Till Death: Deep Six Security Series Book 1

by Becky McGraw

  Did you see the girl in the exam room down the hall? She looked like my sister did at Wellington. She is sick and asked for help in Russian. She underlined Russian, and ripped it from the pad to hand it to him, stabbing her finger at the words.

  He frowned, and that cute little crease between his eyebrows appeared, before he shook his head. He hadn’t seen the girl. Susan took the paper from him, wadded it up and stuffed it into her bra, then wrote another note. We have to do something, or she’s going to die. Looked that bad!

  She shoved the pad at him and he read, then met her eyes and regret shone in his blue eyes, as he mouthed, “Can’t do that.”

  “Have to,” she mouthed back, putting her hands on her hips.

  Dave’s eyes dropped to the side of the counter, and she thought he was going to refuse her, but he pushed her aside and knelt in front of a bookcase she hadn’t even seen. He pulled out a green binder labeled GenMax, and Susan’s heart dropped to her toes. That was the same kind of binder she’d seen in Bertie’s office when she broke in. Susan noticed more words in smaller print under the title on the binder and squinted to read.

  Ova Stimulation – Dosages, Contraindications and Methods.

  A drug to cure endometriosis? Bullshit, Susan thought. She knew what that drug was for. She had looked into in vitro fertilization herself when it became apparent she was going to be an older mother, if she ever was, and would probably need that type of treatment. That process involved ova stimulation with drugs to increase egg production, and the likelihood of getting pregnant. Why in the fuck would her sister be given that drug? She was only twenty-three years old, and definitely didn’t need it.

  Contraindications meant side effects, and evidently those were massive swelling, vomiting and the sickness like she’d seen in her sister, Callie her roommate and that girl in the other room. A whimper worked up her body from her toes to escape, and Dave looked up at her from the white pages inside the binder which he was examining.

  “We have to help that girl,” she said under her breath. Logan nodded, before he pulled his cell phone out to snap several photos of the contents of the binder. He replaced the binder on the shelf, pulled out another binder and snapped photos, then stood with a look of dark concern on his face. The door opened, and Susan snatched her arm behind her back. A smaller, swarthy man who she assumed to be Dr. Warman from the frown on his face, walked into the room and shut the door behind him. Susan inched the hem of her suit coat up with her fingers, slid the prescription pad inside her skirt, then leaned back against the counter.

  “I understand that you’ve had an accident, Mrs. Lawrence?” he asked, his eyes tracking down her body to her toes. His accent sounded like he was Greek, and his looks kind of confirmed that conclusion. His eyebrow lifted over his flat, cold snake eyes, and he smiled. “I’ll need you to get undressed so I can examine you.” The relish in his words and tone made Susan’s stomach roll. This disgusting man enjoyed having control over women when they were naked and vulnerable on his examination table. And there was no way she was letting him touch her.

  “I ah, just need an ice pack, and I’ll be fine,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  “I need to be the judge of that, Mrs. Lawrence.” His eyes darted to Logan, then back to her. “Your husband seemed very concerned, and I am as well…about the liability of our clinic. We cater to an elite clientele, and I certainly don’t want to have someone think we are incompetent in the care of our clients.”

  “I just banged my knee a little when I fell.” Logan grunted, and Susan shot him a hot look. “I’m clumsy, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Let me at least give you an injection for pain then,” the doctor offered smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest.

  An injection? Not in this lifetime, Dr. Frankenstein. “Uh, I—” Susan stuttered.

  “My wife said she’s fine. If you’ll provide an icepack, we’ll take her to see her physician tomorrow. Due to the circumstances, we’re leaving as soon as we can arrange it.”

  “But you’ll miss the tour of the grounds,” Warman said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll also have to return for the explanation of the genetics, and the private interview. Unfortunately, your deposit is non-refundable, if you choose to exit the program.”

