The Lynx Series Boxed Set II: Books 4-6 (Iniquus Security Action Adventure Boxed Set Book 3)

by Fiona Quinn

  Major Trudy sat with a wide-eyed, stunned stare. He probably thought I was exaggerating about paying off his house. But his information got me data that could make all of the difference to our nation’s security. It was worth every penny — and it was his due for decades of services rendered. I pushed my seat belt off my shoulder and turned to put my hand on him. “Major Trudy, that task. I will pay you very well. I need to find someone. Now.”

  He nodded.

  “Where do you need to be? We’ll take you there.”

  Major Trudy wrinkled, then released his face. Smooshed his shoulders up to his ears and let them fall, then squirmed around in his seat as if trying to get himself lined up. “Iniquus is a no-go. My house is a definite no-go. You don’t have monitoring equipment…”

  “Did you use monitoring equipment when you followed me last night?”

  “No.” He rubbed his back molars against each other, making them squeak in a nails-on-a-blackboard kind of way. “Okay, let’s try the park around the corner. This’ll cost you fifty grand.”

  “Major Trudy. I will pay fifty grand for actionable information.” Sure I would — I’d pay him anything he asked. I wouldn’t even go to Iniquus to cover this. I’d just sign over my house, my car, my anything, my everything. I didn’t care about any material thing in this world. I just needed Striker to be okay. Two cycles of no communication? He had never done that before. He would have found some way to contact someone if he at all could. And the last part of that thought — if he at all could — was the part that terrified me.

  Gator steered to the far end of the parking lot. The trees still clung to the last of their crisp brown leaves. We crunched to a stop in a wind-swept pile. Gator got out of the car and surveilled the area, then posted guard at the rear of the car.

  I wrote a tasking number on a piece of paper, then “Find and assess target.” I folded it to only show the number and handed it back to Major Trudy. I had a pen ready to take notes as I watched Major Trudy relax his body. His breath came slow and steady; it was hypnotic. I deliberately focused away from him, lest I fall into a trance or go behind the Veil when I didn’t intend to. The Veil was my next option, but since I had no idea what I would find, I needed to stay actionable and not damaged. I reminded myself of the EMS mantra, the first rule of the rescuer — and rescue felt to me like what was needed — was not to become part of the problem.

  The silence went on for a very long time. I had kept an eye on my watch since I knew how time played games during stressful situations. I wondered if I should prompt the major. I let another five minutes pass, then I started worrying that my worry would fill the car with so much cluttered, desperate energy that Major Trudy wouldn’t be able to hack his way through it to get to the real task.

  Just as I formulated a monitoring question and opened my lips to clear my throat, Major Trudy said, “This environment is well-protected. I went back in time and space to see at what point the protection was put in place. It was recent — a few days ago. It was prepped to prevent a remote viewer from finding or accessing information. It would have to be, or I’d be able to get in.”

  “Were doorknobs utilized?” I asked.

  “Yes. The site was accessible several days ago.”

  “Location?”

  “Variable.”

  “Variable? Explain.”

  “The location moves from time to time.”

  “You are saying the location changes. You also said the location was prepared to prevent remote viewing. So the person is familiar with remote viewing and also knows that a remote viewer will be employed to discover the location’s moves. Would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this a vehicle of some kind?”

  He nodded.

  “Did the target enter the location willingly?”

  No answer.

  “Did the target enter the location knowingly?”

  “Target was lifted.”

  “Status?”

  “No data from present location.”

  “Move forward to a time when you can obtain further information.”

  “Nothing.”

  That winded me. My lower jaw stuck straight out, like a great ape’s. That’s how I felt — like a silverback alpha, wanting to thump my chest and then rip everything apart until I found what was mine.

  “Move backward in time to a location in which you can gather information about target’s present situation.”

  “Steak. Potato. Dark. Laughter. China clattering.”

  I waited.

  And waited.

  I scratched my teeth over my lips. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap. My breath came in shallow pants as I worked against my desire to shake the information from Major Trudy.

