying down a challenge his arrogance would never allow him to disregard.

  His eyes opened, and that laserlike gaze nailed her to the wall. “Yes, I could end this now. Even at three to one, the odds are in my favor. I have the element of surprise and I’m not afraid to die. The two men working for Clark are young, not nearly as experienced as he. They have no desire to die just yet. Taking them out would be a simple matter. Clark, however, would react on a wealth of experience in kill or be killed. He would take out the hostage first, then protect himself. He’s not afraid to die, either.”

  Danes wasn’t afraid to die. That was true. Not for a second did she doubt it. He’d covered her, pushed her to safety then lunged right into the hail of gunfire in that motel parking lot. Her heartbeat quickened at the terrifying memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. How could it have been just this morning? Well, technically, yesterday morning now. At any rate, he’d risked death to save her. He would do it soon to rescue her aunt. She didn’t want him to die. No matter how ruthless he wanted her to think he was, somewhere behind that relentless armor was a man who cared more than he wanted the world to know.