Chain Lynx (The Lynx Series Book 3)

by Fiona Quinn

  “Things are busy at the office. The guys are running on all four burners.”

  “I wish they’d give me something to puzzle. I’d like to be working,” I pouted as I dropped the file back on his desk.

  “I think everyone would prefer you put your energy into healing, and figuring out what’s going on with your case. Iniquus doesn’t like Omega’s saber rattling.”

  “I’m sure it pisses them off.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned a hip into my walker. “We must be pretty safe here if they didn’t leave you back up. The rest of us are useless when it comes to a fight.”

  “This won’t happen often. We just couldn’t find a way around it today. Chris and Andy might surprise you. Cookie would probably be good in a knife fight. It won’t come to that, though. This place is Fort Knox. Has anyone explained Striker’s compound?”

  “Nope.”

  “Let me get Andy to watch the computer bank, and I’ll show you around. I think you’ll like this.”

  When Andy settled in, Deep and I headed back to my bedroom.

  “What do you think of your room, Lynx?”

  “It’s beautiful. The style is different from the rest of the house. Was this Lynda’s room?”

  “Striker never brought his sister here. It used to have white walls and modern furniture like the rest of the house. When we were deciding where to hide you, Striker had this fixed up for you.”

  I ran my hand over the shelf and picked up one of the shells. I looked around with a different eye; Striker designed this with me in mind.

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “In more ways than one.” Deep’s chest swelled with satisfaction – maybe a little smug in there, too. “You know how you say that you like looking like a piece of fluff? That people underestimate you, discount you, and let you go places where you otherwise could never go? This room is exactly the same. It’s a panic room. You are surrounded by steel with Kevlar panels on the four walls and the ceiling. Beneath our feet is a cement reinforced foundation. You have your own power battery that will run this room for seven days, your own air and water supplies – enough to support ten people for a week. Over here you have your emergency closet.” Deep sauntered toward the wall on the right hand side of the bathroom, and pulled a latch under the chair molding. It opened up to show a deep closet with emergency medical equipment including oxygen tanks, gas masks and iodine tablets. There was communication equipment, flak jackets, helmets, and enough firepower to take out a small village.

  “Over here you have your food.” Deep opened a similar closet on the left of my bathroom. There was a shelf of books, DVDs, and games. There was an array of food stuffs, mostly MREs, stored above a counter outfitted with a range top, and a microwave. Plates and cookware were stored below.

  “Wow.” My voice conveyed my surprise. Fort Knox? Deep wasn’t kidding.

  “That’s not all. Your French doors are made of one-way bullet-resistant glass. You can shoot out, but no one can shoot in. It won’t hold back everything. It would give you enough time to press the panic button, if it came to that. And it would only come to that if there was a mole.” He pointed to a gray pad near the head of my bed.

  “What happens when I press the panic button?”

  Deep grinned. “I’ll show you.” He depressed the communicator on his belt. “Andy, put us on test mode.”

  “Roger. Test mode activated,” Andy’s voice came out of the box attached to Deep’s belt.

  “Go push your button,” Deep said.

  I moved to my bed and touched the pad. There was a grinding sound, the floors rumbled, and steel doors slid out of pockets on either side of the French doors and across the door that accessed the hall.

  “You’re completely sealed in. We’re safe from everything from biological warfare to atomic blast. When we aren’t on test mode, pushing that button sends a satellite distress signal directly to Iniquus.” Deep crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels with obvious satisfaction.

  “What if there’s a breach and someone puts the room on ‘test;’ we’re besieged and the enemy waits for us to run out of supplies?”

  “You have an independent, back-up satellite communication system in the supply closet.”

  “How cool is that?” I examined the door, then turned back to Deep. “You said someone could only shoot at the door if there was a mole. I can see ten different ways to get to the house.”

  “Not undetected, you couldn’t. An electronic dome protects the entire property. The cameras that feed into the command room light up by motion.” Deep depressed his communicator. “All clear, Andy. You can open us back up and put us back online.”

