Game of Fear

by Robin Perini

  But she wasn’t stupid, either.

  She quietly put her bags down and reached for the gun in her purse. She didn’t flaunt the fact that she had one, but her father had drummed it into her head that she had to be able to protect herself. Her brothers and the Army had, too. Her ass had been kicked enough times that she knew how to kick one back.

  Not moving, she listened at the door for a long while.

  The apartment was so quiet. Too quiet for Ashley to have miraculously returned.

  She tapped 9-1-1 into her phone, but didn’t hit “Send.” Still, she kept the phone ready, then slowly, methodically searched room to room. The living room. The kitchen. The bedroom. The minuscule bathroom that probably couldn’t fit a bad guy if he tried.

  Just as she went back into the hall to check the final closet, her phone vibrated. She glanced down. Oh God, it was a direct message from her brother Rick from Afghanistan. She’d left e-mails and messages for all three male members of the family to get in touch as soon as possible.

  Quickly, she opened the laptop she’d left on hibernate. The incoming video call flashed. Just when she thought she’d missed him, her brother’s face appeared in front of her. God, he looked exhausted. She studied him more closely. He pretty much looked like she felt. “Hi, Rick.”

  “Hey, Admiral,” he said, his voice jerky in the connection. “What’s going on?”

  Where was she supposed to begin? So much had happened. She didn’t want to tell him, but she knew she had to. Deb took a deep breath. “Ashley’s missing.”

  “What?” He sat up straight and swiped his hand across tired eyes. “Say that again. I don’t think I heard you right. Communication is kind of garbled today.”

  “Ashley is missing. I think she’s been kidnapped.”

  The sleepy look left his eyes, and they took on a deadly intensity that was new to him since going to the Middle East.

  “What are you talking about, she might have been kidnapped? Why didn’t you call?”

  “I hoped I could find her before I had to tell you.” She hesitated. “I know how much stress you and Ben have been under.”

  Rick nearly growled his anger. “Damn it, Red. She’s my sister, too.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Deb rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m really scared.”

  She gave him a rundown of the investigation. If he could have leapt through the screen, he would have.

  “This Gabe Montgomery. Is he legit?”

  Praying her cheeks hadn’t turned pink, she nodded. “He helped when the cops wouldn’t, but we uncovered enough to make them listen to me. I’m going to bring Ashley home.”

  Rick let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t get leave right now. Things are too volatile in . . . Never mind.” He leaned toward the monitor. “I’m sorry I jumped all over you. How are you holding up?”

  She choked back the emotions that had been driving her crazy. “Alone. Like when Mom was sick.”

  He frowned, then his eyes glinted. “What’s the motto?” He slapped his fist against his chest, his normal smile not reaching his eyes. “ ‘Never give up. Never surrender.’ ”

  “You’re comforting me with quotes from Galaxy Quest?”

  “Nonstop fun like I’m having will do that to a person.”

  She smiled because he wanted her to, but they knew the truth. Things weren’t good for the Lansings. “Can you get hold of Ben?”

  Rick’s eyes shifted left, just for a second, and Deb stilled, squeezing her nails into her palm to quell the foreboding rising within her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m getting chatter about some big moves. Ben’s whole unit’s gone quiet.” Rick paused.

  “What kind of chatter?”

  “Sorry, Deb, you’re not need-to-know. I shouldn’t have said that much.”

  She stared at Rick through the screen, studying his features. Oh boy. She didn’t like the looks. Something intense was going down. The worry for her brother that always bubbled under her skin poked through. But she knew asking more questions wouldn’t help. “I understand. If you hear from him, contact me. Please?”

  Her gaze met Rick’s. He was scared for Ben. Deb shivered again. She couldn’t bear the thought of Ben’s black ops identity being discovered.

  “I will, Admiral.”

  Shouting sounded from behind Rick.

  “I’ve got to go.” He faced the screen, his brown eyes determined, yet loving. “Find Ashley, Deb. I don’t want Ben to come out of that hellhole he’s in to find out she’s dead.”

