Exchange of Fire

by P. A. DePaul

  Ashlyn’s smiling face rose up in his mind, then flipped to him grabbing the bully by the arms to stop the boy from kicking her curled body on the ground. The silent vow he’d made that day could only take him so far.

  “I’m sorry, Ashlyn. I tried, but she’s not interested in saving anyone. Especially me or the safe haven.” Grady rubbed his chest.

  Another wave of anger ripped through him at what he was forced to do in order to keep the center out of the war.

  Chapter 21

  Sandra slipped through the woods. Cappy’s vehicle was parked around here somewhere. The man had ghosted inside the cabin, which meant he stashed the car about a mile out and hiked in with Magician so he wouldn’t be heard.

  She crested the hill and grabbed on to a tree, studying the area behind her. So far she hadn’t seen or heard anyone following her, but that didn’t mean much with this group. They were all trained to virtually disappear while tailing their prey.

  Her heart thundered against her rib cage. She needed to be on the road already so she’d have a shot at making it to her storage locker before they figured out she had snuck out of the house. A prick of guilt stole through her. Using the team’s sense of integrity against them in order to creep away was low, but the log cabin really should be scrubbed clean of the team’s presence before they left. The added bonus that it required everyone to split up to accomplish it faster gave her the opening she needed to bolt.

  A jumble of Grady’s accusations flooded her mind, each trying to compete with the others for supremacy in crippling her. Unwanted tears flowed down her cheeks, making it hard to study the landscape. God, he thought she was a coldhearted monster. You brought a goddamn spy war into this sleepy community. Into the sanctuary I built for those kids.

  How could he think she’d do that on purpose? The last thing she wanted to do was bring harm to a child. The fourteen-year-old reached out a pair of phantom arms to Sandra as she fell back into Sanchez. Blood splattered across her chest.

  No. She couldn’t think of this now. She pushed Grady’s voice from her mind and swiped the tears from her eyes. If only Granger hadn’t stolen her IDs. Those things were expensive, and finding a forger who wasn’t on SBG’s radar was damn near impossible. She had never met the former assassin, so she had no real picture in her mind other than wishing it had been her knife slitting the bastard’s throat. Asshole destroyed not only her possessions but her means of an easy escape.

  A bright patch of light winked about a quarter mile below to her left. Finally. She trotted down the slope, uncaring as to the path she left behind. By the time they found her it wouldn’t matter that she’d led them to Cappy’s car. They’d already know it.

  She needed to clear out of Ridge Creek. Lure SBG away so Grady’s allegation couldn’t come true. He may call it deserting, but she’d call it choosing her own battlefield.

  Flinging the silver Jeep Laredo’s door open, she lifted the floor mat, searching for the keys. Nothing. She pulled the driver’s side visor down. Empty. The keys were here somewhere. They always left a set behind in case they needed a quick escape and the driver wasn’t available or able to hand them over. She stepped back and felt under the fender, over the driver’s side tire. A metallic object hindered her progress. Success!

  She yanked the small box out and slid the cover back. A single car key nestled inside. She tossed the box on the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.

  You’re wearing our emblem like a goddamn accessory instead of what it represents. Talon’s angry words lashed through her mind.

  “No, my friend. I’ve never forgotten what it represents.”

  It took strength and courage to walk away; the wisdom of it she was still struggling with. She threw the truck in gear and followed the narrow dirt path back up to the main road, bouncing and jolting the whole way, too afraid to take it slower in case the team caught up to her.

  ***

  Mars turned up the scanner he had purchased at a twenty-four-hour supercenter on his trip from the airport.

  “Roger, Officer O’Malley,” the female dispatcher said. “Coroner has been notified. En route to Frankford Cleaners. ETA thirty minutes.”