  “Roger Wilco,” Andy’s voice crackled from Deep’s belt.

  The steel doors slid back into their hiding places.

  “Electromagnetic locks?” I asked.

  “Yup. Follow me.”

  We went out the sliding doors in the great room and stood on the patio. Deep gestured at the water. “We’re on a peninsula. Ten feet above the water, safe from any storm surge. The house is steel beams, storm glass, and concrete. No fear from hurricanes, tornadoes, fires, or earthquakes. You name it, this house can withstand it. The panic room is the icing on the cake,” Deep said.

  “I’ll say.”

  “So what I wanted you to see out here is that the architect designed this house to be nature friendly. The lines of the structure are supposed to blend in with environment. After it was built, Iniquus safety engineers came in and painted it 45% forest green, 45% light green, with black and light brown detailing.”

  I looked at the house. “It’s painted camouflage?” It didn’t look like camouflage.

  “In a discreet way. No one looking at it close up would say that’s what Striker did. Laura, for example, would think it was a green-colored house with brown and black trim. From a distance, from above, from the water, the eye can easily miss it. The windows are one way, non-reflective glass – we can see out, no one can see in.”

  “This gets better and better.” My eyes scanned over the house, looking for weaknesses, thinking what I would do if I wanted to breech the security. I wasn’t coming up with much. I shielded my eyes against the glare. “What about water entry? Could a boat come up or a scuba team?”

  “Nope. See those buoys?”

  The sun glittered off the water; I had to squint to see. “Yep.”

  “Our safety dome and visual field goes out that far. Those buoys have feelers extending down to the sand beds. If anything over 20 pounds were to pass by the buoys, either on the water or immersed, an alarm sounds in the command room.”

  “Why 20 pounds?”

  “Pelicans.”

  “Ah. Say an alarm sounds by the buoy, then what?”

  “We check it out on the camera feed, and we send someone down to the beach to have eyes on. Sometimes teens show up, thinking they found a good place to party, and they need dissuading. The rocks around the compound are difficult to scale by design. There are stairs down to the beach, and a walkway from there to the boathouse. Once the alarms sounds, a steel gate cuts off access to those stairs, and secures the boathouse. Up here, if we don’t want to hunker down, there are trucks to take down the driveway or four-wheelers to take through the woods.”

  “Why the hell did Striker make this place? It sounds like an evil mastermind recluse would live in a place like this.” My brows were furrowed. This just seemed. . .over the top.

  “Or someone with a lot of enemies,” Deep said.

  “Is that it?” I turned to look Deep in the eye.

  “No. At first, Striker bought the land to build a private retreat – somewhere to do his paintings and to boat. Then he realized that Lynda mixed in with some dangerous people. He thought that some point, he’d have to hide her and Cammy out here. He wanted it to be as safe as possible. Then I think it took on a life of its own. This is his hobby. He gets to try out all these cool systems. He does have an engineering degree. He loves
gadgets.”

  “Striker toys?” That thought amused me.

  “It’s a great big adult Legos set for him.”

  “What a geek.” I shielded my eyes from the sun. “You said Lynda’s never been here. If he built it for her. . .”

  “He built it with her safety in mind. If Lynda and Cammy hung out here, Lynda would tell people about it, and the bad guys would know where to look. She has no idea this exists.”

  “Understood. So who comes here?”

  “The team’s been here on retreats, and you.”

  “No one else?” I asked with my innocent voice.

  Deep cocked his head to the side. “Are you fishing about his past?”

  “Kind of. Yes. Did he bring other women here?” I focused on the seagulls circling above so Deep couldn’t see my eyes.

  Deep considered me for a minute then said, “Striker was circumspect with women. He dated a lot, but he kept his dates out of his personal space. He went to the women. He didn’t let the women come to him. As far as I know, you’re the first woman to come here. Even the interior designer was a guy – a very effeminate guy, but he still had male packaging.”

