Beast in the Tower

by Julie Miller

  The waitress saw the gun and screamed.

  “Go, Matt,” Kit begged. “Please.”

  Patrons were rising from their seats—searching for the danger, trading questions, sharing warnings—blindly backing away from the unknown threat.

  Kenny jabbed harder. “Get on your computer and run the damn program.”

  “I’m not an idiot, you know. I knew this was illegal. I just wanted to see if I could do it. And I can.” Matt, bless his stupid heart, chose now to stand his ground and go all protective brother on her. “Put the gun down and let her go. Or I won’t tell you where you made your mistake in the program.”

  “Me? You wouldn’t know jack if I hadn’t helped you out.” He swung his arm out and aimed the gun at Matt. “Now run it again and get me the frickin’ codes!”

  “He has a gun!”

  “Matt!” Shouted warnings and calls for 911 turned the nervous shadows into a blind panic. A lamp broke. Some started running for the door.

  “Kit?”

  Dammit, he was only eighteen! “Don’t be a hero.”

  “I hate the diner. It reminds me of—”

  “I know.”

  “I wasn’t really gonna steal anything.”

  “It’s okay.” Go.

  “I don’t want to lose—”

  Kenny dragged her in front of him and ground the gun into her temple. “Will you two shut the—”

  A tall, dark figure separated itself from the chaos.

  Kenny’s arm jerked and twisted. He yelped in pain. Broad shoulders knocked Kit aside, blocking everything from sight but a fortress of black leather. “Damon?”

  Whatever scuffle took place was waist-high and brief. She heard curses and grunts. And a gunshot. Damon jerked.

  “Damon!”

  Her shout could barely be heard over the screams of the crowd. She reached out to him, but Matt pulled her away from the fight.

  The two men froze. Damon stood a head taller, leaving poor Kenny gaping at his collar.

  “I shot you,” Kenny whined above the chaos of the crowd. “You were right there. I couldn’t miss.”

  Damon slammed Kenny into the wall. He braced his forearm against his windpipe, lifted him off his feet and let him hang there. “Unless you want me to pull the trigger next time, you stay away from this family.”

  Now that was how a voice did intimidation.

  Kenny’s hands inched out on both sides in unspoken surrender.

  Still anchoring Kenny to the wall with his right arm, Damon lowered the gun down to his left side. Kit frowned at the odd sight. He was holding it backward, with his fingers curved around the barrel, not the grip. A dark, shiny liquid coated his knuckles.

  Blood.

  “Damon.” Kit charged forward.

  She touched his arm but he shrugged her off. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “You’ve been shot. You need to see a doc—”

  “I am a doctor. I’m fine.” Damon glanced over his shoulder to Matt as he tucked the gun into the back of his black jeans. “Get your coat. Get your sister. And get out of here.”

  Matt pulled his parka off Kenny, who glared with resentment at being outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

  “C’mon.” Matt nudged Kit toward the loggerhead of men and women trying to squeeze through the front door. “If he says go, I’m going.”

  Kit dodged around her brother and pulled out her cell to dial 911. “You go. This is a crime scene. I’m not leaving until we talk to the police and Damon’s checked out by paramedics.”

  “Talk to the police outside,” the growly voice ordered. “I need to have a little chat with this scumbag.”

  Damon’s blood dripped onto the carpet. As the other patrons flocked to the exit, Kit was drawn to this dark corner, caught up in the confluence of dangerous energy that, like the café’s namesake, surrounded him. She wanted to touch him, thank him, help him. “I’m not leaving without you.”

  He didn’t seem to grasp no. “There are keys in my left coat pocket. My car’s parked out front. A Lexus.”

  “I’ll send Matt out there to wait.”

  “Katherine—”

  “I’m not leaving.” She slipped her hand inside his warm pocket for the keys, trying not to think how personal it was to have permission to reach inside anything that belonged to Damon. “The black one?”

  “Yes. How—”

  “Please.” The man in black from eye to toe? She dropped the keys into Matt’s hand. “Go on. You’ll be safer outside. Lock yourself in.”

