“Okay, let’s get you to a secure location,” said White, taking him by the upper arm and leading him toward the doors, the others covering their exit. As they left the climate controlled building into the sticky evening air, sirens rapidly approached, flashing emergency lights flickering as a stream of police cars raced down the road, turning into the parking lot and screeching to a halt, the officers jumping out, weapons drawn.
“We’re definitely not keeping this one quiet,” said the large black man to his right.
They’re going to kill everyone I know!
Constitution Tower, New Orleans, Louisiana
Detective Isabelle Laprise parked, stifling a yawn. She had caught the call near the end of her shift and had volunteered to take it.
Why go home to an empty apartment?
Four dead, gangland style shootout. It had at least sounded interesting, especially when she heard all four were Caucasian wearing suits. It didn’t fit the normal profile.
“Are you going to be able to stay awake for this?” asked Detective Ray Salinger as they exited the vehicle. “You do know the night shift could have taken this?”
Isabelle shot Salinger a look. She had known him for a about a year but it had only been a few months since they found themselves working together. After the plague incident a couple of years ago where New Orleans was ground zero, she had bounced between partners far too often, none really meshing, most complaining to the LT that they wanted out of the partnership, she too hardheaded.
It didn’t bother her that much, though it did a little. The problem was it wasn’t really her, it was this façade she had created when on the job. Outside of work she was as nice as could be—or at least that’s how she felt. Perhaps that wasn’t the way others perceived her, then again, if she thought about it, she didn’t have much of a life outside of work.
Another reason her partners seemed to keep deserting her.
She volunteered too often.
Those with families almost always wanted out, but Salinger was single, new to the city, and didn’t seem to mind the long hours.
Except for tonight.
“Hot date?”
He blushed. He was a young pup in her eyes, at least ten years her junior, yet that hadn’t stopped her before.
Dylan!
Dylan Kane had been a CIA operative sent in to help track down the source of the virus that had threatened to wipe out half the planet. Their time together had been brief but passionate, it still firing her fantasies to this day. And there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t enter her apartment hoping she’d find him there.
I can’t believe I still miss him.
There had been a couple of men since then, though none could compare to the fantasy she had built up around Kane, she really not knowing anything about him other than he was a talented agent and a talented lover. She was chronically single, she not wanting to date within the department, and most men too intimidated by her job.
Besides, she never had time to meet anybody because of the job.
The job.
She loved it, yet it also kept her from being loved.
It was frustrating.
Yet it didn’t seem to stop everyone from finding someone special.
“My sister set us up. Blind date,” explained Salinger as they walked toward the office tower entrance, a black SUV parked directly in front of the doors, four men standing around it in fairly casual attire, one taking it to the extreme with a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. All had shoulder holsters filled with weapons.
Must be the Secret Service agents.
“I’ve been on one blind date. Never again,” she replied as the officer in charge of the scene approached. “Good enough looking but my gawd was he self-absorbed.” She stopped, looking at her younger partner. “Want a little bit of free advice.”
“Sure.”
“Let the poor girl get a word in edgewise.” She turned to the Sergeant. “Hey Bill, what’ve we got?”
“We’re treating this as a secondary crime scene. You’ve seen the primary, I assume?”
She nodded. “Just came from there. Four guys dead, shot by these guys”—she nodded toward the SUV—“I presume?”
Sergeant Bill Labelle nodded. “Yeah, they’ve admitted to it. Apparently the perps had kidnapped two people from the Marriott. They were traced here. When the agents arrived, a vehicle was leaving that matched one of their suspect vehicles. They gave pursuit, the suspects opened fire on them so they took out their tires. Suspects then exited their vehicle and opened fire, the agents eliminated the targets, rescued one of the hostages, then returned here when they received intel from the hostage that the second one might be here. He walked out of the lobby just as they arrived.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently they put him in a conference room, yelled at him, then left him alone. He wandered out a few minutes later.”
Isabelle chewed her cheek. “Any idea why they were kidnapped?”
“Well, get this. The guy they found here is Christopher Jones.”
Isabelle’s eyebrows leapt. “Seriously? The dude running for President?”
“Yup. And between you, me and the lamppost, he’s got my vote. ’Bout time someone stood up to the Rooskies.”
“Damned straight,” agreed Salinger. “I’d vote for the guy too. My problem is I think he’s too good to be true. Something’s gotta come out at some point, it always does.”
Isabelle looked at Salinger. “I never realized you were so cynical.”
He shrugged. “You just gotta get to know me.”
She looked at Labelle. “So young and already so jaded.”
The silver-haired Labelle pushed his lips out, nodding. “You should hear my teenage son. The entire world is run by some secret organization of one-percenters that controls the government, police and courts for their own benefit.” He grunted. “In my day one-percenters were bikers, not Wall Street.”
“Now that’s a rumble I’d pay to see,” grinned Isabelle, the three of them laughing.