  “Thanks for the ‘he dated a lot’; that makes all of my jealous feelings melt away.” Sarcasm painted my words an ugly color. I had seen one of his exes in Miami. Gorgeous. I, on the other hand, looked like this.

  Deep shook his head, with his hands planted solidly on his hips. “I’ve been with you two since the safe house. Believe me, Lynx, you have nothing to be jealous about. Striker on the other hand. . .” Deep stopped. There was a long pause.

  I looked him hard in the eye. “What?”

  Deep balanced his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to stand here gossiping.”

  “Spit it out, Deep.” I used Striker’s commander voice, hoping to pry the lid off Deep’s resistance.

  “Nope. That’s as far as I’m going to go. We live way too far down each other’s throats for me to start something.”

  I clucked like a chicken and flapped my arms like wings, using my body language to call him a coward.

  Deep looked at me with exasperation in his eyes. “You know what, Lynx? You’re some kind of crazy smart. Your background makes you take all that smart and live sort of extemporaneously – most of us have a script that we follow – more or less. Having you as a teammate gives us the edge, and I think you’re great. But you’d be hell-on-wheels to date.”

  I was taken aback. Hurt even. “You wouldn’t date me?”

  “Not for a million dollars. I’m not a glutton for punishment.”

  “Wow, Deep. You think I’m punishing Striker?” My voice squeaked out.

  “I think this whole conversation is making me uncomfortable.”

  Now I was pissed. “You kicked the door open; have the courage to walk through.”

  “Okay, here it is: I think you’re unique. And what others would normally see and feel may not be your reality at all.”

  My hands clenched around my walker. “I don’t know what to do with that. I need more information.”

  “This is Striker’s problem, and you don’t need any more information. I’ve said enough.” He was heated and yelling at me, his Italian heritage on full display.

  “Deep.” I hollered back.

  “Seriously. Enough!”

  I stormed back to my room. Well, I stormed in the slide clunk, slide clunk, slide clunk kind of way that my walker would allow. Too bad that Laura wasn’t here now. I had some spit and vinegar to bolster my workout. Cookie saw me moving past the kitchen with a thundercloud brewing around my head, and went to hide in the pantry. Good thing. I didn’t want to torment poor Cookie with my extemporaneously punitive self!

  I moved on down the hall to my room, lay on the floor with Beetle and Bella, and waited for calm to return. It took a while. Hmph. I must believe that Deep was telling the truth if it felt this bad. I didn’t mean to punish Striker. This was unfair. What if circumstances were reversed? What if something happened in Somalia and I needed to go find him? What if he were hurt? Would I act any differently than Striker was acting towards me? Would I be less loyal? Less concerned?

  That wasn’t what Deep was talking about. It wasn’t mission related; it was relationship related. Deep thought I was hurting Striker because I wasn’t seeing what a normal person would see. He thinks I’m abnormal. Well, doesn’t that make me feel like a Martian? I was normal - in an unschooled, out of the box kind of way. It was true that I was socialized differently than most kids, but I never felt awkward about how I related to people. Up until now. Now I felt. . .guilty, lonely, and worried sick for Striker.

  Okay, this misery was mostly about that. Love makes us vulnerable. So says Spyder. So says Master Wang. When my husband, Angel, was in Afghanistan, I thought I learned that lesson first hand. Then it hit me like a locomotive when an IED exploded his convoy.

  After his death, I had decisions to make. Could I allow myself to be that vulnerable again? Could I be that vulnerable with Striker? When I was in prison, I thought yes. When I hunkered down on the Isle de la Juventude trying to outlast the storm, I thought yes. When I crashed into the desert, living to tell Striker that I loved him sustained me. Pushed me. Compelled me.

  I wrote to him – he said he found my goodbye letters on the plane, so he has read how much I loved him. But I haven’t said it to him. Not once. Not ever. And now he was in Somalia. Somalia of all places. Goddammit. If Striker needed me, I couldn’t help him. Being powerless made me feel. . .exposed – ANGRY. Being unable to function made me angry.