  “We just met this guy a few days ago. Are you sure we can trust him? I mean, geez, Kit, how does he know where to find you all the time?”

  Kit let a little blip of suspicion slide, and pushed Matt toward the crowd at the door. “We’re the ones he has no reason to trust. He has the right to be angry that…” She caught herself before saying you. She’d leave that discussion for later. “…that someone was hacking into the Sinclair Pharmaceuticals database.”

  “He didn’t get in.” Damon thrust his forearm up beneath Kenny’s chin. “Mr. Black Hole in the Universe is good. But I’m better.”

  Dangling against the wall, Kenny clutched at Damon’s arm. “How did you track me down?”

  “Simple addition. Your online name plus the 2705 bus stop a couple blocks away. Who are you working for?”

  “How do you know I’m not runnin’ solo?”

  “Because you’re not bright enough.” Damon was shaking his head. “You look familiar. But I don’t know you.” He spoke over his shoulder without glancing her way. “If you’re going to stay, get his wallet.”

  Kenny shook his head. “There are scarier people than you out there in the world.”

  “Don’t count on it. Did you hurt Helen Hodges?”

  “I got nothin’ to say.”

  Kit did. She read the information from his billfold. “Ken Kenichi, Jr. From Japan. He has a student visa.”

  “Ken’s son? Is he involved in this? We’ve done business for years.”

  “My father’s an idiot for not seeing the opportunity here. He’d rather follow you than take the lead himself.”

  “You didn’t do this on your own. Who do you work for?” Kenny rolled his eyes and looked away. Damon tightened his hold. “Who do you work for?”

  Kit scooped up the laptop and shook it at Kenny. “We’ll show this to the police if you don’t answer our questions. You’ll be the only one going to prison.”

  “Bite me.”

  Matt piped up from behind her. “Actually, you could probably get some names, or at least trace back to the locations of his contacts off that laptop.”

  “Screw you.” Kenny spat the words at Matt.

  Kit turned on Matt. “These are dangerous people we’re dealing with. Why are you still here?”

  “Quit treatin’ me like a kid, Kit. Look, I take responsibility for my actions. I was helping Kenny hack into SinPharm. Okay?” He reached for the laptop. “I can probably pull some addresses off—”

  “What’s that?” A pinpoint beam of red light struck the computer an instant before the bullet did. “Matt!”

  The plastic housing exploded in Matt’s hand. A shard nicked Kit’s cheek.

  Her brother jumped back.

  Kit whirled around.

  She saw nothing. Heard nothing but screams of panic.

  The red laser light swung back and forth, seeking another target.

  Kit grabbed Matt’s arm, but Damon was already diving for the floor, pulling them both down with him.

  Silent bullets from the shadows rocketed over their heads and popped into the wall.

  Lights and plaster shattered, raining debris over them. Kit buried her face in Matt’s back. Damon’s weight on top sandwiched them both to the floor. Kit latched on to the sleeve of his coat and pulled his hand in close to her chest. She wound her fingers through his and held on tight while the world crashed down around them.

  Endless moments later the barrage had stopped. Most of the c
rowd had filtered through the exit, too focused on their own need for safety to even be aware of the attack. Sirens approached in the distance. Dust and smoke hung in the air.

  “You two in one piece?” Damon’s voice was a rusty reassurance against her ear.

  Kit nodded. “Matt?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  Kit’s breath rushed out in one painful gasp, as though she’d been holding it through every second of the shooting. “Did you see who had the gun?”

  Damon’s warmth and protection shifted off her. “No. Too many people, too dark, too distracted.”

  “Why were they shooting at us?”

  “Maybe because you ask too many questions?” His bloodied fingers never left hers as he helped her to their feet. “Now can I get you out of here?”

  “Let me see your wound.” She turned his hand between her palms.

  “Kenny grazed me with his shot. It’ll mend.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket to stanch the wound.