One of the Secret Service Agents stepped forward and she held up a hand, stopping him. He didn’t look pleased. She turned her back on him. “Anything else I need to know?”
Labelle shook his head. “We’re still canvasing both areas. We haven’t turned up anything here but are pulling the security camera footage. We’ve got lots of cellphone footage of the shootout, but I think that’s pretty clear cut. These guys did it, and were probably in their rights to do it.”
“Agreed. I think the question now is who were the perps and why did they do what they did.” She lowered her voice. “Is he still behind me?”
“Yup.”
“Pissed?”
“Oh yeah.”
She grinned. “And I wonder why nobody likes me.” She turned and walked toward the man, tapping the shield on her belt. “I’m Detective Laprise. You are?”
“Agent White, Secret Service.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Not much. Just that there was a non-lethal attack at the hotel, Mr. Jones and Mr. Quaid were taken here. Mr. Quaid said nothing was asked of him, but Mr. Jones said he was yelled at a lot about Russian sanctions, then left alone. Mr. Quaid was taken with them when they left which is when we intervened. We eliminated the hostiles, took Mr. Quaid into our custody, returned here based on intel from him, and found Mr. Jones in the lobby. We took him into custody and were about to return to a secure location when your people stopped us.”
“I’m going to need to talk to them.”
“Of course, but not here. The hotel is secure—”
“It wasn’t before. And come to think of it, why am I hearing about this for the first time? We had no reports of an assault at the Marriott.”
“They left a note indicating Mr. Jones would be killed if the police were brought in.”
“Then how did you find them?”
“We traced the vehicles.”
�
��How?”
“That’s classified.”
“Uh huh.”
“Am I free to secure these men?”
Isabelle looked through the tinted windows, the faint shadows of two men inside. “Like I said, I’ll need access to them.”
“Absolutely.” Agent White handed her a business card. “That’s a switchboard. Ask for the security detail at the Marriott, they’ll put you through.”
Isabelle looked at the man then the others, their manner of dress suggesting the entire detail had been caught with their pants literally down. Her eyes rested on an Asian man with a lime green visor. “You guys don’t look like Secret Service.”
White chuckled, the Asian man whipping the cap off and giving her a toothy grin. “We were off duty.”
“Uh huh. We were supposed to be too. Shit happens.”
The man smiled, his head bobbing. “Indeed it does.”
She tapped her watch. “I’ll be by later. Don’t leave the hotel.”
White nodded and the four men climbed into their SUV as she waved for the cruiser blocking them to be moved. She turned back to Salinger. “So, where do you think we should start?”
“Primary crime scene?”
“You read my mind.”
Outside Acton & Palmer Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
CIA Agent Sherrie White parked down the street, turning off her lights but leaving the engine running as she carefully observed the neighborhood. She had received the call from Kane only minutes after Chris had left for work and jumped at the opportunity to do something, even if it was off the books.
She chewed her lip as she surveyed the area, finding it hard to believe anything sinister could possibly happen here.
Peaceful.
It was the type of neighborhood she hoped to live in one day with Chris, perhaps have a couple of kids, though if they did, it would effectively kill her budding spy career. There wasn’t officially any policy against deploying women with children to the field, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about actually putting her life on the line when she had a kid back at home.
Then again, thousands upon thousands of women did that every day in the military and police, so why should she be any different?
Because with the CIA you expect to die, then are happy when you don’t.
Her boyfriend’s best friend—and possibly only friend—Dylan Kane, had talked to her about what it was like to be deep undercover. His philosophy, one she hoped she never would adopt, was to assume you were already dead, then party hard when you found out you weren’t. She didn’t think it was any way to live, but Kane was different. Different than anyone she had ever met.
A polar opposite to the man she loved.
She never really understood how they were friends until she had learned over the past couple of years about how horrible Chris’ school years were until Kane came into the picture. She understood how Chris worshipped the slightly older Kane like an older brother, and she could see how Kane felt like that older sibling, having looked out for him for several years, and now again helping him out.
Especially with this Assembly business.
I’m so sick of them!
And she had no idea who ‘them’ were. Chris was the one in real danger and he had been assigned an escort since the first attempt on his life, though now that they were a couple, too much of her life was spent being watched.
I guess I know who watches the watchers.
It was sort of ironic that she was a spy, and hated being spied upon.
Or was that hypocritical?
Either way she didn’t like it, but she loved Chris and didn’t want anything to happen to him. She just hoped that someday they’d figure out who The Assembly were and put an end to them once and for all so they could dump the security detail and move on with their lives.
I wonder if Chris will ask me to marry him.
Probably not. Not that he wouldn’t want to someday, but he was too painfully shy to ever put himself out there like that.
I’ll have to drop some serious hints so he knows what the answer is in advance.
She smiled at the thought.
Mrs. Sherrie Leroux.