  Mars cruised past a blue Victorian with maroon trim. He checked the house number nailed above the door against his GPS. A match for Sandra Walsh’s address. He pulled into the parking lot of a quaint park across the street. The lot was almost full. He glanced at the time: nine a.m. A bit early for the ruckus, but he didn’t care about joining the mothers and screaming kids taking advantage of the pleasant holiday. He managed to squeeze into a spot beside the exit.

  A couple strolled by, their arms linked together as an English Boxer tugged on the leash in front of them. They nodded politely to him, then resumed their animated conversation over which groomer to use for Daisy. Yee gods. Save him from suburban life.

  He jogged across the street and followed a well-worn path along the side of the house. According to the address, Sandra Walsh lived in the lower back right apartment. Exuding an air of confidence, he marched up the three wooden steps and noted how only a screen door barred him from entering. Shit. Does that mean she’s home?

  One peek inside and Mars knew that wasn’t the case. The kitchen was wrecked.

  Granger’s handiwork.

  Rumors circulated among Victor’s go-to assassins about how the young upstart liked to cause as much destruction as possible. Be it through actual physical devastation or well-placed comments to cause as much turmoil in people as possible, it didn’t seem to matter to him. As long as Granger walked away with the knowledge he’d ruined something, then he appeared happy. Newbie prick. Hadn’t the boy figured out by now that damaging places caused too many questions from the local authorities? Victor needed to handle this if Granger wasn’t already dead.

  The dispatcher’s voice ran through Mars’s head. With confirmation that Granger had definitely visited Sandra’s apartment, Mars’s sense of foreboding increased. He jogged back to the road and stopped an old woman pulling a small two-wheel cart filled with a sack of groceries. The dog beside her growled, but he was so old, Mars ignored the ineffectual mutt.

  “Excuse me,” Mars said, holding up a finger. “Can you point me in the direction of Frankford Cleaners?”

  The old bat’s milky blue eyes narrowed, and she studied him shrewdly.

  He smiled and held back the impulse to choke the answer out of her. God, he hated people, especially the old ones. Why good money was wasted on medical research to keep people living long past their usefulness was beyond him.

  “Two streets over, that way,” she finally said, her Southern drawl no longer honey but vinegar with her stale voice. She pointed to the vicinity behind the Victorian.

  He pivoted and strode along the sidewalk, following her simple directions. Sure enough, two streets over he saw a sign for the cleaners tacked on the facing above the door. Bypassing the front entrance, Mars slowed his pace and casually strolled into the alley behind the store. A cop car angled itself at the end of the small road, so Mars went around to the other side and sauntered up from that direction.

  He got to about ten feet away before a pompous officer barked, “Sir, you need to leave the area. Nothing to see here.”

  Mars held up his hands in surrender and backed away. He’d seen enough. No need to get any closer to confirm Granger lay in a heap by an overfilled Dumpster.

  He pulled his phone out and redialed Victor. “I found him.”

  “I take it not alive, since you’re calling me and not him.”

  “His throat was sliced open.”

  “This can’t be a coincidence. What else did you find?”

  “Police are on the scene now. I can’t get closer unless you need me to.”

  “No. Not necessary. Find Sandra Walsh. She may not be alone. If Sandra is Wraith, then Delta Squad may be with her. Her teammate Talon has an affinity for knives.”

  “I’ve heard the rumors. Send me updated pictures of everyone and
their phone numbers, including Sandra’s. I already have the equipment to track their locations through their phones’ GPS in the Explorer. If she or Delta Squad are here, I’ll find them.”

  ***

  Grady slapped the last of the hastily made signs onto the side entrance’s door and held it in place while he yanked a premeasured piece of tape off the back of his hand. With every smash of the tape onto the glass, he cursed a little more fluidly.

  It wasn’t about the money, though the loss in revenue for however long this thing took to end would definitely hurt his bottom line for the year. But he’d be okay. He wasn’t maxed to the limit on his lines of credit, nor was he strapped for cash to cover the expenses that would still incur even without any customers. It was the principle of why he had to close the doors. The disappointed faces he anticipated seeing on the security screens when the children couldn’t get in.

