Red Dawn

by Bonds, J. J.

  Nik growls with frustration.

  “Besides, security will be light. Blaine said there will only be one guard on duty overnight.”

  “Yes, but aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

  “What?” I ask, running through the plan in my head and checking for flaws.

  “The place is wired like Fort Knox,” he reminds me.

  “Not going to be a problem,” I tell him confidently. “We just need to avoid tripping the alarms until we’ve got the hard drive. How difficult can it be?”

  “Famous last words,” Nik mutters, pushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead.

  Thanks to Blaine’s sticky fingers we now have the blueprints for Black & Associates as well as the specs on their security system. Nik and I have spent the last hour or so studying the layout and devising a plan of attack. He’s right. It won’t exactly be easy, but we’re counting on the element of surprise. And Keegan’s connections to the criminal element.

  Fortunately for us, Keegan was a total delinquent before coming to Crossroads. With his assistance, we’ve been able to secure a small amount of C4, some blasting caps, and an expedient course on explosives. It should be more than enough to take out a small office safe according to the guy who sold it to us. Ordinarily, I’d be concerned with how easy it is to secure explosives on the open market, but since it works in my favor, I’m not complaining.

  “I know my plan isn’t perfect,” I tell Nik.

  “Babe, it’s far from perfect,” he corrects me. The devilish smile on his face confirms that he’s with me all the way.

  “But it’s the only one we’ve got.”

  “Let’s just run through it again before we go,” Nik suggests, peeling off his bulky sweater. He’s not wearing anything underneath and I find myself staring shamelessly. Hell’s bells! His body is perfect. Muscular arms, trim chest, rock solid abs that disappear into his low slung jeans. I bring my hand up to check for drool and am disappointed when he pulls a t-shirt over his head, effectively ending my peepshow.

  “It’s not that complicated,” I pout. “We sneak in with the janitorial crew, steal a master key and head for Jacobs’ office. Piece of cake.”

  *********

  We arrive at the office early and wait out front for the cleaning crew. The place is deserted at this hour. Everyone’s long gone in search of happy hour, Pilates, or whatever it is that provides stress relief after a long day at the office. We’re cooling our heels on a bench when the maintenance supervisor arrives. He’s easy to spot. His name is Miguel and he looks just like the picture Blaine provided.

  Miguel arrives first, wearing a blue polo shirt. Nik and I have donned brown polos and matching hats to blend in with the remainder of the maintenance crew. We’ve looked better, but it’ll do. I’ve got the blueprints and other materials we’ve gathered in a canvas bag that’s slung over my shoulder.

  Nik hurries to intercept Miguel before the rest of his team arrives. Since I’m still learning to master compulsion, Nik’s taking the lead. The last thing we need is for the effect to wear off before we’re through. The idea is not to get caught. At least not until we’ve got the hard drive.

  “Hola!” Nik says, approaching Miguel. At the sound of his native language, he turns. Miguel looks like a pleasant enough guy. He’s a little thick around the middle, but he’s got an easy smile and warm brown eyes. And evidently he’s got a soft spot for strangers with abysmal Spanish accents.

  “We need your help,” Nik tells him, turning compelling eyes on Miguel. He steps close to Miguel, leaving very little space between them. Nik’s words are soft, hypnotic even. Impossible to resist.

  “What can I do for you?” Miguel asks, looking from Nik to me and back again. He has a thick accent, but his English is pretty good, which is probably why he runs the crew. “I will help if I can.”

  “My friend and I are going to join your cleaning crew.” Nik’s words are delivered purposefully. They sound rhythmic even to my ears although I’m immune to his charms. “We’re going to start tonight because your crew is shorthanded.”

  “Si, you must start tonight,” Miguel agrees mindlessly. He nods his head looking like a bobble head doll. “We have much work to do.”

  I watch intently as Miguel’s pupils dilate. He’s falling under Nik’s spell and it occurs to me that it’s obscene how easy it is to manipulate humans. They don’t stand a chance against us.

