by LAURA HARNER
After identifying all the areas of egress on this side of the building, Cliff selected his entrance, removed a small length of detonation cord from one of the many pockets on his vest, then zipped his jacket. Now that he’d made his choice, the plan was to get inside as quickly as possible. If Kam Wagner was already inside, he’d remain hidden, giving Cliff plenty of rope to hang himself, because the detective would be interested to see how Cliff was involved with Draco. Too bad for Kam, because all he’d catch Cliff at this afternoon was walking through the building to get a feel for the place. Until he had a chance to talk with Draco privately, he was unlikely to discover anything significant. Certainly not the motive behind the shooting.
One thing Cliff would stake his life on—those men were there for the disk, not a previously undisclosed amount of cash. They’d been not much more than hired thugs, and if they’d found a hundred grand in the safe, one of them would have said something.
With a casual gait that was deceptively quick, he made his way down the emergency stairs of the garage, then wound his way through a narrow alley between two commercial structures. He passed through one unlocked gate, a sharp kick opened another, until he was at a partially concealed steel door on the back side of Hard Labour. There were two empty parking slots, which most likely made it the private entrance for the owner. With no time to worry if someone was watching, he wrapped the det cord around the lock, stepped back, then said a silent prayer for no audible alarms.
With a sound not much louder than a pat of butter hitting a skillet, the charge did its job. Cliff opened the door and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind him. He blinked into the dim interior, and wished he could have brought his night-vision goggles. Two steps later air brushed against his neck, and Cliff ducked and whirled.
A familiar bark of laughter rolled across his skin. “About fucking time you got here.”
*
“God, I love to make an entrance,” Rhino said, his laughter spilling out. Cliff’s jaw flopped open and his eyes grew wide as his gaze met Ryan’s.
“You are a certifiable ass. Didn’t you hear a thing I said back at the WSR?”
“Eh? What’s that? Can’t hear you…” Ryan cupped his ear, leaning forward like an old man. He knew he was being an ass, but Cliff had pissed him the fuck off when he’d told him to butt out, like he had an exclusive right to make decisions regarding the two of them.
Before Ryan could continue his antics, Cliff grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. Leaning in, he put his mouth close enough that his breath tickled Ryan’s ear. “Shut the fuck up.”
Ryan jerked back but Cliff’s fingers tightened, and a flush crawled up his neck. It was as angry as Ryan had ever seen his friend…and after twenty years, that was saying something.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? We have no idea who’s in here—I’ve never known you to be so goddam careless on a mission,” Cliff whispered.
“No, actually you haven’t ever known me to be careless, which if you were thinking with your brain instead of your emotions would tell you something. Drop your mission mentality for half a minute and think. Would I be standing here talking to you if I thought either of us could possibly be in danger? Draco has state of the art security installed and I checked the monitors. I’m pretty sure no one’s been here since yesterday when a man I assume is your Detective Wagner reset the alarms. How come you didn’t mention he was hot?”
Although Ryan had done a cursory run-through of the building, he still kept his voice low—there hadn’t been time to check every closet or other potential hiding place.
Cliff’s brows lowered and nearly met in the middle as he frowned at Ryan. Then his hands dropped to his sides, his fingers curling into fists, and Ryan debated stepping out of arm’s reach until he cooled down. “How did you get here before me?”
Ryan shrugged. “I paced you all the way back. As soon as I confirmed you took the turnoff to your apartment, I came here and let myself in with a key…”
“You have a key and decided not to mention it because…”
“Because you were being a stubborn ass and making decisions on my behalf. This isn’t the time or place, but we are going to talk. You don’t get to decide what I do next, Cliff. I might love you—even though I don’t have a goddamn clue what that means—but you’re not the one who gives orders here. Now did you have something in particular you wanted to look at while we’re here—before the cute detective arrives?”
Cliff’s jaw snapped shut and Ryan had a hard time not laughing at the stubborn press of lips.
“All right, you’re pissed…so noted for the record. I’ve walked through the first floor and haven’t seen anything unusual on the premises. I’ve also checked the security feed from the cameras. There’re only three saved files since the shooting by the way, the police took everything else. Your detective is the one who’s showing up at seventeen hundred each day to change out the tape. Seems he believes the killers might return and he wants to know what they look like. Good plan as far as it goes. Follow me.”
