by Paula Graves
“You make him sound scary.”
“Most of the time he is.”
They located the gate after a frustrating search through overgrown weeds and grass outside the company grounds. A heavy chain had been looped through the gate latch, giving the outward look of a locked gate, but closer examination revealed there was no lock at the end of the chain. All they had to do was unwind the chain to open the gate and enter.
“Now what?” Owen asked.
“We’re about three hundred yards from the building, I’d estimate.” Tara peered through the gloom, trying to get a sense of perspective. “There’s a side entrance on the east wing of the building, where my office is located. It opens with a key card, but if for some reason you can’t put your hands on a key card, it’ll also open with a numerical code.”
“Not very secure.”
“Well, after the third time Clayton Garvey left his key card at home and had to go through the humiliation of fetching a guard to let him in, they changed the system.”
“You’d think people who deal in security threats would be able to identify the ones in their own systems.”
“Human nature.” They were close enough now to see the building looming in the darkness like a sleeping steel-and-glass behemoth. “That’s the door we’re heading for.”
They slowed down as they neared the entrance, taking care not to draw attention to themselves. Just because the security guards would now be focusing attention on the more secure parts of the building didn’t mean she and Owen didn’t have to take precautions as they entered and started moving around. There were cameras at the end of each corridor, and while these weren’t controlled by motion sensors, she and Owen would still need to be quick in hopes of avoiding immediate detection.
The cameras record everything, which is why you need to wear the masks I’ve provided until you’re out of range of the corridor cameras, Quinn had warned them. They stopped now, while still clear of the building’s external security cameras, to slip on the knit masks Quinn had put in their backpacks.
“Ready?” Owen asked, making last-minute adjustments to his mask.
“Yes.”
He motioned for her to lead the way.
* * *
UNTIL THE VERY last moment, Trask had planned to confront his brother before Virgil and Ty Miller ever set foot into the building. But then Virgil had stepped out of the truck wearing the same security company uniform that Ty wore, and Trask was suddenly uncertain about everything he’d believed he knew.
As he froze in place, his mind racing through all the possible implications, Ty and Virgil walked across the narrow space between the parking lot and the front entrance, disappearing inside the building.
The automatic gate was still slowly closing. Spurred into action, Trask jumped from his truck and raced through the gate with inches to spare. But when he tried the front door, he found it locked.
He hadn’t noticed Virgil or Ty stop to punch in an alarm code after entering, so he might be able to pick the lock without setting off any sort of alarm.
Within a few moments, he felt the last of the pins in the lock open and he gave the door a tug. It swung silently outward and he slipped into the building.
Stopping to listen, he didn’t immediately hear any other noises. Wherever Ty and Virgil had gone, they’d gone quickly. There was an elevator bank a few feet inside the foyer. Maybe they’d taken the elevator to another level?
He moved toward the bank of elevators, glad he’d worn soft-soled shoes. They made a tiny, almost imperceptible squeak on the polished floors, but at least he wasn’t leaving echoing footsteps ringing behind him as he walked.
He looked at the elevator indicator lights. Hmm. All of them seemed to read Ground Floor. Wherever Ty and Virgil had gone, it appeared they hadn’t gone by elevator.
Wandering a little deeper into the building, he spotted his first security camera. It stood still, which might mean it was showing a static image on a security monitor somewhere. If so, his presence here would need some explaining. Somehow he didn’t think his bosses at the sheriff’s department would be satisfied with whatever he managed to come up with.
Too late to worry about that now. He backtracked until he found an office directory sign. There were two wings, it appeared. The one he was in was called Administrative Services and included a long list of offices and names. Tara Bentley’s office was on this floor, he saw, in an area marked Analytical Security Services Unit.
He had no idea what that meant, he realized. Or what, really, Tara did for Security Solutions. It was all very vague in general, the way a lot of job descriptions at security companies could be.
Owen Stiles’s position at Campbell Cove Security was only slightly less mysterious, and that was only because Trask had a better grip on what “cybersecurity” meant than “analytical security services.”
Maybe this was his chance to find out a little more about who his mysterious fugitive bride really was.
He turned right and headed for Tara Bentley’s office.
Chapter Sixteen
The corridors were mostly dark, except for a few lights near the tops of the walls that shone at half strength every ten yards or so. Tara kept an eye on the security cameras as she walked quickly up the hall. She and a couple of her coworkers had noticed that just before each camera made a sweep of the service area, it twitched twice in the opposite direction of its eventual sweep. Then it would move in a slow arc before going stationary again until its next sweep.
The one down the hall started to twitch twice to the left. Tara grabbed Owen’s arm and pulled him through the nearest door.
“Is this it?” Owen whispered.
“No, it’s a conference room.”
“Then why did we come in here?”
She told him about the camera sweep observation.
“How long will the sweep last?” Owen asked.