  “We’ll schedule another appointment,” Logan replied shortly. “My wife’s health is more important to me than the money, tour, or the genetics selection. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Perfectly,” Warman replied, as he walked to the first green curtain. He pushed it back and Susan was surprised to see a refrigerator there. He opened the freezer compartment and pulled out an ice pack, then shut the door and let the curtain drop back in place. He handed Susan the ice pack, then walked to the door where he stopped. His smile did nothing to warm the cold anger in his words. “I have another patient to see, so I’m sure you’ll excuse me? I hope you’re feeling better soon, Mrs. Lawrence.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and he nodded as he opened the door. When it closed, Susan tiptoed and hissed in Logan’s ear. “We’ve got to get to that girl.”

  He turned his face, and his breath fanned her face, as he said, “I don’t know how we’re going to do that, he’s going in to treat her right now.”

  “Let’s get out of here and create a diversion that will pull him away from her, and keep him busy for a while,” she whispered.

  Her eye caught on a bottle labeled laxative in one of the drug cabinets. Yes, luck was definitely on their side tonight, she thought as she tried the door. It was locked and she cursed, but wasn’t giving up. Leaning against the counter to think, Susan’s hand brushed against the pen on the counter. She glanced down and picked it up to remove the cap with the metal pocket clip. Bending it out, she bent it to and fro until it snapped off, leaving a jagged end.

  This worked in the movies, but she’d never tried it. There’s a first time for everything, Susan thought, as she jammed the metal tab into the small silver lock on the door of the cabinet. She wiggled it, tugged on the cabinet, wiggled more, but just couldn’t get the traction to turn the metal in the lock. Dave nudged her to the side, and pulled out the black box Dex had given him. He attached one of the clamps to the metal, grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger, and twisted violently. The lock snapped, and he grinned at her as the cabinet opened. “Who’s needs Mensa, sweet cheeks, when you have a little muscle, and a Poindexter gadget in your pocket?”

  Susan elbowed him aside to reach up and grab the bottle of laxative. She shut the cabinet, removed the piece of metal and handed him back his gadget. “Let’s go wreak some havoc, bad boy,” she said with a smile, walking to the door.

  “Um, you might want to put your shoes back on. There’s no telling what’s on this floor.” Logan’s face showed his disgust, as he walked over to hand them to her.

  He was right, Susan thought, slipping them on, before she opened the door. “Let’s go to the left,” she said, leaning back against Logan’s chest. “Talk to me and look surprised at the end of the hall. We’re disoriented, and went the wrong way. You do your thing with the camera, then we’ll walk out of here.”

  “Brilliant,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth.

  “Mensa comes in handy occasionally,” she whispered back with a laugh, as she made a left out of the door, and he followed.

  Twenty minutes later, Logan opened the door for Susan and she walked inside the small room where the reception was being held. You could almost smell the money when you walked into the room. The twenty or so men wore tuxedoes, and their arm-candy-type women lots of diamonds with designer cocktail dresses. Susan felt underdressed in comparison, but inched her chin up, putting on the same air of arrogance that Logan had used since they’d arrived at the clinic as she walked inside. A couple of people looked their way, but none broke off from their group to come talk to them. Susan zoned in on the red punchbowl, and headed that way. She smiled at the attendant, when she stopped at the table.


  Looking down at the punch, then scanning the expensive wines on the table, Susan looked at the attendant and frowned. “Oh, I can’t drink this. Could you be a dear, and get me some sparkling water with lemon?” she asked sweetly. The woman’s lips curved down, but she forced them back up as she nodded, before walking away.

  Susan pulled the bottle out of the back of her skirt, uncapped it and emptied half of the, thankfully, clear liquid into the punchbowl, then stirred it with the ladle. She poured a small dollop into each wine bottle, and Logan went behind her to lift the bottles as if inspecting the label, but he shook them good before he sat them back on the table. At one point, she thought she heard him chuckle, but she was too focused on getting this done before the woman came back to look.