  “Female companion. Hidden.”

  “Hidden — describe.”

  “Identity comes into my mind and slips out. The identity of this person has been hidden using an anti-remote viewing protocol.”

  “Go back to the time before the remote viewing protocol was utilized.”

  “There.”

  “Do you know a name?”

  “Tabby Cat.”

  “More?”

  “I’m coming back.”

  Major Trudy was covered in sweat, and he breathed like he’d just done a sprint. He tipped his head back and gazed at the ceiling. Gator must have been watching because he climbed back in the car. “And?” he asked.

  “You’ve got yourselves one hell of a problem.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “You’re sure?” I asked for the third time.

  “Tabby Cat was Indigo’s daughter’s nickname. I can’t recall her real name. His wife Melody and son Greyson were killed. He and his daughter survived.”

  “And this is the person who is keeping Striker and Vine from checking in and has them in a vehicle — some kind of camper. Why in the world would Tabby Cat care about Striker and Vine?” I asked, knowing Major Trudy didn’t have any more information.

  “I only looked for the one tasked individual. This being Indigo’s daughter in the mix and surely trained in remote viewing, it explains the who and why of prepping the fucking place. It doesn’t explain why this is happening at all.”

  My mind went back to Indigo’s phone conversation. “No,” Indigo had said. “Do not increase the dose. He’s a big guy, but you don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest. Wait it out. He should get sleepy soon, and once he’s unconscious, you can secure him.” Was Indigo talking about Striker? Maxx had been killed with a triple shot. Was Vine still alive? Could we get to her in time to keep her safe? I needed a whiteboard, room to pace, and Deep at the computer.

  “Titus is here. What’s the plan now?” Gator asked.

  Major Trudy reached out and took the tasking paper from my hand. “I’m going to Wyoming. As soon as I get there, I’ll get General Coleridge to work on this task with me. We’ll get you that actionable data.” His gaze was intense. “This is personal, isn’t it?”

  “My fiancé, who is also Spyder’s right hand.”

  “Spyder McGraw?”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll get you everything we can as soon as we can, I promise,” he said as he popped the door open. I got out too, and even though I knew Major Trudy liked that three-foot wingspan of space around him, I still gave him a big hug. “You’re pretty awesome, Major Trudy. Please be safe.”

  Major Trudy wiped his palms over his wet eyes, gave me a nod, then jogged over to Titus’s Hummer, where Gator stowed his gear.

  As soon as the Panthers were headed down the highway, we moved back onto the road. I turned to Gator. “Before we even head back to the Puzzle Room, let’s go to Striker’s apartment and give it a shake.”

  “And by shake, you mean, give you an opportunity to go behind the Veil to see if you can’t get some quick answers?”

  “Roger that.”

  “The sooner, the better,” Gator said and pulled into the garage.

  As we headed up on t
he elevator, I asked, “Striker dated Scarlet Vine. I know it was a while ago, but do you remember how long they were together?”

  “Not long. Six weeks, maybe? As soon as she started talking baby names and family vacations, Striker let her know he was married to his job. She was the mistress in the relationship, and he didn’t plan on a divorce.”

  “In those terms?” I stood there, wide-eyed.

  Gator shook his head as we exited and made our way to Striker’s door. “There cain’t be no ambiguity — sometimes you just gotta be harsh. Take Amy. Even though I told her and told her I weren’t going to marry her — that I enjoyed her company, but it was going no further…” He sniffed. “I wanted her in my life, so I didn’t say it and end it. And that’s how she got hurt so bad. It was selfish on my part. Even though I was clear, she always thought she’d turn me around and head me down the aisle. And I knew that. But… yeah, once they start seeing a future with you, you’ve got to make a clean cut.”

  “You are quite the catch, Gator. Who wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Jean Marie Rochambeau? It has such a nice ring to it.” I unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. The apartment had the stale, empty smell that happens when humans aren’t around for a few days.