  Just as the screen went dead, a loud crash came from the back of the apartment. A man in a balaclava stood just outside her bedroom door.

  The hall closet. She’d never checked it after Rick called. Fool. Her finger hit the button for 9-1-1, even though she knew no one would get here in time.

  She was on her own. Like always.

  Deb grabbed her gun. So be it.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  DEB GRASPED HER gun in both hands. “On the floor, now, or your brains decorate my apartment.”

  The guy didn’t even hesitate. He whipped a heavy bag at her. It slammed against her hands, the shock knocking the gun from her grip to a spot under the sofa. He had the advantage, and the guy didn’t hesitate, but charged, tugging an M1911 from his belt. No silencer.

  If he’d wanted to shoot her, he would have done it, but he didn’t even aim.

  Then she realized the truth. He didn’t want her dead. He wanted to escape.

  Like hell, buddy. You’re going down.

  He swung the bag again and it smashed into Deb’s chest. She grunted as her belongings scattered across the floor but didn’t take her gaze off him. He charged at her, the ski mask hiding all but heavy eyebrows and eyes wild with anger. She backed up to give herself some clear space, and waited.

  Time seemed to slow. Deb crouched, and he kept coming. With a yell, he lunged for her. Overweight and angry, he was like an enraged bull.

  And she could use his momentum against him.

  She ducked and swept her leg around, smashing him in the side of one knee. A loud pop sounded. He screamed, landing hard on the floor.

  His gun spun across the vinyl. Deb leapt toward the weapon. She reached out a hand, her fingertips brushing the metal grip, but he recovered too quickly and grabbed her ankles, pulling her back.

  She kicked out and connected with his face. He yowled. She twisted to her back. Blood poured from his nose, but he didn’t stop. He fell on top of her, pinning her down with his weight.

  “You’re gonna be sorry, bitch,” his sour breath whispered in her ear. He rose and backhanded her across the cheek. With both hands, he went for a choke hold.

  Gasping for breath, she gouged his face with her fingernails, going for his eyes. When he leaned back to avoid her hands, he made himself vulnerable. She brought up her knee and rammed him hard in the crotch. With a pained groan, he curled up. She kidney-punched him in the back.

  He huddled into a ball.

  “Stay down, you son of a bitch,” she ordered, her breath coming hard. Her focus on him, she turned to his weapon and picked it up.

  Sirens sounded from down the street.

  “You called the cops?” With a quick move for his size, he kicked out and caught her wrist. He connected, stunning her nerves. She dropped the weapon. He staggered to his feet and bolted for the door.

  Deb grabbed a lamp and swung at his head, then tackled him from behind, knocking him to the ground.

  She ripped off his balaclava, and he fought her again like a madman. Deb grabbed his hair in her fist and pounded his head into the floor.

  He grunted a time or two, then stilled.

  Her door burst open. “Sheriff’s Office! Put your hands up.”

  Exhausted, Deb looked up,
still sitting on his hips. “Nice of you to show up, guys. He’s all yours.”

  Two uniformed deputies, weapons drawn, stared at her uncertainly. She recognized them from the bar.

  “This man broke in,” she said calmly and rose, her hands raised. “He stole a bunch of stuff in that bag that’s now scattered all over the floor. When I confronted him, he attacked. I took him down. His gun is over there. Mine is under the couch.

  The guy moaned on the floor and turned over.

  “Menken? What the hell are you doing here?” one deputy said.

  Deb looked closer. Now that he wasn’t attacking her, even with a broken nose and bleeding head, she recognized him! Her robber was a cop.

  The bell sounded on the swinging doors of Sammy’s Bar. Gabe’s attention whipped to the entrance.

  A group of cops wandered in.

  Would this be a break? He’d smiled and joked all day, trying to tease out a hint, a clue of someone who would break through Tower’s wall of corruption.

  “Hoping she’ll show up?” Hawk asked, scooting past him to deliver a beer and burger.