“Should be over now.” She risked a quick peek into the hall and saw the camera sitting still again. She grabbed Owen’s hand and they hurried up the hall, pausing as they reached a corner.
She took a quick look around the corner. It was empty, and the camera at the end of the hall was still. “Let’s go.”
Owen followed her forward as she led him swiftly down the corridor and around another corner. They managed to reach the door to her office without the cameras moving again.
But to her surprise, the door to her office was locked.
“These doors aren’t usually locked,” she whispered, giving the knob a second, futile twist.
“Let me take a look. You keep an eye on the cameras.”
“Move in as close to the door as you can. I don’t think the camera’s view reaches into this alcove.” Tara flattened her back against the door and watched with curiosity as Owen pulled a small leather wallet from his pocket. He unfolded the flaps to reveal a series of narrow metal rods of various sizes, all small. It was a lock-picking kit, she realized with surprise as Owen selected two of the metal pieces from the wallet and tucked the rest of them back in his pocket.
He inserted both pieces into the lock, wiggled them around in ways that made no sense to her whatsoever. But within a couple of minutes, the door lock gave a slight click and Owen twisted the knob open.
He entered first, with caution. Tara followed closely behind him, her hand flattened against his spine. “My desk is over here on the right. Chris Miller’s desk is here to the left.”
Suddenly, the light came on in the room, almost blinding her with its unexpected intensity. She squinted, wondering if Owen had flicked on the light. She was about to tell him to turn the lights off again when he stopped dead still in front of her, his back rigidly straight.
She realized with a sinking heart that he hadn’t been the one who’d turned on the lights.
She turned around to see the man who’d lured her out to the church parking lot standing in front of them, holding a big black pistol.
* * *
“HEY!”
The voice that rang through the corridor behind him stopped Trask short. He turned slowly to find himself looking at Ty Miller, no longer dressed in his drab olive security uniform but a pair of khaki pants and a dark blue blazer over a white golf shirt.
No, that wasn’t right. This man was younger, though his hair color, his features, even his general build were the same as Ty Miller’s. In the low lighting of the nighttime building, it had been easy to see what Trask was expecting to see.
He hadn’t been expecting to see Ty’s brother Chris, even though he was also an employee of Security Solutions. It was after midnight now. What the hell was he doing here at this hour?
“Archer,” Chris said as he stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for your brother, actually.”
Chris looked puzzled. “Is he working tonight? He told me he was off this week. Guess he must be covering someone else’s shift.”
“What are you doing here this late?”
“I have an analytical paper to present tomorrow to the officers about the sym—” Chris bit off the last word. “For something we’re planning. Anyway, I realized I left some files here in my office that I need to return to the secure section before morning, so I came here to get it.”
“Do you mind if I come with you? This place is a little creepy at night. Don’t tell my boss I said that.”
Chris grinned. “It’s our secret. And you’re right. It’s creepy as hell.”
They headed down a long corridor side by side. The oppressive silence continued to make Trask’s skin crawl. Then, suddenly, he heard the quiet murmur of voices coming from somewhere down the hallway and faltered to a halt. Chris Miller stopped short, too, an odd expression on his face.
When Chris spoke, it was in a whisper. “Nobody’s supposed to be in this wing at this hour. Security should already be on the other side of the complex.”
Trask eased his hand beneath his jacket and closed his fingers over the butt of his service pistol. He kept his voice as low as Chris’s. “One quick question. Did you know my brother was working security here these days?”
Chris gave Trask an odd look. “No, he’s not.”
“Maybe he just started.”
“No.” Chris’s voice rose a notch. He tamped it back down to a hiss of breath. “If we’d hired new security people, I’d know. One of my jobs is to screen the personnel Security Staffing sends our way. I’d know.”
Damn it. Trask swallowed the bile rising in his throat and nodded toward the continuing murmur of voices drifting up the hallway. “Let’s go find out who’s here.”
* * *
“TY, GET OUT HERE.” The man in the drab olive uniform kept the muzzle of his pistol pointed directly at Owen’s heart. Owen forced his gaze away from the muzzle and concentrated on taking in every detail of their captor’s appearance.
Definitely the same man he’d seen trying to shove Tara into the panel van outside the church. Also definitely the same man who’d been entering the Bagley County Sheriff’s Department in a deputy’s uniform the morning they tried to turn themselves in.
“You’re Virgil Trask,” Tara said, her voice strong, though Owen heard the slightest tremble on the last word.
“And you’re a real pain in the ass, lady. Not real good at stayin’ put.”
“What were you planning to do with me? What was the point of drugging me and dragging me away from the church?”
Virgil looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Do you think this is some sort of Scooby Doo episode? You think I’m going to stand here and waste time telling you all the details of my nefarious plot?”
“You can’t just shove us out of here at gunpoint,” Owen said. “Security cameras will catch it all.”
Virgil shot him a withering look. “Who the hell do you think runs the security cameras around here?” He turned his head toward a door in the back of the room. “Ty, you comin’ out here or not?”