  “Yeah, well, point being, through experience, Striker learned to wince and rip the Band-Aid off. It hurts. But it hurts for a lot less time. He said he got his lesson coming out of high school and his relationship with Felicia.”

  Yeah, Felicia’s wound had never scabbed over, and she still believed Striker, and she would live happily ever after. And obviously, from what I saw from Scarlet Vine, she too had delusions in abundance.

  “What’s Vine’s real name?”

  “Grace Hays. Why?”

  “Curiosity. I imagine if she got tied to a railroad track, Striker would try to stop the train.”

  “Gotcha. I can tell you from the mission where them two met, she’s got a lot of smarts, and she uses her looks to get what she wants pretty effectively, but as a field operator? I’m not sure why Secret Service took her on.” Gator posted his hands on his hips. “So that might be what happened. Striker let someone take him along for a ride, so he could stick close to Vine and keep her from harm’s way. It were a Secret Service contract, and someone might be trying to find out why they had Maxx in the S.S. sights — they might need to know what part of their criminal operation was compromised. Only way to do that would be to capture the source.”

  “The source being Scarlet Vine.”

  “My guess, anyway. You ready? Need anything besides some water and a trash can?” Gator asked, pulling two bottled waters from the fridge.

  I shook my head and grabbed a pillow from the couch.

  “Do you want me to hook you up and watch your vitals?”

  “Can’t. I have the equipment over at Sp— someplace else.” I lay down on the kitchen floor. It was the easiest to clean if my body fluids flowed outside of my body.

  The Veil was faint. Barely a shiver in the air, but I caught hold of a corner and propelled myself behind it with sheer will. There, darkness met me. My nose and throat vibrated with light snores. Striker was asleep. That was so weird. I focused on each part of his body to gather information. His heart beat its normal slow beat. He seemed a comfortable temperature. His limbs stretched out as he lay on his back. Nothing pain-wise disturbed him. No one else touched him — and without that, I couldn’t move into anyone else’s body to get more information. I focused on Striker’s spine to see if there was a rumble or sway that would indicate he was in a moving vehicle. But no. Nothing. Peaceful, in fact. I couldn’t pick up on a single stray emotion or thought — he must have been in a delta-wave sleep cycle. Maybe later… I came back to my body, feeling exhaustion.

  “Sleeping,” I said, disappointed not to get anything substantive but glad that Striker seemed all right.

  “Okay, let’s see what they’ve got together in the Puzzle Room.”

  Gator lifted me to my feet, and I jumped up and down a few times to shed Striker’s fatigue. Then, we took off at a jog.

  ***

  Gator and I burst through the door to my office to find a hive of activity — busy bees working with singular focus. Striker’s last known location was the Cross Roads Steak House. That was what Major Trudy described as a stopping place before they were put in a viewer-protected vehicle. Steak and potatoes — that would be appropriate dinner food from such a place. Last known time was at their check-in twenty hours ago.

  I added to the board: Applicable? Twenty-one-fifteen — overheard conversation — “Do not increase the dose. He’s a big guy, but you don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest. Wait it out. He should get sleepy soon, and once he’s unconscious, you can secure him.”

  If Indigo’s daughter went after them, then they must have been drugged. That might account for Striker’s being asleep at this time of the day. Striker ran like a fine-tuned machine on only four hours of sleep. He didn’t catnap while the sun shone. Ever.

  The men stopped and stared at the board. A general groan rose into the air.

  “Where are Axel and Randy?” I asked.

  “In the field,” Jack said. “We can’t pull them back.”

  “Okay, sorry to interrupt. Go back to what you were doing.” I moved toward Deep. “Can you pause what you’re working on and get me some information about Allan Leverone?”

  “Let me…” he punched a few keys on the keyboard, “okay, what do you need?”

  “I need the most recent names and photos of the Leverone family. They’re probably going to be found with the obituaries and the carbon monoxide articles in February 1998.”

  “Yup, got them, Allan Leverone — husband, wife Melody, son Greyson, survived by daughter Tabitha Catherine.”