  “Our references are impeccable,” Nik continues. “You don’t need to know our names and you will forget our faces after tonight.”

  “No need for names,” Miguel says, “because you’re hard workers.”

  “Very good,” Nik tells him looking pleased. “We’ll wait here with you until the others arrive.”

  “Si, si.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  So far, so good. We enter with the cleaning crew and pass right by security without a second glance. The night guard is lazy and doesn’t bother to check ID’s or make us sign in. He’s probably seen this lot come and go several times a week for as long as he can remember. The guard is watching a basketball game and barely looks up. He gives Miguel a curt nod and returns to yelling at the screen. I note he’s got several monitors showing live feeds of the buildings’ interior. One can only hope he’s so enamored by the game that he doesn’t pay them much attention as the cleaning crew moves through the building.

  “Keep your head down,” Nik whispers, adjusting the ugly brown hat covering his soft curls and masking his face from the security cameras. I do as he says and check to make sure my hair is tucked up inside my own ball cap.

  We follow Miguel to the maintenance room where we find wall to wall brooms, mops, vacuums, and other assorted supplies. Following the lead of the regular janitorial staff, Nik and I each grab a rolling maintenance cart. The carts are big, bulky, and fully stocked with cleaning supplies. We linger, waiting for the others to leave. When we are alone with Miguel again, Nik demands his key card. As the supervisor, Miguel has an all access pass which will allow us to enter the executive suite where Jacobs’ office is located. Miguel hands the card over without question. If asked, he’ll say he lost it.

  Nik and I exit the maintenance room and push our carts toward the service elevator. We ride up to the second floor and join the rest of the crew. We empty trashcans, wash windows, and mop floors. I feel like I’m lost in cubicle hell. It may be honest work, but I can’t imagine spending my life this way.

  “It’s time,” Nik says. While everyone else is hard at work, distracted by idle chatter and iPods, we slip away leaving our carts behind. I follow Nik and we retrace our steps back toward the elevator. I reach for the call button and Nik grabs my hand before I can push it.

  “We take the stairs,” he says. “Fewer cameras.”

  Jacobs’ office is on the tenth floor. We jog up the stairs with relative ease. The lights are dim, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we need them anyway. When we reach the tenth floor landing, Nik swipes the stolen key card and the door buzzes open. He cracks the door, searching the hallway for any signs of life. We both strain our ears, but this floor is eerily quiet.

  “Looks clear,” he relays to me, pushing the door wide open. “Stay alert though, just in case.”

  We walk purposefully through the dark corridor. We don’t need to stop for directions because I’ve memorized the layout of the entire floor. I really should thank Blaine for all his help when we get back. Unlike the lower floors, this level is comprised entirely of offices. There are no claustrophobic cubicles here. Two left turns later and we stand in front of Jacobs’ office.

  “No turning back now,” I warn Nik.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, swiping the access card. The card reader flashes from red to green and we’re in.

  Jacobs’ office is nicer than anything we saw downstairs, that’s for sure. Being a criminal appears to have its perks. Jacobs has an entire wall of windows that overlook the city. It must give him a grea
t sense of power. The view is lovely at night and provides a fair amount of light. Jacobs’ taste runs toward the modern. His office is all black leather, clean lines, and abstract art.

  “I’ll take the desk,” I offer, pulling the rolling chair back and dropping into it. “You check the filing cabinets.”

  Nik and I go to work. Jacobs’ desk is orderly as is everything else in the room. I wonder again what it is he does here every day. I don’t bother with the computer knowing Nik and I don’t have the combined skills to get past the logon screen. There’s not much of interest on the top of his desk. Some interoffice memos that don’t seem important, an invitation to a formal dinner, and a stack of messages no doubt taken by his secretary.

  I turn my attention to the drawers. They’re all locked, but the locks are flimsy and are no match for my strength. One good tug and they’re a thing of the past. I rifle through the drawers, but there’s no sign of the hard drive or any type of safe.