  His cell phone rang. He mashed on the last piece of tape and pulled the phone out of his back jeans pocket.

  “Hang on, Henry,” Grady said, strolling away from the door that would normally lead patrons to the Paintball Arena outside. The Arcade section still trilled and flashed their videos even though the house lights weren’t on to further invite guests to test their skills. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a row of machines that had him almost throwing the phone. Lined up, pretty as you please, were the shooting consoles. The black sniper rifle from Silent Scope mocked him as it rested in its perch, waiting for someone to take out the bad guys.

  Before he realized it, he found himself touching the end of the stock as he pictured Sandra—no, Wraith—lining up her target. It seemed so foreign, yet so right at the same time. Son of a bitch. He choked on the swallow that shot down his throat.

  “CASPER?”

  Grady pivoted and marched out of the Arcade. He slapped the phone to his ear and steeled himself for the old guard’s inevitable inquisition. “Sorry, Henry. Needed to finish hanging the signs.”

  “So it’s true? I got a call because of that phone tree thing you instituted, but I didn’t believe it,” Henry groused.

  Grady caught his sarcastic response and said instead, “It’s true. We need to close for the next few days, maybe longer, due to maintenance problems.”

  What a crock. He stormed into his office and dropped into his leather chair.

  “Maintenance problems,” Henry repeated, then added, “Kinda sudden, eh?”

  “Yep. Not real happy about it, as you can imagine.”

  “Yeah, you sound madder than a mule chewin’ on bumblebees.”

  Grady snorted.

  “So, this abrupt closing of the building wouldn’t have anything to do with Sandra knocking you out and running away, would it? Did you find her?”

  A swift jolt of bitterness caused a few beads of sweat to pop out on his forehead. He dashed them away and breathed in, then out heavily. “I found her, all right.”

  “Did you take my advice and let her go?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “My cop instincts are raging, young man. You’re holding out on me.”

  “You’re damn right I am.” Grady swiveled in his chair and grabbed the remote for the TV, hoping the usual Sunday morning hype before the day’s NFL games would distract him. “I’m not gossiping to you or anyone about my personal life.”

  “Ah, so it’s personal now, is it? Last night she tears out of there as your Operations Manager and this morning she’s off-limits for personal reasons. That’s telling, son.”

  Damn shrewd old man. Grady stayed silent.

  “So the building’s closed but the employee shindig Wednesday night is still on?”

  Grady closed his eyes and counted to five. “Yeah. I’m hoping to have all this cleared up by then. I’ll get word out on Wednesday for sure but I didn’t want the employees making other plans.” This crap had better be resolved by then.

  “Hmph. Don’t you still need security to show up while your closed?”

  His stomach clenched. The last person he wanted snooping around would be his most observant guard. Figuring out how to make this story stick was going to be hard enough without someone with the ability to spot bullshit from a mile away hanging around. “I have just a skeleton crew scheduled. You take advantage of the break and treat that patient wife of yours to a few days away.”

  “Humph.” Silence.

  Grady counted the paper clips in the dish. When he reached thirty, Henry finally spoke, his voice a lot smaller than a second ago, “So you don’t need me?”

  Rip out his already shattered heart. “I’ll always need you, Henry, but you don’t have to be here twenty-four seven. Trust that your training and skills have translated to some of the other guards.”

  Henry grunted. “What about the Children of the Fallen Heroes event tomorrow? You canceling that?”

  Oh CHRIST. In all the chaos he’d completely forgotten about the annual event. He’d been hosting it every Labor Day since he’d opened Gradwick’s doors; it practically ran itself.

  “Haven’t figured that part out yet,” he answered truthfully.

  “Well, I bet the lovely widow Doreen McKenna would be happy to help,” Henry drawled with a certain amount of glee. “She’s been offering for years to become a larger part of the event.”

