“There was a cop in here the other day asking us about you.”
Karen shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a friend of mine. Sorry about that.”
“Is everything OK?” Steve, who’d been quiet the whole time asked.
“Seems like someone out there is trying to scare me.”
The girls lost their smiles and the boys listened closer.
“Is that why they took Juan in to talk to him?” Steve asked. His voice angry.
Teenage gossip traveled fast. “The police talked to a lot of people. I’m sorry they had to come here.”
“You’re here all the time. Maybe they thought one of us saw something.” Amy was like a middle child, always trying to see reason and come between the extremes in a family.
“So who’s the goon at the door?”
Karen swiveled away from Steve’s scornful face. He and Juan were friends, and it was obvious he wasn’t happy about the police questioning him.
“He’s my bodyguard.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t think I’ll have him for long. Just till they catch the guy following me.”
“Wow, Miss Jones. Aren’t you scared?”
“I was at first, Amy. Now I’m just pissed. You know? Like how dare someone try and get under my skin.”
Steve kept looking at the bodyguard and then back at her. “You don’t need a bodyguard here,” Steve said. “We can take care of you.”
Karen smiled. “Maybe you can convince Juan to come back.”
Steve shrugged. “Maybe.”
It was all Karen could ask for.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gwen stretched her back and ignored the ache the gardening was creating. At least if she were tired that night, she’d manage some sleep. Tossing around and dreaming of her husband, of where he was and what he was doing, wasn’t leaving her time to rest.
To make matters worse, shortly after she and Ruth stepped on the path of restoring her flower garden, a call came in on behalf of Annie, asking for Ruth to fly to Florida. Something about her being sick, or so Charles had said.
Now it was only she and Charles in the house.
Gwen didn’t like the arrangement in the least. The man watched her, but never made eye contact. She shifted her gaze to the house and noticed him in the window watching. He dropped the curtains but didn’t move away.
He’s only helping out Neil.
Neil…who’d been gone for nearly twenty-four hours. Twenty-four long and lonely hours.
You can do this.
Over her shoulder, he still watched.
You can do this! It’s only a few days.
She shoved her hands back in the dirt and yanked on a stubborn weed.
“Well at least it isn’t raining,” Rick said in his ear from three hundred yards away.
Neil watched the trees swaying in the wind that had kicked up from nowhere. “Careful what you say.” It wasn’t uncommon for the late summer storms to knock out a couple of inches of rain before blowing to the east. They were prepared for anything. That’s how the marines rolled.
Inside the tent, where neither of them planned on sleeping, was a decoy that only someone with heat-sensitive goggles would be able to see. Hot rocks from the campfire were placed inside a thermal bag that radiated heat and made anyone with the right equipment believe that someone slept inside. The knoll Neil was perched on backed up to a cliff a good three hundred feet above. There was no way anyone would scale it to get to him. Essentially, he was boxed in the canyon with only two ways in. Rick scouted on the northeast side while Neil watched for any activity on the southeast.
“Ever get the feeling we’re waiting around for nothing?”
“You think Billy wasted himself?”
“Hell no,” Rick’s harsh whisper rang in Neil’s ear.
“Raven will come.”
“He’s going to know we’re waiting for him.”
Neil moved his goggles to where Rick sat, and scouted all around him. Nothing. “He’ll know I’m waiting for him. For all we know you’re next on his list.”
“Still convinced he’s not coming in guns blazing?”
“Not unless his motivation has changed. Only way his motivation will have changed is if he thinks we’ve ID’d him.”
The wind blew around the giant pine above him and made it creak.
Damn wind.
The dark sky didn’t even sport a sliver of a moon. It wasn’t too long ago he was looking up into the stars and sharing his childhood dreams with Gwen. He hated leaving her behind. He’d hate having her here more.
“Think you could nod off for an hour?” Rick asked.
“I might.”
“I’ll pull back, and watch your back.”
Neil tucked back into the rock while Rick moved into position. An hour of sleep here and hour there was all any of them ever managed while in the field. The night before, Neil didn’t even get that. Between his worry and need over Gwen and internal debate that Rick might know more than he was telling, Neil didn’t chance sleep. Yet it became increasingly apparent that Rick was as much a target as he was. If Rick was behind any of this, he’d have made a move on him long before now. He needed to trust and God knew he needed to sleep.
They ducked under the wind created by the blades of the helicopter. Billy and Rick hoisted Linden’s dead weight to the men on board the chopper. On board they pulled Mickey, who was limping but carrying himself, in with them.
Mac twisted toward the fireball they’d just left. His ears rang from the blast that took out his men. His back and head took a blow with his fall but he was otherwise OK. Alive.
Rick pulled him into the chopper and they were instantly airborne.
Mouths were moving but Neil couldn’t hear what they said. Only ringing and the hum of the chopper. His chest ached and he coughed for what felt like an hour.
