Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  Laughing, she replied, “You’re easy to read, Mace. I’ve always been able to read you.”

  That was certainly true. And probably why she had been looking out for him as long as she had. Even now, with both of them out of the CIA, she made it her job to watch out for him.

  Within a few minutes, she served breakfast at the old, wooden table on the other side of the counter. When he built the house, he decided against a formal dining room, expanding the design of the kitchen to include that space.

  Horace came through the back door, shutting it quickly behind him, stomping his boots on the rug. Walking past Marge, he kissed her on the cheek before heading to the sink to wash his hands. Even at sixty-seven years old, he was spry, his gray hair still sporting the tight military haircut of his youth. Like his wife, he was as sharp as he had been as a much younger man.

  “Glorious day out there,” he said. Looking over at Mace, he added, “But I guess you already know that, don’t you?”

  Nodding while forking the fluffy scrambled eggs into his mouth, he swallowed before acknowledging, “Yeah. From the top, it looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.” He finished eating quickly and took his plate and cup over to the sink, rinsing it.

  Marge shooed him away, saying, “I’ve got this.” Throwing a pointed look at the large basket sitting on the counter, she added, “You can help by taking that on down.”

  “No problem,” he remarked, hefting the basket into his arms.

  With a nod to Marge and Horace, he left the room and walked back down the hall, toward the lighthouse. When he came to the steps leading up, he turned to the opposite side and with a quick flip, opened the panel hidden in the wall. He tapped in a security code first, then stood carefully while the retina scan took place. Placing his hand on a finger scanner, he waited until his digital prints had been taken. A door swung open and he entered, shutting it behind him.

  Once inside the elevator, he tapped in another security code and began the descent down. At the bottom, the door opened and he entered a hallway with a single door at the end. Once again going through the motions of the security systems, the final door swung open.

  He entered into the cavernous main room of Lighthouse Security Investigations. The walls and ceilings were reinforced with steel beams and panels. The concrete floor, while smooth and solid, retained the original look of the cave. The room, sealed and environmentally protected, contained two walls filled with computer equipment, and stations where several men sat manning the keyboards while staring at the screens.

  Specialized printers, processors with high-speed connections, servers, and other computer equipment filled the back wall. The fourth wall held large screens, multiple images flashing upon them. Software tools, specific to each employee, enhanced their ability to organize, access and analyze information.

  Several doors opened from the large room, leading to the weapons rooms, bunk rooms, gymnasium, and one set of back stairs that led away from the lighthouse. In the center of the space was a large table, easily able to fit twenty people around, if needed. The only decorations in the utilitarian room were framed photographs of famous lighthouse keepers, known for their bravery, many with Coast Guard ships named after them.

  LSI…his dream…his vision…now a reality.

  Moving to the table, he set the basket down. Calling out to the others in the room, he said, “Marge sent breakfast.”

  Immediately, Rank, Josh, and Drew jumped up, their smiles wide as they hurried over. He grinned as he watched them all put their hands in the basket at the same time. Each taking a huge bite of one of Marge’s breakfast biscuits, filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and cheese, they moaned in unison.

  Tate and Clay were still sitting at their computers, but Tate looked over his shoulder, calling out, “Hey, bring one of those over here.”

  Not to be forgotten, Clay ordered the same thing. Smiling as Rank brought him one of the filled biscuits, he turned away from his computer as he began eating. “Good God, these are fabulous. How the hell did Marge find the time to learn to cook like a grandma while she worked as a CIA operative?”

  Laughing, he said, “She always said she missed good Southern cooking when she was stationed in Africa. So, she made sure she wrote down all of her grandmother’s recipes so that when her CIA days were over, she could eat the way she wanted.”

  The others laughed, then their mirth turned into appreciative groans as they ate more of her breakfast biscuits. The super-sized coffee pot on the back counter was working overtime as the men filled their cups.

  “Any word from Blake or Cobb?” Mace asked.

  “Blake has confirmed that he’s finished with his mission and will be flying back this afternoon,” Rank said, washing his biscuit down with hot coffee.

  Tate reported, “Cobb’s fine. Said he’s got a little bit more to do and then he’ll be finished. Hopes to be back in a couple of days.”

  “Bray said he’ll be in later. He was out late last night checking on his mission.” Drew watched Mace’s eyebrow lift in question and hurried to say, “He reported everything was good. Just out late.”

  He nodded, and asked, “Walker?”

  Rank looked over, “He’s off today, helping his sister move.”

  As Rank spoke, he shifted his eyes to his boss, but Mace shuttered his look. He always told his men that family was important, and for them to do what was needed to take care of family. Turning quickly, he said, “Once you finish eating, we’ll have the morning meeting. Ten minutes.”

  The men were ready quickly and, within a few minutes, they were seated at the large table. Mace nodded toward Josh, indicating for him to start the morning reports.

  “I checked in with your buddy, Jack Bryant, of Saints Protection and Investigations. He reported that the identity change mission we worked on a few years ago is now on her honeymoon with one of his men.”

  Rank commented, a grin on his face, “Seems like we’re not only in the security business but can play matchmaker as well.”