  “She won’t,” Gabe said. “She’s headed straight to the real cops to find her sister. I’m here where I should be.”

  “He still mooning over her?” Zach asked Hawk, as he returned some of the menus to the stack.

  “Pretending not to,” Hawk said. “Your wife and kid make it home okay?”

  Zach nodded, the relief clear on his face.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Gabe said. “I can handle this.”

  Zach hitched onto a bar stool and met Gabe’s gaze. “I think staying here is the right thing to do. From what I’ve heard, that woman is going to need help, and you won’t be able to stay away, little brother. You care too much.”

  With a frustrated grimace at his brother, Gabe grabbed some menus. Trouble was, Zach was right. He couldn’t get his mind off Deb. Was Neil taking her seriously? Had Tower cut off the investigation?

  He approached a table of deputies, their heads bent together.

  “Did you hear Internal Affairs is after Wexler?” one whispered, before looking around. He caught sight of Gabe and paled. “Just a plate of appetizers and a pitcher of beer,” he rushed out, waving off the menus.

  Gabe headed to the kitchen to put in the order. Been this way all day. Lots of whispering, lots of scanning other tables, lots of wary, somewhat fearful looks. It didn’t take a genius to guess why. Stolen evidence, rumors about Neil Wexler, Internal Affairs on the prowl.

  Not a fun time at the sheriff’s office.

  The entrance bell sounded again. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe recognized two out of three of the musketeers. Where was Menken? Conversation hushed. They walked over and slid onto a couple of bar stools. Gabe gave Hawk a small nod, and he moved aside. This could be his chance. Menken was the leader. Without him there, the guys may have their guard down.

  Gabe rounded the bar. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

  He took the order and had just started to pull a draft for them when a familiar head poked in through the kitchen door.

  Ernie? In the bar? In the daytime?

  Gabe nearly dropped the beer. Forcing himself to remain calm, he slid the foam-topped beverage to one of the cops. “Hawk, can you finish up?” he said quietly and walked toward the kitchen.

  The snitch ducked behind the door. What the hell was he doing?

  Gabe snagged his jacket from the hook beside the exit and stuffed his arms into the down coat. Even in the afternoon, the winter chill snapped in the air.

  “Ernie? I thought you said you’d never come into a cop bar.” Gabe’s breath puffed with each word. Had he finally caught a break?

  The guy had plastered himself against the building. “Things change.” He turned to Gabe. “You gotta help me, Montgomery. I got information, but you have to get me out of Denver. Hide me or something.” His gaze swept the area wildly. “Bad things are going down. I need out.”

  “Slow down, Ernie. What’s going on?”

  “Promise first. I give you this information, you’ll help me disappear.”

  Gabe nodded. A guy this scared had to be telling the truth.

  “You know Grace O’Sullivan?”

  “Yeah.” Gabe wasn’t about to admit exactly how. Grace had been Steve Paretti’s high school sweetheart. She’d also been Luke’s informant on the gritty exposé he’d done last year on the mob.

  “Jeff Gasmerati knows about her. About her connection to Luke, and they just learned that she also contacted someone in Witness Protection,” Ernie said beneath his breath. “They’re going to kill her. Make an example out of her. Her husband has to do the hit to show his loyalty.”

  She could bring the whole organization down. Gabe let out a loud expletive. “Wait here.”

  He snagged his phone and called Luke.

  “What’s up, Gabe?” his brother asked. “I don’t have anything more for you.”

  “Can you contact Grace?”

  “Why would you ask?” His brother’s voice grew cautious.

  “Jeff Gasmerati put a hit out on her.”

  “Damn.” Luke hung up.

  Yep, Luke knew where Grace was. She must have been in contact again. Gabe turned to Ernie. “I’ll get you some money to hide. Stay out of sight.”

  Gabe bypassed the kitchen to his small office and opened the safe. He pulled out some cash, then dialed another number.

  “You shouldn’t call me here,” his brother Nick hissed. “You know that.”