  There was a knock on my door. It slowly pushed open, and Deep stuck his head in. He saw me lying on the floor flanked by Beetle and Bella.

  “You okay?” he asked tentatively.

  “I’m having a hissy fit, followed by a pity party.”

  “I can see that. Am I invited?” he asked.

  “You can come in, but the party’s over.”

  Deep walked into my room and sat cross-legged nearby. His back rested against my bed. Deep was a pretty brave guy.

  “I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I’m Italian.” His hangdog expression made me smile.

  “Are you really making your heritage the scapegoat here?” I asked.

  “It usually works.”

  I chuckled. “You’re okay, Deep.”

  “Nonetheless, I apologize. Striker loves you. You love Striker. Someday you’ll get married, and have beautiful bambini who will patrol the school playground at recess and kick all the bullies’ asses.”

  “I was home schooled, Deep. My kids won’t go to school.”

  “Cool. Then we can deploy them like little mini-spies. And I get to be their godfather.”

  I sighed. “Striker and I don’t have that kind of relationship. Striker’s not the settling down kind. You’re right, though, I love him. And I’m worried about him. Who’s on his team?”

  “Striker took Jack and Gater with him.”

  “That’s good. Those three together will have the pirates walking the plank in no time flat. How’d you and Blaze get to stay stateside in Hotel California?”

  “Blaze is working a case that needs his attention, and I’m assigned to you for computer and technical support while you puzzle out your house of cards. If we need backing, we can get Randy in after today.”

  “And Axel?”

  “He’s up at Headquarters. He has to fly down to Florida Saturday to meet with the ATF guy. Sunday he’s going over to Nelson to get eyes on Brody — see if he can’t follow that trail. Brody might lead us somewhere interesting.” Deep looked across the room. “I see that Striker brought you the box. Have you gone through it?”

  “I’m working up to it. It’s painful. Makes me miss home.”

  Deep gave me a funny kind of look. I couldn’t interpret what it meant - hurt maybe?

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “It’s wonderful to be here. Wonderful to see you all. Everything is a thousand percent better.”<
br />
  “But you’re still a prisoner of circumstances,” Deep concluded.

  I shrugged. “I’m looking forward to being able to go home. I feel cowardly hiding here, while my loved ones think I’m dead. While Sarah and Bob think I died to save their children.” I reached out my hands and Deep gently pulled me to sitting.

  “So you haven’t looked through?” he asked.

  “I stopped at Ruby’s handprint.”

  Deep nodded. “When you feel up to it, you’ll find a birthday gift from Biji in the bottom.”

  “Biji? She went back to Punjab to live with her sister. Is she still there?”

  “Yes. She said in her letter — you do know we read everything, don’t you?”

  “Yup. It’s fine.”

  “She said that she contacted everyone from your apartment and your friends – Master Wang, the librarian, people who knew your parents, and she asked them for pictures that have you or your parents in them. She put them in an album in chronological order. It ends with the newspaper article from the night of the fire. It was a hell of an inferno.”

  “It was. One minute there was an apartment building, next minute there was an ash pile. Everyone lost everything. I was lucky. I was able to get two boxes out with me — my laptop and my folks’ journals.”

  “In the album, I got to see pictures of baby Lynx. Why in the hell were you always wearing Playtex gloves as a kid? Did you have a skin condition? Were you OCD?”

  That got me to laughing. “I was playing Nancy Drew, and I didn’t want to damage any of the evidence by getting my fingerprints on stuff.”

  “What a weirdo. You would’ve been beaten to a pulp in my neighborhood, walking around looking like that.”

  Before I could zing him with a good comeback, his cellphone buzzed. He listened for a minute. “Do you have an ETA? . . .Roger that. See you, man.”

  Deep put his phone back on his hip. “Randy’s coming in. He just got in to Reagan. He has to get through customs, then he’ll head over to Iniquus. Striker left the sub there.”

  “That sounds like something from a James Bond movie. My life is so strange.” There was a knock at the door. I lifted my voice. “Come in.”