  “I’ll do it.” Kit tied the cloth around his knuckles. “You’ll need stitches to close that.”

  “No, I won’t.” He lifted a finger to the gash in her cheek. “You’ll need one for that, though.”

  She thought she imagined a caress in his clinical touch. “Why me and not you?”

  “Um, guys?” They both turned to Matt’s voice. He’d picked up the two largest pieces of the shattered laptop. “We’re not gettin’ anything off this computer. It’s toast.”

  Kit shivered. “So is he.”

  Damon’s arm slid around her shoulders as the three of them stood and stared at the bright red dot of blood in the middle of Kenny Kenichi’s forehead. It trickled down his nose as his dead body sank to the floor.

  There were plenty of questions to be asked.

  But someone had made sure there would be no answers tonight.

  “SHOULD I BE WORRIED?”

  It was a legitimate question. Cleaning the gun that had just committed another murder would make any man nervous. “Young Mr. Kenichi left a trail of evidence on his computer that was in danger of being compromised. For both our sakes, it needed to be destroyed.”

  “And Kenny?”

  “He’s not the first mistake I’ve made in hiring people. I was counting on him to be as level-headed and goal-focused as his father. He let his ego and his temper get in the way.”

  “So I’ll ask again—should I be worried?”

  “Only you can answer that. You know what my expectations are.”

  They sat in the black-haired partner’s office. Though this room had real furniture, it wasn’t that much cleaner than the unfinished rooms they’d been forced to abandon on the thirteenth floor. Sniffling at the dust provided a legitimate reason to dab the nose with a handkerchief to mask the room’s working-class smell. And he expected them to sip coffee like civilized people?

  The man sitting across the desk had no trouble downing the thick brew. “I don’t like changing things when we’re this close to getting what we want. It makes me nervous.” He set his mug down on a messy stack of papers, his dark eyes wide as a lightbulb went on inside. “You were planning to take him out all along, weren’t you? That’s cold.”

  Hmm. Maybe he wasn’t such a malleable idiot, after all. “I took no pleasure in killing the boy.”

  There’d been no regret, either. It was simply a matter of doing what had to be done.

  There was little in life that evoked any kind of emotional response these days, except for obsession with the plan. The plan was everything. What was the old adage? Living well is the best revenge? Eventually they’d get there. The opportunity to live very, very well had been the key motivator to recruit the experts needed for each specific task.

  But creating and carrying out the plan itself—besting the brilliant Damon Sinclair—was the real prize. It was the main reason to get up in the morning, the only true satisfaction that life still offered after being cheated out of so much. They’d had an initial setback with the codes and inability to break into Damon Sinclair’s lab. But mistakes were easily dealt with. Anyone who stood in the way of the intended outcome—either through incompetence, weak will and a loose tongue, or just plain bad timing—was considered a mistake. It was a basic law of business—trim the fat and hold tight to the goals of the plan.

  “Kenny had to go. The boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And Sinclair and that woman were too close.” Standing and stretching reinvigorated a body that had once been in much better shape. “My involvement must remain completely secret or Sinclair will gain the upper hand. And I got tired of his having all the advantage a long time ago.”

  The black-haired man had the nerve to question their progress. “You think we have an advantage? There’s still a chance the old lady could wake up and tell someone she recognized you. Or me.”

  Back to idiot, after all. If it wasn’t that he had one valuable role left to play, he might be gone as well.

  “If we’re lucky, she’ll die of old age before I have to go back and finish the job. In the meantime, the good doctor seems to have a new weakness.” Outside the window, the streetlights glinted off the sleek finish of Damon Sinclair’s black Lexus as it pulled into the parking garage next door. The woman in the front seat with him was chatting away, as usual. Was that a nervous habit? Or did she really think she had something interesting to say?

  “I’ve seen what you mean.” The black-haired man came to the window as well. “Who’d have thought she could be his type? Brassy, bossy. No style beyond plain and simple. Hell, I bet she doesn’t even own a dress.”