  At the end of the table, she recapped the bottle of medicine, and turned so she could put it back under her suit jacket. The attendant walked up to her and handed her the glass of water, and Susan thanked her, but didn’t take a sip. She wasn’t about to drink the Kool-aid they were serving at this clinic. “Okay, we need something quicker to get him back in here and stir up the guards,” she whispered to Logan, counting five guards in the room, including the two who they had the run in with in the lobby.

  “Follow me,” Logan said, striding off toward a doorway where she’d seen several of the waitstaff come into the room with food. Susan knew exactly when one of the guards locked onto them. They reached the door, and Susan elbowed Logan, giving a chin nod in his direction. A waiter came through the doorway and Logan put a shoulder into him. The tray he was carrying went airborne, and Susan watched as it came down toward her in slow motion. Susan screamed, as the lukewarm canapes hit the front of her dress, clumped in her hair and fell at her feet.

  “Oh, my Gawd,” she gasped in horror, brushing at the front of her dress. Her eyes locked with the waiter’s wide, frightened gaze. “This is my favorite dress and you ruined it!” she shouted slapping at the waiter’s arm. Susan wailed, forcing crocodile tears out of her eyes, feeling bad at the waiter’s horrified expression. It was worth it when she saw Logan slip through the doorway unnoticed. Upping her game to buy him some time, Susan pinned the waiter with a hot look. “You need to get me some club soda and another rag.” Grabbing the towel from his arm, she swiped at the front of her suit. “Get all the soda you can find! And I need some water too! This is a very expensive suit, so you better hope this comes out.” The waiter just stood there looking stunned, and Susan noticed two of the guards moving their way.

  “Now! Not tomorrow!” she screeched, as she pushed the waiter toward the center of the room to draw attention away from the doorway. She kept pushing, until she felt they were far enough away so Logan wouldn’t be seen. The waiter scurried off and Susan positioned herself so she could see when Logan came back through the doorway.

  Two guards, one of them a guard they’d had the run in with in the lobby, came up beside her and took her arms. “You seem awfully accident prone today, Mrs. Lawrence. Maybe you should go back to your room, and call it a day,” a familiar voice grated near her ear. She turned her head to meet the flat black eyes of Mario Beschi.

  The fire alarm, and the thin, gray smoke coming from the doorway where Logan had gone were her salvation. The guards turned her loose to sprint toward the doorway. The crowd scattered, and frantically, Susan scanned the room for Logan. She breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes landed on him standing by the punch table grinning. He pushed through the scrambling guests to grab her hand. “Let’s go save that girl and get the hell out of here, sweet cheeks. I called Hawk from the house phone in the kitchen and he’s on his way. He’ll be here in forty-five minutes, but we have a lot to do before he gets here.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Logan stopped at the door to their suite, and his hand shook as he opened the door. Susan went inside first, and gasped when she came face to face with the blonde Russian guard who had been with Mario when they first got there. He just stood near their bedroom door with her extra ammunition in one hand, and a Ruger pistol in the other, which was pointed directly at her. He didn’t speak, probably because he only spoke Russian. His pistol spoke for him.

  He waved them inside with the gun, and Logan shut the door behind him. She heard him lock it, and thought he’d lost his mind, since that was their only escape route, but he nudged her from behind, and she realized he had his pistol in her back. That gave Susan the confidence to straighten her shoulders and walk toward the Russian, who took a couple of steps toward her too.

  If she could get within striking distance, she could take him out without a shot fired. If Logan shot him, they’d have a whole team of his gangster friends on their two yard line. And it would blow their cover sky high. Besides this guy could prove useful to their escape, he could be their personal escort to the roof. If they could manage to take him with them this guy could be the key to breaking the case. But first, she had to subdue him, disarm him. Susan kicked off her heels, and took a few steps closer, but she was still not close enough.

  “Those bullets are mine,” she said in perfectly accented Russian, obviously shocking him.

  His green eyes widened, and his gun lowered a few inches. If she was taking a bullet now for trying this, it would be in the leg, instead of the chest. In a burst, Susan shot toward him and buried her shoulder into his stomach. The Russian flew off of his feet with a grunt, and thank goodness, the gun flew out of his hand and banged into the bedroom door. She landed on top of him and rolled to her feet into a ready stance.