  Chuckles were heard around the room and Mace was unable to keep his lips from curving into a smile. Nodding, he replied, “Good. Glad that one worked out well. We’ll keep the communications open with the Saints…we may work with them in the future.”

  Looking down at his tablet, he added, “For possible new missions, the CIA Director, Ted Silver, has informed me of a situation in Honduras that the CIA is monitoring. It may require intervention from us. He’ll let us know within the next several weeks. Jerry Dalton, FBI Director has two possible witnesses that the FBI may need our skills in changing identities for. Currently, we’re working on security for a family being threatened by a mob boss who’s being indicted, as well as some identity changes for others.”

  With a nod his way, Tate took over with, “One of those changes is for the college-age daughter of the family being threatened by the mob boss. We’ve got the rest of the family under security, but for her, we’re doing a full identity change. That’s all for right now.”

  “Chatter?”

  Drew said, “I’ve been monitoring local as well as State Police. A lot going on, but nothing right now that appears to need our attention.”

  “On the national level the chatter is much more extensive, but again, nothing that I see requires LSI,” Rank commented.

  Leaning back, with his elbows propped on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled together in front of him, Mace nodded slowly. “Seems like the start to a slow week. But then,” he added, “that can always change on a dime.”

  “Works for me, if it gets busy,” Drew announced. The others smiled in agreement.

  “Okay,” Mace stated, placing his hands on the table as he pushed himself to a stand. “Looks like our meeting for this morning is concluded. Let me know if anything changes. I’ll be around.”

  As everyone dispersed to their assignments, he moved to the far wall and through another door. Down a well-lit hall, past the gym and locker rooms, he moved thr
ough another security door shutting it carefully behind him. From here, he entered the caves directly underneath the lighthouse, preserved in their natural state. Careful of the moisture on the stone flooring, he made his way downward, coming to an area where he kept a small rowboat.

  Settling inside, he grabbed the oars and waited until the waves washing inside the small cave receded, giving a mighty heave backward with the oars. With his strong muscles, he managed to get past the waves, rowing away from the shore and up the coastline. The wind was brisk, but not very strong. It helped to cool his heated muscles as he worked the oars to move across the water. Rowing, he looked around, always checking to make sure that the rocky entrance to his caves was secure.

  Satisfied that no one would ascertain what lay below the lighthouse, he smiled. It had taken five years to build the physical location for Lighthouse Security Investigations, calling in all his markers from trusted sources to safely create the compound in the caves so that it could withstand the test of time.

  Turning his face toward the sun, he allowed it to warm his body, before settling his gaze out over the horizon. For now, the ocean was peaceful, but he knew how quickly that could change. Just like with LSI…calm one minute, then turbulent the next.

  With a last look around, he turned his boat toward the shore and began rowing back. Once inside, after securing the boat, he moved back up the stairs, through the security doors, and into the compound. He had a small, private office, but found that he usually preferred to do his work in the large area with the others. Perhaps it was the camaraderie from his days in the military, or maybe just the idea of teamwork that had been drilled into him, but he loved the energy emanating from a group of people all working with the same purpose.

  Stepping back into the main room, he looked up to see a petite woman with dark, pixie–cut hair, a few highlights in pink framing her face, smiling at the group. Barbara Mabrey, another former CIA operative who was tired of the bureaucracy, jumped at the chance to be a part of the team when he’d told her of his idea for LSI. She immediately offered to be the administrative and logistics manager. He had never asked her why she wanted to leave field work behind, opting instead to work behind the scenes with LSI. He figured her reasons were her own, and he was just damn glad she was there—people always underestimate the time and energy it takes to make an operation like this work. Shaking his head, he grinned at the thought of her self-imposed title, considering she was a jack-of-all-trades.

  “Hey, y’all,” she called out, her southern roots infusing her words. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was horrible.”

  Since there was no traffic within 20 miles of their located, he tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow in silent question.

  She placed her hands on her lean hips and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it was worth a try. To be honest, I just overslept.”

  “Late night, Babs?” Drew asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

  She grinned as she wiggled hers right back toward him. “Hell, yeah. Found me a big old southern boy and decided it was time for me to save a horse.”

  Several of the men groaned and Drew shook his head. “TMI!” he exclaimed, a scowl on his face. A Southerner, like Babs, they shared a tight bond, but he made it clear he did not want to hear about her love life.

  “Well, if y’all can talk about your conquests, then certainly I can too!”

  Mace cut in, “Right now, I don’t want to hear about anyone’s love life.”

  The group chuckled, turning back to their activities. Babs winked at him before moving to her desk, firing up her laptop. She had no problem taking care of the administrative side of the business, even though she was completely qualified for a number of jobs within LSI. She was no longer interested in working in the field, instead, taking on the monumental task of handling everything from the mundane timesheets of the men, to the billing, and all the other administrative necessities of running the agency. Dedicated and discrete, she was the perfect person for the job.