  “A man gets lonely. Besides, all he feels for her is guilt. Responsibility. That has always been a downfall of Dr. Sinclair’s—thinking he has to take care of others because he’s so much smarter or richer than any of them. Such arrogance. He pours his cash into this money pit for a handful of tenants who barely exist.”

  “I thought buying the building was your idea. To get him away from the main offices and security force at SinPharm.”

  True. Having Sinclair working off-site had given them both the access and cover to plant the original “accidental” explosion in his lab. But that had not gone as smoothly as originally envisioned.

  Now the headache was back, throbbing between the eyes and at the rear of the skull. “I meant it to be a short-term investment for resale. I had no idea he’d get caught up in historical reclamation.” Massaging the back of the neck did nothing to ease the pain. “He gives patients their medications for free or at reduced rates. Spends millions on research for the ‘benefit of humanity’…and he doesn’t even take care of his own. Except for that old woman.” Bank accounts didn’t lie. “He let the profit margin slide, and company revenues went down.”

  “I thought you said he took the hit himself so that investors wouldn’t see any of that loss.”

  “All his top executives took that hit. But he was the only one who could really afford it. If he’d listened to me, and reinvested instead of giving and spending, we’d all be rich.” And none of this would have had to happen. “He has a head for science, not business. That’s why he’s always needed me. That’s why he’ll wish he’d listened to my advice when he had the chance.”

  Jock Hannity should have listened. Kenny Kenichi should have listened.

  “He’ll listen now. Or lose everything. He will give us those codes and he will pay. For costing me a fortune I have every right to, and for what he did to Miranda Sinclair.”

  The black-haired man went pensive. “I loved her, you know. I miss her.”

  “I know.” It didn’t mean anything, but the beard-roughened face deserved a gentle touch. “In her own way, I think she loved you, too.” Now where’s my handkerchief? The hand needed to be wiped clean. “But she’s gone.”

  The black-haired man had never liked that answer. “So why was Kenny the only casualty when you had a chance to take out Sinclair and that Snow woman at the same time?”

  “Because that wasn’t the plan.”
Damon Sinclair hadn’t suffered enough. “The doctor and the woman will die. But on my terms, not because it’s convenient.”

  “And the money?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Everything is in place now.” A pointed look demanded absolute success. “If you did your job as I instructed.”

  The black-haired man laid a rough hand on his partner’s shoulder and squeezed. Once upon a time, a massage like that had been service enough.

  But his next words gave even more pleasure.

  “It’s done. All of it. All you have to do is tell me when. Then that lab, and all of its secrets, will be ours.”

  Did the idiot really not have any idea how this was going to play out? I guess broad shoulders and technical know-how only get you so far.

  The Sinclair lab and all of its secrets will be mine.

  Chapter Ten

  “Good night, tough guy.”

  Kit leaned down and kissed Matt’s cheek before pulling the covers up around his shoulders. Sprawled across the sofa bed in Damon’s book-lined study, he looked more like the baby brother who’d made a regular habit of tucking plastic bugs into her pockets or beneath her pillow, just to hear her scream. She smoothed Matt’s hair off his forehead, feeling a stab of unexpected grief when she saw that without the spiky hair and attitude, he was growing into a carbon copy of their father.

  “Keep an eye on this one, Dad,” she prayed. “Keep him safe.”

  Gritting her teeth to keep the sentimental tears in check, Kit cinched her robe tight around her waist and headed for the crack of light at the door. She’d sat there in the shadows, watching Matt sleep, long after they’d finished their heart-to-heart and he’d drifted off to sleep. They hadn’t resolved every issue between them, but the lines of communication were open and a couple of basic agreements had been made. One, she’d be less of an overprotective second mom and more of a friend if he was less secretive and gave her fewer reasons to worry. And two, they loved each other. They shared a bond forged by a happy childhood and tested by grief and danger. That bond would hold, no matter what other challenges life threw their way.

  But she’d silently mused on the past long enough. Time to take care of the needs of the present. Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, Kit silently closed the door behind her and went in search of their host.