Billy knelt on the floor beside Linden while the two men Neil didn’t know cut away Linden’s clothes and exposed the blast wound in his gut and thigh. Blood was everywhere.
Neil grabbed the army blanket someone had draped over him and shoved it in Linden’s side.
“Don’t you fucking die.”
But the color in Linden’s face had gone stone white and before they could apply a field dressing his eyes lost focus and he took his last breath.
The chopper listed, and Neil had to hold on or risk falling.
The silence in his ears made his eyes focus.
Billy hung his head beside Linden. Rick’s expression was equal parts rage and remorse. Mickey was doubled over.
Neil managed to get to Mickey’s side and met the man’s eyes. Neil lifted his hands in question and Mickey shook his head.
That’s when Neil saw the shard of wood sticking from Mickey’s groin. The bleeding was minimal, and they knew to keep the object in place until medical could see where it landed. He shook his head toward Mickey as if to remind him not to tug out the wood. Mickey was known to act against reason on occasion. Didn’t seem he had the desire to do so now.
Neil slumped on the side of the chopper and hacked up a lung.
Blake had his secretary arrange his ride to the airport in the morning. He was headed to Colorado himself to trace Neil’s steps. Everything had been too quiet for his taste and not hearing from his bodyguard or his sister weighed on him.
He no longer worried that someone was listening in on his conversations. There weren’t any bugs detected and no one had left any dead birds lying around in days. Carter had flown back to Sacramento with the promise to make the phone calls to DC if need be.
Blake just hoped that Neil and Gwen had come to their senses and weren’t running around with guns cocked and loaded.
He pulled off his tie and reached for the phone, intending to give Sam her nightly call.
The phone rang under his fingers, and made him jump.
Get a grip, Blake.
“Hello?” he answered when he didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID
.
“Mr. Harrison?”
Blake tossed his tie to the side of the bed and sat. “This is.”
“I’m sorry to call you so late, Mr. Harrison. Even more sorry for why I’m calling.”
Blake stopped midway through toeing off his shoes.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Bernard, the manager over here at First Class Services.”
“The car service?”
“Right. Right. That’s us.”
Blake’s anxiety dropped and his shoes fell to the floor one at a time. “What can I do for you, Bernard?” And why was he calling him now?
“We received the order for your car request in the morning.”
“Is there a problem with tomorrow?”
“No, not at all, sir. We’ll have a car ready for you.”
Blake pinched one button after the other on his shirt and then moved to the cuff links. “Then why are you calling?”
Bernard was breathing a little fast, obviously worked up over something. Blake wanted to tell him that whatever his worries were, they had nothing on his. Instead, he just waited while the man started to apologize.
“I’m sorry. We here at First Class Services are so very sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I checked to see who your driver was earlier in the week. We try to keep them consistent whenever possible. As you know, we take great pride in the privacy of our customers. And you are a very valued customer—”
Blake rolled his eyes. “Bernard, can you please cut the crap and tell me why you’ve called? I have a busy day tomorrow.” And at this rate, he’d still be on the phone with the poor sap.
“Sorry. Right. You see, the driver who picked you up. We don’t know who he is.”
“What do you mean you don’t know who he is?”
“We received the request and a car went out earlier in the week…but none of our men were behind the wheel.”
Blake stopped undressing. “Well someone sure as hell picked me up.”
“Right. But it wasn’t our man.”
“He said he was from your service.”
“I guarantee you, Mr. Harrison. He wasn’t. We have security tape of the yard where we keep our cars. A man in our uniform is seen leaving the yard with a car and then returns a couple hours later.”
“If he wasn’t one of your men, then who was he?”
“We don’t know. Your privacy is paramount to us. We have the police coming here now to view the tapes. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you. For that I’m very sorry.”
“How the hell did this happen?” More deals were made in the backs of limousines than boardrooms.
“I’d suggest you consider who you were talking with and what about on the way home. Perhaps there was someone in need of the information you relayed on that short trip?”
He and Dean had to talk in the car because Neil suggested the house was bugged.
“Oh, damn.”
“We’re gravely sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah…I’ll be there with Detective Brown in an hour. I want to see those tapes.”
“Of course, sir. Anything we can do.”
Blake shoved his feet back in his shoes and made a call to Dean.
Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting in the offices of First Class Services with a nervous Bernard and a half dozen uniformed officers.
Blake listened to the story of how a complete stranger made his way onto the property, managed to get the keys to a company car, and then proceeded to leave said parking lot to pick him up at the airport without being detected.
“It had been an exceptionally busy weekend. Several of our drivers were still out from the night before. It’s not unheard of for us to move drivers around from one lot to another.” Bernard rambled on about the company and how it was run. According to the sister service in Orange County and the one in San Diego, none of their drivers had been given the green light to take assignments in the LA area on the date in question, therefore ruling out a driver on their staff.