She frowned. She had lost both parents in a car accident when she was sixteen, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to drop the name, keeping it honoring their memory in a way.
Mrs. Sherrie Leroux-White?
She turned the engine off, spotting what she had feared she might find.
A car, farther down the street, two people sitting inside, water from the air conditioning system draining toward the curb.
Rookie mistake.
It was a hot, muggy evening, it threatening to rain at any moment. She could understand why they were running the air conditioner for some relief. It made the stakeout more comfortable, and also kept the windows from fogging up.
Now, how to get rid of them?
She smiled.
Easy peasy!
She pulled out her phone, dialing 9-1-1 to report two suspicious men with guns.
Then hung up as the two people leaned together and kissed.
Wrong car.
She shook her head, chuckling as she killed the call. She opened her door, stepping out into the thick heat, window rumblers and central air units groaning away as the buttoned up houses of modern America denied reality.
A shoe scraped behind her and she could almost sense something about to hit her.
She ducked, spinning around as she reached for her shoulder holster.
But it wasn’t enough.
The impact was shocking, excruciating, the thud audible as whatever it was smacked her squarely on the back, the force all the indication she needed that she was now in a fight for her life.
She dropped to the pavement, rolling twice as her hand gripped her Glock, the sight of two men advancing on her, one with a crowbar, the other with a gun, sending her heart racing even faster. The gun was their backup should the silent crowbar not do the job.
Kane was right. They are in danger.
Her only hope to save them was to warn them. She tried to pull her weapon but they were on her before she could draw it completely.
I have to warn them.
She squeezed the trigger.
“Did you hear that?” asked Acton as he leapt for the basement window facing the street, moving the curtain aside slightly. He looked outside but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
Laura joined him. “Sounded like a gunshot to me.”
“Me too.” He looked at the others, all perched on various seats of his future man cave, the basement reno a project that never seemed to gain any traction. “I’m going to check it out. Whoever Kane is sending might be in trouble.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Acton shook his head at Laura. “No, you stay here with them.” He motioned toward the Glock in her hand. “And don’t be afraid to use that. When I come back, I’ll knock on the basement door a two-one-two pattern, got it?”
She frowned. “You need backup.”
“She’s right,” said Milton, wincing as he stood, his back starting to act up, it way past his bedtime. They had been holed up here since Kane’s warning, help apparently an hour away.
And an hour had passed.
He could see it in the eyes of his houseguests that they were all terrified. The guns he and Laura were gripping made them even more so, especially the fact they actually knew how to use them, holding them properly, loading them properly, Laura’s former SAS security team training them well.
If there was to be gunplay tonight, it wouldn’t be the first time.
For either of them.
Acton frowned. “Okay.” He nodded toward the phone. “If you hear anything, you call 9-1-1. And don’t let anybody down the stairs.” He pointed at the spare Glock sitting on the table. “Anyone know how to use that?”
Nobody said anything, then Mai rose, picking it up. “I do.”
Acton smiled. “You’re just full of surpris
es.”
“My brother was a criminal. You pick up a few things.”
Tommy’s eyebrows leapt. “You never told me that.”
Mai blushed. “It’s embarrassing.”
Acton headed for the stairs then stopped, looking at his friends. “Be careful.”
Milton smiled. “That’s what we should be saying to you.” His lips pressed tight together. “Take care of yourselves.”
Acton nodded then rushed up the stairs, Laura on his heels. “Back door,” he said as they emerged into the hallway. “They might be watching the front.”
Another shot rang out.
Laura pushed him from behind, urging him toward the patio door. “Let’s go!”
The first shot had ricocheted off the pavement, causing both men to pause, though only for a moment. The man with the gun raised it, taking aim as Sherrie leapt to her feet then over the hood of a parked car. He held his fire as she hit the pavement hard, her ribs cracking as she smacked into the concrete curb.
She gasped.
Pain is just weakness leaving the body!
Her instructor’s voice barked at her, memories of Quantico flooding back as she pushed herself to her feet, looking for her opponents. The gunman was rounding the vehicle to the left.
But where’s crowbar boy?
A reflection in the car window caught her eye and she dove backward, firing her weapon where she guessed he might be.
And missed.
But he didn’t.
The crowbar caught her in midair, in the midriff, knocking the wind completely out of her, her already tender ribs causing her to cry out in pain, her weapon falling from her hand and onto a perfectly manicured lawn.
She hit the ground on her back and twisted, the follow up blow about to land, the hooked end of the crowbar embedding itself in the soft turf.
She grabbed it and kicked up, catching the bastard in the balls.
He doubled over in pain, she pretty sure his Adam’s apple had a pair of nuts for company.
“Drop your weapons!” shouted someone from across the street. Her assailant with the tenderized gonads reached for his own gun.
Sins of the Titanic (A James Acton Thriller, #13) Page 17