  “I need help. I need to put a snitch in protective custody and I can’t trust the sheriff’s office.”

  “What’s going on?”

  When Gabe mentioned Grace, his brother’s swearing made it clear he understood the severity of the crisis.

  “Hole him up somewhere safe. I’ll be in touch.”

  With the WITSEC process hopefully in motion, Gabe hurried outside. The asphalt was empty. As he walked the parking lot, Ernie shuffled out from behind the trash bin. “What took you so long?”

  Gabe passed him a couple hundred. “Find yourself a motel out of the way, get a prepaid cell phone, and stay put. Call me with the number. We can help, but you’re spilling everything. I want Gasmerati and Tower.”

  Ernie’s entire body sagged and he clutched the bills. “Thank you, thank you. Um. You should tell your brother Luke to keep an eye out.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Didn’t hear a hit, just his name.”

  Gabe cursed. “Get out of sight. You know they’ve got ears everywhere.”

  The snitch nodded and scurried across the parking lot and into an alley. Gabe let out a slow breath. If he could tie the ordered hit on Grace O’Sullivan to Gasmerati, or maybe Tower, this whole mess could be over. He made a quick call to Luke, but his brother had already made arrangements for Jazz and Joy to go to a hotel. They were safe. For now.

  Gabe had to find a way to put Gasmerati away, but he didn’t know if the DA would risk Ernie as a witness. Still, people had turned state’s evidence before with worse records than Ernie had racked up.

  With a last glance at his disappearing figure, Gabe opened the door to the bar, removed his coat, and strode inside. He had to let Zach know the stakes had just ratcheted up. His gaze slid over the customers. Tower’s goons had left. “They took off fast.”

  Hawk followed his line of sight. “The moment you walked out to meet Ernie,” Hawk said, under his breath. “Don’t know if they saw him, but immediately after you hit the back room, they threw a couple of twenties on the bar and hightailed it out of here.”

  Gabe’s jaw tightened. Nick better come through fast. If those two had seen Ernie, the snitch might not live to check into his motel.

  Ashley couldn’t tell what time it was. The Warden and Niko had taken her watch, her phone, every
thing she had.

  She now wore their clothes, ate by their schedule. If she wanted anything she had to ask—even down to a drink of water or a trek to the bathroom. She’d read about the psychology of breaking a prisoner’s will. She understood what they were doing.

  Well, screw them. She was her father’s daughter and she wouldn’t break.

  Her fingers pounded the keyboard as her anger mounted. Finally, she relaxed in her chair staring at the code on the latest mission they’d given her. Those bastards. She knew what they wanted from her now. A back door to the NSA databases—and not just any databases. The databases that stored passwords to other databases, computers, and networks.

  They wanted worldwide access.

  Whoever had come up with the idea to use Point of Entry had been smart, much smarter than her—or maybe just more devious. Anyone reaching Level 88 gave these people a key to their local computers and home networks. How many had reached Level 88 over the years?

  God knows she hadn’t suspected anything at all. She’d downloaded the free upgrade to the game without hesitation. She hadn’t checked for secret layers and invisible commands buried in the software.

  The scary part was, if she was right, this updated version of P.O.E. looked like players wouldn’t even have to hit Level 88 before the Warden took control.

  Millions of computer systems worldwide would be compromised.

  “Quit daydreaming, Lansing,” Niko said, eyes narrow and suspicious. “You haven’t touched your keyboard in the last four minutes.”

  “Do you have an aspirin?” Ashley asked, making a show of rubbing her temple and wincing. “I’m getting a wicked headache and it’s hard to concentrate.”

  With an exasperated sigh, he stood. “Come on.”

  He led her past a bevy of kids hunkered down over their machines. They didn’t look up as she passed. Until she reached Justin. She slowed a bit. He had headphones on. His screen showed the latest version of P.O.E. He’d reached Level 65. Still had a ways to go.

  Justin took his eyes off the game and, on-screen, a gun took out his player. He turned white.