  I check my watch. We’ve been in here for about three minutes. “How’s it going?” I call to Nik as I close the last drawer.

  “Nothing here,” he responds, slamming another drawer in the filing cabinet. “Maybe he’s keeping it at home? We can’t be sure that the theft has anything to do with his work here.”

  “Keep looking,” I tell him, spinning the chair around. My gut tells me the theft is tied to this place. “We’re not giving up that easily.”

  There’s a hutch behind the desk with more cabinets and several shelves of books. I open the cabinets first hoping to find a safe. It’s a bust. Nik’s moved on to the wall art. He’s looking behind each picture and I can only hope Jacobs is that cliché. He’s not.

  I scan the room once again, pausing on the bookshelf. The shelves are lined with a variety of books. Some are medical, some are pharmaceutical, none of them are related to investing. In a desperate last ditch effort, I begin pulling armloads of books off the shelf and tossing them to the floor. I’m ecstatic when the corner of a black metal safe appears embedded in the wall.

  “I’ve got something,” I call over my shoulder as I continue sloughing books off the shelf. Nik rushes to my side and pulls the canvas bag from my shoulder. He empties the contents on the desk and hands me the C4.

  “It won’t take much,” he reminds me. “We just need enough to open the door. Don’t go crazy.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I throw him a wicked smile over my shoulder before I begin molding the explosive over the cracks in the safe door. “Despite what you apparently think, I have no interest in blowing myself to bits.”

  Nik gets to work preparing the blasting cap behind me. We quickly finish the set up and prepare to blast the door. At the last second we tip over the desk and hide behind it for protection. Just in case.

  Nik sets off the charge as we crouch behind the overturned desk. The ensuing explosion is earsplitting. The people working downstairs likely heard it, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it set off the buildings silent alarms.

  “Do you think it worked?” Nik asks.

  “One way to find out.” I jump to my feet and survey the damage. The blast erased the drywall and blew away much of the stone supporting of the safe. The door might be cracked. It’s hard to tell. I move to the safe and take a deep breath before testing the lock. I let out my breath in a rush as the door swings open. Bloody hell! We did it. I’m looking at a hard drive and a whole lot of paperwork. “Jackpot!”

  “Time to go,” Nik orders. “Take everything. We can sort it out later.”

  Trusting his instincts, I scoop up the contents of the safe and deposit them in my bag. We make a hasty exit, again taking the stairs. This time we go up. The roof is closer and offers our only chance for a safe escape. As we race up the stairs, we hear the sound of feet thundering below us. Whoever it is, they’re hauling ass.

  “We’ve got company,” Nik shouts.

  “Vamps?” I say, as we burst through the metal fire door and onto the roof. Stupid question. It has to be. Humans can’t move that fast. We stand back to back on the roof, choosing our escape route. To our left is another midrise, but it looks to be about 8 stories taller. The smooth glass surface isn’t ideal for climbing. To our right, same story.

  “Across the street?” I suggest. We rush to the edge of the roof and look across. The building across the street is about two stories shorter. It’s a longer jump since we have to clear the street, but we should be able to make it.

  “It’s the least obvious choice,” Nik agrees.

  We retreat to the far side of the building to get a running start. I hit my stride after just a few steps and know I won’t have any trouble clearing the distance. When I reach the edge of the building, I launch myself into the air. In those moments, as I soar from one rooftop to the next, I feel an overwhelming sense of freedom. The feeling doesn’t last long. My feet slam into the gravel roof and reality sets in. I roll forward to break my fall and then I’m running again with Nik at my side. Not surprisingly, his landing was a little more graceful. Showoff!

  We make a break for the fire escape intending to descend down to street level and our waiting car. When I look over my shoulder, I don’t think we’re going to make it. The guards are giving chase. There are three of them. Where the hell did they come from and how did they get here so fast?

  As I watch, they make the jump across the street. Two of them clear the building easily. The third catches the edge of the roof with just the tip of his foot. He rocks backward and falls from view. His screams echo the whole way down. I’m sure he’ll scrape himself back together eventually, but I can’t worry about that now. He’s no longer a threat.