  Grady almost choked. That’s not all she’d been offering to be a larger part of. Ever since she lost her husband four years ago while he had been stationed overseas, she had been dropping not-so-subtle hints that she’d be open to settling down again . . . with him. Sure, she was pretty, but she never once got his heart racing. Not like Sandra—nope, not going there.

  Grady sighed. “Good idea, Henry. I’ll give her a call now and set it up.”

  Chapter 22

  Sandra flung the metal garage door open and surveyed her storage unit. The dimensions of the space were way beyond what she needed for her supplies, but it was the spot on the lot that made her rent it. Out of all the anonymous rows, this corner unit wasn’t caught on camera. The buildings, housing anywhere from four to six units, were spread wide enough to accommodate rental trucks driving in and unloading their contents. It seemed as if management had skimped on the cost of effectively monitoring every space on the property. Good news for her. The young kid manning the counter the day she had signed the lease had tripped over himself showing her everything she asked about. Of course, the light flirting and power of suggestion helped too.

  Thank God Cappy hadn’t rented anything smaller than the Jeep or she’d have been forced to wade through the boxes and leave the rest behind. She stepped inside. Since the sun was now high enough, she decided to leave the light off to cut down on announcing her presence.

  “Wishing you had these?”

  Sandra whirled. “Talon!”

  A clear plastic bag dangled from his hand. All the IDs Granger had stolen from her were now swaying as the man gripping them practically vibrated.

  “Care to explain why you ditched us and hightailed it here?”

  The accusation of betrayal radiating from his emerald eyes sliced her to the quick. “How did you find me?

  “Are you kidding me?” His voice rose. “That’s the first thing you have to say to me after I catch you trying to flee again?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “GODDAMN IT, Wraith!” She flinched at the pain flaring over his handsome face and backed up when he slammed his fist against the next unit’s metal door. “Didn’t you hear a word I said at the cabin?” His voice stuttered, breaking at the end.

  That telltale action broke her composure. Her eyes flooded, and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down her face.

  “Once was bad enough, but to witness you tearing down the mountain away from me . . .” He looked away, and Sandra heard a nearby vehicle’s engine shut off. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispered so softly, she wasn’t sure if he meant for her to hear his confession.

  Cappy’s overlarge silhouette b
locked the sunlight as he placed a hand on Talon’s shoulder. Magician slipped past the men and paused just inside the unit. The disapproving frown on her beautiful face told Sandra just how pissed she was. Romeo maneuvered to stand beside Magician, his face mirroring hers.

  Sandra wondered if they resembled each other because they’d been partnered together for so long or if they made such a great partnership because of it.

  “Remember how I said we need to talk, you and I?” Cappy’s gruff voice echoed in the large space. “How do you think I can accomplish that if you don’t stay put long enough?”

  “I have to leave, Cappy.”

  “Why?” Magician asked, her posture straightening.

  Talon hadn’t looked at her since he’d punched the door. Instead, he rubbed a thumb over his busted knuckles.

  “Everyone would be a lot safer if I left town.”

  “Bullshit,” Cappy snapped. “But we’ll come back to that in a minute, I think it’s high time this team clears the air. We have too many unanswered questions festering just below the surface, and it’s going to get us killed if we don’t come clean. Wraith, we’ll start with you: I want to know why you abandoned us the first time?”

  Her eyes roved over the unit, but she couldn’t see a way out. She fiddled with the dragon pendant accessible through the V of her polo shirt. The same polo she could no longer wear proudly. Her tears renewed with a vengeance.

  “You left us with no notice or word,” Cappy continued. “Why? And don’t give me that bullshit explanation of protecting the team from SBG’s investigators.”

  The fourteen-year-old’s face flashed in her mind. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” she replied hoarsely, having trouble pushing a breath past the lump in her throat. “I killed a little girl, an innocent.”

  “And I was brutally beaten and just barely avoided rape,” Magician stated coldly.

  Romeo placed his arm around his partner’s shoulders, a thundercloud of fury eclipsing his godlike face.