  Tabitha Catherine, Tabby Cat.

  I wrote on the board: Confirmed from Major Trudy: Tabby Cat is Leverone’s daughter.

  “What does that mean?” Jack asked.

  “I had a remote viewer try to search for Striker. He got snippets of things that didn’t make much sense, in and of themselves. The information everyone’s been entering into our data files until Striker failed to check in was from Allan Leverone’s remote viewing logbooks. I think Leverone’s daughter might be the one who got hold of Striker and Vine.”

  That information was met with scowling silence.

  “What would Leverone have to do with Striker and Vine going missing?” Blaze asked.

  I shook my head. I had no idea how these two cases could have enmeshed.

  “And you need the pictures because you want to go behind the Veil to figure out the connection?” Gator asked.

  “It’s a long shot. I don’t know how these can be connected. But since I’m not getting anything from Striker… I don’t know. It’s worth a try. I’m just pulling at straws here.”

  “Here you go. I’m printing them out now.”

  I moved over to the printer and blinked. Your house IS on FIRE — your family WILL burn. I swallowed the bile that crept up the back of my throat and croaked out, “Deep, do you see what I’m seeing?”

  Deep leaned closer to the screen and scanned his gaze over the photo. “I’m not seeing anything interesting. Want to give me a clue?”

  “Could you do your computer magic, zoom in on the mom’s face, and fill in the pixels as much as possible?”

  The men in the room went back to their tasks of sifting through known information from Striker and Vine on the Maxx Schwartz case, trying to make one plus two equal four.

  “Look at that,” I said.

  Deep shook his head.

  “Deep, pull up the New York Times photo of Bryce and Claire Mason at the Kennedy Center.” I waited for the picture of Striker and Vine to come up. “Okay, now can you crop out Vine’s face and make it larger, like you did the other?”

  Deep pursed his lips. I could tell he thought I was wasting his time, barking up the wrong tree. He printed out the result, and I took a piece of paper and covered their h
air.

  Scarlet and Allan’s wife could have been twins.

  “Deep, how old is Tabitha Leverone?”

  “Um, let’s see. Birthdate is 1988, that would make her—”

  “Twenty-six. Gator, Scarlet Vine is known as Grace Hays?”

  “Yeah,” he said, moving over and looking at the pictures.

  I pointed at the newspaper article in my hand that said that Melody Grace and Greyson Hays had died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

  “Ding, ding, ding. Guys,” Gator called out. “We’re not looking for Vine and Striker. We’re looking for what Vine did with Striker.”

  My butt hit the floor hard as I completely missed the chair. Gator hefted me up and set me on my intended destination. He used the pad of paper in his hand to fan air over my face.

  Before the room completely stopped its whirling, my phone buzzed. With the tiniest spark of hope that Striker was on the other end, I jerked my cell phone from my pocket.

  Gather Strike Force. Go to the safety zone in Iniquus until further notice. Out. A text from Spyder.

  That shocked me solidly back in my body. When Spyder typed “out,” it meant out, as in, I will not respond to you — you get no more information. What in the heck was going on?

  “Team, up and at ’em,” I yelled. “Deep, put the computer system on the pushcart. Everyone gather your things. We’re headed to the safety zone.”

  Confused eyes landed on me as I gathered the ream of paper that were the images of the logs from Indigo’s desk. “Seriously, grab everything we’ll need for the long haul, and let’s move it.” I affected my best Commander Rheas voice, and the men fell in line, grabbing things as they went. I took a picture of the whiteboard so we wouldn’t lose any of the information they had already put in place, and we took the elevator down.

  The safety zone — you had to go to the very bottom level, past the soundproof rooms. We moved into the conference room, which smelled stuffy with a tinge of mold and spread ourselves out.

  Gator turned the twenty-four-hour news station on the TV with muted sound. Sometimes the stations got word even before the first responders did that something big was happening. And something big would have to be happening — why else would Spyder want us down here?