  In fact, as Mace looked around the room, he knew that all of his employees, known collectively as The Keepers, were dedicated,discrete, and perfect for their jobs. Former SEALs Rank, Tate, Cobb, and Walker; former Army Ranger Clay; former Army Special Forces Bray; former Deltas Josh and Blake; former Air Force Special Ops Drew; and, of course, former CIA Babs. If that was all they brought to the table, that would have been enough. But, like himself, they had been recruited and part of the CIA Special Ops before joining his private organization.

  All were expert in carrying out what had been deemed deniable covert operations and were trained in sabotage personnel recovery, bomb damage assessment, hostage rescue, and counterterrorism. Each one was smart as hell and tough as nails. And, everyone approached all missions, whether mundane or risky, as worthwhile, sharing in his vision.

  Looking back down at his computer, he grinned, knowing LSI was truly built on a rock-solid foundation. “Keep checking the chatter and let me know if you hear anything,” he called out to the group.

  “Don’t forget you have a meeting tomorrow in Augusta,” Babs reminded. “Your accountant needs your signature on some documents he says he doesn’t trust to send them electronically, even with Josh’s super-secret methods.”

  “Damn, that hurts,” Josh joked.

  Nodding, he sighed. He did not mind the drive, but hated being around the hustle and bustle of workers in the early morning city traffic.

  3

  “Mom, I don’t feel so good.”

  Sylvie Gardner squeezed the steering wheel tighter as she maneuvered through the early morning traffic around the school. Sparing a glance at her eight-year-old son, David, she tried to discern if he truly did not feel good or just dreaded his weekly spelling test. She reached her hand over and gently felt his forehead, noting he felt cool to the touch. Continuing to slide her hand up through his hair, she bounced her gaze between the road and David.

  “Sweetie, I think you’re just nervous today. We’ve studied those words and you know them backward and forward.”

  “It’s my stomach,” he explained. “It feels really yucky.”

  “I was worried about letting you go to that birthday party yesterday evening. I’m sure you ate way too much.”

  David nodded but kept his eyes forward, helping as usual. “Looks like there’s a parking space up there, Mom,” he said, pointing to the curb near the school.

  She smiled and, with only getting honked at once, was able to slide into the tight space. Twisting her body so that she could face him, she longed to reach over and brush his hair off his forehead, but remembered the last time she did that when his friends were around he had given a little jerk. Eight years old. He’s growing up so fast. Looking at her son’s blue eyes and dark brown hair, that curled in the back, she recognized herself in his features.

  “I hope you have a good day today,” she said. He lunged across the console and threw his arms around her neck giving a squeeze. She hugged him back, surprised, but always glad for the show of emotions from her little boy. She never knew from one minute to the next, if she would be presented with a little boy or a young man.

  She watched as he opened the door and hopped out of the car, his backpack straps perched on his shoulders. He turned and gave a little wave before walking over to meet with his friends. She knew her parking space was as valuable as gold, but could not help but sit for just another moment, watching as he disappeared into the school building.

  Finally, pulling out into traffic before someone grew impatient, she glanced at the clock on the dashboard and recognized she needed to hurry to get to work on time. Their daily routine during the work week rarely changed and she looked forward to the weekends when they had more time to themselves. He still enjoyed trips to the zoo or just sitting and watching a ballgame with her on TV.

  Once she made it to downtown, she continued to fight her way through traffic. Sitting at a red light she glanced into the mirror in her visor. Her dark brown hair was pulle
d back into a low ponytail. Her makeup was subtle, but at least it gave a little color to her otherwise tired face. The car behind her honked and she realized the light had turned green. God, is this how my day is going to go? Please don’t let David be sick today. Please let me be able to get to work on time. And please let Mr. Thomas not harass me!

  She made it to her building’s parking garage and pulled into an empty space. With only a few minutes to spare, she toed off her flat shoes and slid on her heels. Twisting to the back seat, she grabbed her small briefcase and purse before jumping out of her car. Hurrying through the garage to the elevator, her eyes landed on an Out of Order sign taped to the front.

  Huffing loudly, she glanced at her watch and trotted out of the garage, racing toward the front of her building as fast as her pencil skirt and heels would allow. Rounding the corner, she slammed into a wall, stumbling backward as a warm shower covered her front.

  “Shit!” she cried, her arms flailing in an effort to keep from falling onto her ass as her purse and briefcase went flying to the sidewalk. A strong grip clamped about her arm, saving her at the last second.

  “Fuck!” a deep male voice met her ears.

  Righting herself, she looked up toward the voice, stunned at the sight in front of her. The wall was actually a huge man, tall and muscular. Wearing a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, she wondered how the buttons did not pop over his chest. His dark, black hair was short on the sides and longer on top, just enough to curl slightly. His square jaw was covered in a thick, five-o’clock shadow even though it was still morning. His full, lush lips were mesmerizing, but it was his eyes that captured her attention. So dark, the iris was indistinguishable from the pupil. And those eyes were staring at her chest.

  Looking at the now-empty, squished, paper coffee cup in his hand, she glanced down as the warmth from her shirt penetrated her foggy brain. She realized she was now wearing his spilled coffee all over the front of her blouse.