A big broad-shouldered man emerged from the door, his arms full of files. “He left them here, just like he said, Virgil.” The man Virgil Trask called Ty stumbled to a stop, dropping a couple of the file folders stacked in his arms as he spotted Owen and Tara. He muttered a soft profanity.
“Yeah,” Virgil said with a grimace. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to kill anyone just yet.”
“Do it now, do it later,” Owen said with a studied shrug. “It’s what you have planned, isn’t it? Killing a whole lot of people from a whole lot of countries who are wanting to clamp down on terror attacks across the globe? What I don’t understand is why.”
Virgil said nothing, but Ty Miller dropped the rest of the folders he held onto a desk nearby and took a belligerent step toward Owen. “You think those people are coming here to make us all safer? They’re just looking at more ways to tie our hands behind our backs.”
Virgil shot Ty a look of disgust. “Would you shut up, Ty? Let’s just figure out a clean way to get rid of them and get back to what we’re here for.”
“Those files are from the classified section,” Tara said, taking a few steps toward the files Ty had just deposited. “Chris had them in his office?”
“Uncle Stephen let him take them out for some paper he’s preparing to present to the directors. You know Chris, he doesn’t get everything on the first read through.”
Tara glanced at Owen, looking faintly horrified. “And he left them in his office?”
“Stop talking, Ty. I mean it.” For a moment, Virgil’s pistol swung toward his partner in crime. It was a tiny opening at best, but Owen had a feeling there wouldn’t be another.
He launched himself toward Virgil, knocking him hard into the nearest desk. Virgil hit it with a loud grunt of pain, already swinging his pistol back around toward Owen.
But Owen had already jerked the backpack from his shoulders and held it in front of him, using it to shove the pistol wide as Virgil pulled the trigger. Big puffs of fabric and insulation flew from the backpack as both Owen and Virgil fell to the floor.
“Owen!” Tara screamed.
All the breath seemed to rush from Owen’s lungs, and the world around him started to go black.
* * *
THE SOUND OF a gunshot was easy to mistake for other things. A vehicle backfiring, or even the crack of a baseball bat hitting a pitched ball.
But neither of those things could be found inside this building at nearly half past midnight. While Chris Miller froze in place, Trask’s cop instincts sent him running toward the sound.
A woman’s voice rose in a wail. “Owen!”
The sounds seemed to be coming from the office just down the hallway, the one marked Analytical Security Services Unit. Trask would bet what little money remained in his savings account that the woman’s voice he just heard belonged to Tara Bentley.
He’d found his fugitives. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.
* * *
AS TARA STARTED across the room to where Owen had fallen, Ty Miller grabbed her arms and held her in place. She struggled against his hold, but he was as strong as a bull and his grip was already digging deep bruises in her flesh.
Still, she kept fighting, her heart racing with terror as she watched Owen go dreadfully still.
“Let me go!” She kicked back against Miller’s legs, her boot apparently connecting with one of his kneecaps, for he let out a howl of pain and his grip on her arms loosened.
She tore out of his grasp and ran to Owen’s side.
&nb
sp; “Get back!” Virgil trained his pistol on her from his position on the floor, desperation tinting his deep voice. “Get back, or I’ll shoot you, too.”
She lifted her hands toward him. “Please, let me go to him.”
Virgil shook his head. “Stay where you are.”
“He’s hurt!” She could see a dark, wet patch spreading on the side of Owen’s jacket. “I have to stop the bleeding or he could die.”
“He’s going to die one way or another.” Virgil nodded toward Ty, who grabbed Tara’s arms and pulled her backward again.
“We need those files, Virgil,” Ty said.
“I’ll get them. You take the girl.”
“What about him?” Ty asked.
Virgil looked down at Owen. “He’ll bleed out sooner or later. Then we’ll come back here to clean up.”
Tara thought for a moment she saw Owen’s hand twitch, but after that he was completely still, and she guessed with despair that she’d seen only what she wanted to see.
He might already be dead, his heart stopped by Virgil Trask’s bullet. He could be gone and there were so many things she still hadn’t told him.
Like how much she loved him. How much the image of that forever love he’d talked about had burrowed its way into her soul that she understood now how impossible it would ever be to walk away from what he was offering.
Now, when it was too late, she finally got it.
Don’t die on me, Stiles. Don’t die on me before we have our shot at forever.
* * *
CHRIS MILLER HAD remained where he stood down the hall while Trask made his way to the closed door. Just as well, he’d probably be more of an obstacle than an aid.
Trask waited against the wall, trying to hear what was being said inside the room. He heard the low rumble of his brother’s voice, and the broader country drawl of Ty Miller answering. They were talking about cleaning up after themselves. Something about files. The woman was begging them to let her go to someone. She’d cried out Owen’s name, so maybe Stiles had taken that bullet he’d heard fired down the hall?