  “Nik!”

  He looks back and skids to a stop. His face is conflicted. “We’re going to have to fight. It’ll be better up here than on the fire escape.”

  “I’m ready.” My adrenaline is pumping as we turn to face the vamps pursuing us. The men stop a few yards short of where we stand. I have no doubt they’re assessing the situation just as I am. These aren’t rent-a-cops. They’re dressed all in black. Maybe personal security guards? They’re not especially big or particularly bright looking, but I’d be a fool to assume they aren’t trained to fight. And that will make all the difference.

  “Who are you and what were you doing at B&A tonight?” The guard studies Nik and I, waiting for an answer.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I narrow my eyes at the guards. They’re even dumber than I thought if they actually expect us to stand here and answer these questions. “Can we just get to the fighting already?”

  I charge without thinking, taking the guard on the left. Nik attacks the guard on the right. I lose track of him after that. I’m too engrossed in my own fight for survival.

  I hit my guard with a series of kicks ending with a spinning back hook. He stumbles back, but manages to block the last kick. He retaliates with a right hook which lands solidly on my jaw. It hurts like hell. I spit blood onto the tar covered roof and wipe my lip with the back of my hand.

  “Didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s not nice to hit girls?” I ask, once again dropping into a defensive stance. I hear the sounds of Nik’s fight, but don’t dare take my eyes from my own opponent. Nik is a better fighter than I am. I have to trust that he will be okay.

  My guard attacks then, again leading with his fists. He attempts to punch me in the gut, but I block the strike and flip him over on his back. I kick him in the face and he rolls clear, rebounding to his feet in a flash. When he comes up, he’s brandishing a pistol in his right hand. Hell’s bells! Where did that come from? I’m in real trouble now. I’m fast, but I’m not that fast.

  Out of options, I run at the guard. He braces himself for the attack while trying to take aim. Before he can fire, I change course and run up the side of a ventilation shaft. He fires two shots and misses. The shots echo through the night and I am certain we are running out of time. I pivot off the vent and kick him square in the mouth. His head snaps to the side and I
deliver a second kick to his midsection causing him to double over, but not before he brings his arm around and pulls the trigger again. The shot explodes from the gun. This time he doesn’t miss.

  I barely register the scent of gunpowder that hangs heavy in the air as the shot tears through my side. I drop to the ground, landing on my knees, and drive my fist straight up and into his throat. He groans and collapses in front of me. I wonder which of us got the worst of it as a grunt, followed by a string of violent curses, spews from my mouth. My side is on fire, but I have to fight through the excruciating pain. After all, it’s just a flesh wound.

  Before the guard can recover, I grab his arm, twist it behind his back and force him face first onto the ground. The movement causes a searing pain to blast through my right side and I suck in a painful breath as I fight for control. Needing to secure the guard, I plant my boot firmly on his back for leverage. With my free hand, I cautiously check the damage from the gunshot. My hand comes away bloody. At point blank range, I’m pretty sure the bullet went straight through. The guard didn’t hit anything important, but I’ve never felt such pain in my life. I know it’ll be over soon, but the thought isn’t providing much comfort at the moment as my blood drips onto the roof.

  Nik appears at my side like a ghost. I’ve never seen him look so dangerous. “Are you okay?” he asks, peeling back my leather jacket to assess the damage.

  “I think it went right through,” I tell him. “Certainly nothing fatal.”

  Nik’s face is grim. His mouth is set in a hard line and his eyes are cold. He’s already disposed of his opponent. How, I’m not sure since I don’t see a body. It makes me think he pitched the guy off the roof. There may be two vamp splats on the pavement below.

  “What do you want to do with this one?” I ask breathlessly as I pull my ruby encrusted dagger from my boot. The guy at my feet struggles and his wrist gets broken in the process. He howls with pain, but I hardly feel bad. He did shoot me after all. Spittle shoots from his mouth as he screams in agony. Gross. “Should we take him out?”