  The Russian rolled as well, and as he got to his feet, she landed a kick to his jaw that sent him sprawling backward into Logan. Logan caught him, but stumbled back a few steps with him. He recovered to jerk the guard’s arm up behind his back and put his pistol to his head, then looked at her. “Get my belt out of the closet.”

  Susan nodded, ran into the bathroom and hurried into the closet to flip through the hangers until she found Logan’s belt. When she sprinted back into the living room, Logan had the man sitting on the sofa. “I used the belt I had on for his hands, you do his feet,” he said, holding the gun to the man’s temple.

  “We’ve got to take him with us,” Susan said with a huffed breath, as she knelt to bind his ankles tight. She sat back on her heels and looked at Logan. “We might have to come back here. We don’t have nearly enough evidence, and this guy will definitely out us.”

  Logan took a step back, and holstered his weapon “We’ve got to pack and get the girl first, though.”

  “You go get her out of the broom closet, and I’ll pack,” Susan suggested, glancing at the Russian. With the camera disabled, getting the girl into the broom closet to wait for them had been child’s play using the keycard Logan had swiped from Vlad. Susan knew getting her out of the building and to the helicopter wouldn’t be so easy. But she had no doubt that Logan could do that, and he could do it better alone, without an entourage to attract attention.

  “Hopefully, the melee with the fire will give you enough cover to get her to the stairs without being seen. I’m sure most of them are still in there cleaning up, and trying to figure out what happened. Some of the guests should be close to feeling a little explosive, which will keep Warman and some of the guards busy during our escape..”

  Logan’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Nah, we go together. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Logan, I can handle myself. We’ll meet you at the stairs to the roof in fifteen minutes. That should be perfect timing to meet Hawk.” Susan reached under her skirt and pulled out her weapon, and pointed it at the Russian’s crotch. He whimpered and pressed his knees together like that was going to help if she decided to put a bullet in his balls. “You’re going to cooperate, right? You’re not going to make me blow your balls off are you?” she asked in Russian.

  The Russian shook his head and looked to Logan like he was going to find help there against the crazy woman. Susan laughed. “See, Logan, he’s not going to give me
trouble. But if you don’t get out of here, you’re not going to be able to get that girl out.” Susan tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “If we go together, we have a circus dragging this one and the girl with us.”

  Although, it went against his best judgment, Logan nodded, because she did make sense. He walked to the door of the suite, and looked back for Susan, but she had already gone into the bedroom to pack. The Russian was struggling against the belts.

  “Watch him! He’s trying to get out of the belts!” Logan yelled, before he opened the door and went into the hall.

  If there was a bug in the room, which he suspected there was, hopefully nobody was monitoring it right now, because if they were, they were toast. This whole operation had turned into a cluster fuck of epic proportions, no less than he expected considering he had Susan Whitmore, a shit magnet of the highest caliber, but also a woman he’d go into any operation with by his side. Susan was more than capable, and smart. So damned smart, he felt like a dummy in comparison sometimes. How many female agents, or male agents for that matter, spoke Russian, and several other languages? None, unless they were international spies or CIA spooks. He had no idea what he would have done without her here with him.

  But, as good as Susan was, she was not Superwoman. He had no idea how she was going to get the Russian and the luggage to the roof by herself without getting killed. All he could do was trust that she could. And do his part by getting himself and the girl to those stairs.

  Dave did a double-take as he passed the front counter and saw it was unattended. That spurred his memory he needed to plant the keylogger virus for Dex. It shouldn’t take long to do it, he thought as he ducked behind the counter to look for the tower. He saw two towers at the far end of the counter, one shorter and squarer than the other. According to Dex, that would be the one he wanted, he thought, as he duckwalked down there. He inserted the flash drive into to the USB port on the front as Dex had instructed, then turned the server off and on quickly.