An officer took Bernard’s statement while another manager cued up the video of the man in question. The distance from the camera to the cars was anywhere from a hundred feet to three hundred feet. The man’s face never turned directly toward the camera, making Blake think the man knew the camera was there. He wore the driver suit and even opted for a hat. Not all drivers wore them, but some did, which was why Blake didn’t think much of it when he’d seen the man.
“Can you get in closer?”
As the image moved up, the quality of the picture dissipated. As Blake remembered, the man had a short haircut and nothing growing on his face or chin. Caucasian about six feet tall, medium build.
He looked familiar. But then he should. Blake had spoken briefly with the man and had given him a generous tip.
“We can enhance the image at the station, try and match him with those in the database.” Dean stepped away from the monitor and glanced around the room. “Someone here must have spoken with the man.”
Bernard shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve questioned my drivers. None of them have said they noticed him.”
“What about dispatch?”
“We’re not like a taxi service. We have a computerized system that lets our drivers know when one of their clients needs a ride. Like I explained to Mr. Harrison, we try to keep the same drivers with the same clients to better meet their needs. Mr. Harrison only uses us on occasion so we didn’t have a request in for any one person.”
“Then how do you pick which driver goes on the run?”
Bernard moved his stiff collar away from his neck. Blake almost felt sorry for the man.
“We rotate between who needs a run, and who best knows the area and protocols. Taking a car on the tarmac to pick up clients right from the airport requires a different level of security than someone taking a celebrity to a red carpet event. Lots of things are factored in.”
“Show me how your drivers check a car in and out,” Dean said.
Bernard moved to the monitor as the uniformed officer who’d been searching the video feed got up and moved. He opened up what looked like a home page for the service and clicked on an icon with a car graphic. A list of last names and locations sat neatly in a row. Beside them was a column for the driver to place their name.
“This first set of names are our regulars. Notice the color coordination of the drivers and the regulars. This next set of names are one timers. Special occasions, proms…beside the names are symbols. A martini glass for a known party where the driver is going to keep our passengers from driving while intoxicated. I try and use my male drivers, unless it’s a bachelorette party…” Bernard got a little carried away in his explanation of his system, obviously proud of what he did. “Here is the airport symbol. If a driver is free to take the ride and sees this, he knows the ride is only open to him if he has the clearance.”
“Let’s see the date Mr. Harrison arrived.”
Bernard clicked around on the calendar and brought up the date. Blake leaned forward and saw his name, location, time, and airport symbol. He was happy to see an absence of a martini glass. His mirth about that died when he saw the name of the driver. “Mac.”
Blake’s hand went down hard on the side of the computer desk. “Sonofabitch.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dean told him.
“Who needs to jump?”
Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room. “We don’t know anything for certain.”
“What the…we know Mac wasn’t behind the wheel. We know a stranger listened in on our conversation we had in a car to avoid being heard in my home. We know whoever this guy was he had the ability to hack into this system and take off with a car, then return the damn thing without question. We know Neil believes someone of intelligence and ability is gunning for him and my sister. I don’t have to jump in the water to know I’m going to get wet, Dean.” And if Neil had managed to keep this ass from knowing wh
ere he was, Blake and Dean had blown that by openly talking about their findings in his house over the last couple of days. Which explains the extra dead bird in Karen’s car. The tight tongues made this ass plant another dead bird and throw them off track. Make them think Neil wasn’t sane.
“We’ve been conned and Neil isn’t crazy.” Neil was in danger and Blake had probably led his enemy right to him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dinner the night before had been a strained affair. It didn’t help that the wind had kicked up and the threat of rain had Gwen wondering where Neil was. Gwen took the pathetic path of pleading a headache and retired to her room early to avoid conversation with her host.
She couldn’t place what about Charles bothered her most. The quiet plotting that seemed to happen behind his gaze, or the smile that reminded her of a clown at a circus. Neither were redeeming qualities in a person. I’m sure he makes a great drill sergeant.
Gwen moved quietly through the house, purposely leaving her room once the breakfast hour had passed. The house was quiet to the point she wondered if she were alone. In the kitchen, she placed a cup of water into the microwave to heat for tea. With the exception of a few clouds, the sky was clear.
“Be safe, Neil,” she whispered to herself.
When the microwave chimed, Gwen turned to grab her cup.
Charles stood directly behind her, his lip turned up slightly. She screamed and stepped back into the counter, bruising her hip.
“Bloody hell,” she gasped.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His coy smile fell and an expression of concern replaced it.
The hell you didn’t. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She rubbed her hip and willed her pulse to calm.
“Wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” Charles moved a few paces away. The next county would have been better. The man wore the exact same clothes he’d worn since Neil had left. They were pressed and clean, but the exact style of military issue. Charles didn’t leave the house, or even have a visitor. For a man of his rank, Gwen expected a little more of a revolving door.
“Your wife directed me to where things were in the kitchen.”
Fiancé by Friday Page 22