Without waiting for a response, Ryan turned and led the way to a door carved underneath the staircase and tapped in a code on the keypad. At the quiet tick of the lock mechanism, he pushed his way inside and waited for Cliff to follow.
Cliff’s head swiveled left and right as he took in the impressive array of video monitors displaying the exterior of the building. “Good setup. Okay, so this is the control center that feeds the security monitors I saw in Draco’s office. Are there any shots from the interior? Did they capture the shooters on screen?”
“The interior cameras are only in the play areas of the club and camouflaged to maintain the illusion of privacy. Draco would’ve had a revolt by most of his customers if they thought he taped their games, but he’d said it was necessary to protect his assets. There aren’t any cameras in place in the staff areas. The exterior is locked up by the angles—no way in or out without getting seen. Makes you wonder why the PD had you looking through the photos, doesn’t it? They damn sure should’ve had a perfect shot of the shooters coming and going.”
Moving to the control board, Ryan pulled up the view from the camera at the owner’s entrance. With a few keystrokes, he rolled back the time setting to the few minutes before he arrived on scene, then digitally spliced an empty shot to remove any evidence of either of them arriving.
“Nice…I wonder if we can get a copy of the confiscated video from the night of the shooting?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a digital recovery on this system. I might be able to retrieve the files once the cop leaves. I’ll try if you want?”
“Yeah—thanks…” Cliff moved toward the door, then stopped with his hand resting on the frame. “Ryan…”
Ducking underneath Cliff’s arm, Ryan trotted up the stairs then waited on the landing. When Cliff trudged up behind him, Ryan bit back his smile. Still keeping his voice low, he gestured down the hall. “This staircase only leads to Draco’s office and a few storerooms. Access to the rest of the second and third floor is from staircases external to the club area to maintain privacy. Except for the owner’s elevator, which you can access behind the bookcase inside the office.”
“You checked the storerooms?” Cliff asked, maintaining his all-business expression.
“Not yet. I haven’t been upstairs either. How do you want to handle it?”
Cliff stared down the hall, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Four rooms. You take left, I’ll take right—let’s clear them, then the office.” He drew his SIG and screwed on the suppressor. Ryan did likewise.
“How certain are you the detective isn’t already in here? I’d hate to shoot him accidentally.”
Ryan shrugged. “He could have done the same splicing I did to hide his arrival, but since it would raise questions about tampering with evidence, my gut says we’re alone. Besides, the place felt…empty. Can’t be positive unless we clear every room. My guess is he’s watching from outsi
de.”
On a silent nod, both men serious now that weapons were drawn, they moved in tandem down the short hallway. It took less than five minutes to verify three of the rooms were empty, and the fourth contained stacks of white cardboard bankers boxes, each labelled with a year—presumably the date of the records within.
“Why would they leave these boxes? Isn’t this evidence of some sort?” Ryan whispered.
“The crime scene is Draco’s office, so even though they would have checked every room in the building, it’s not likely they could take anything not directly related to the shooting. I suppose they’ll dig further into the club background if the investigation wears on?”
“I guess,” Ryan said. “Man, we’ve got a lot to learn if we’re going to be PIs once we retire…”
“Shut the fuck up, Rhino. You’ve got a job to finish,” Cliff said, although a smile played about his lips at the reference to one of many post-Navy careers they’d discussed over the years. Private investigator usually came up after a few too many brews while binge-watching NCIS.
Cliff checked his watch. “Let’s look at the office, then…you said there’s an elevator in there?”
“Yeah. Maybe we can hit the third floor quick and be back downstairs before your detective arrives. Since Draco gave you free run of the place we’ll have plenty of time to look around after he officially turns the keys over. Speaking of which…why’d you blow the door?”
“I was in a hurry. Besides, I didn’t blow it—much. Just took out the locking mechanism. It’s repairable. Come on, let’s hurry.”
Moving quickly, they closed the door behind themselves, then using hand signals, they counted down before bursting into the office, weapons at the ready.
Blood still stained the floor, although someone had cleaned up the biohazards. Draco would no doubt be getting a bill from the local crime scene decontamination contractors. From the angle of the stain, Ryan could visualize where the bartender had fallen, just inside the door. Circumventing the dark mark on the cheap carpet, he stepped farther into the room, aware of Cliff’s presence behind him.
As before, Ryan went left and Cliff right until they cleared the space. When he got to the partially open bookcase, Ryan ducked behind it and stood looking at the bed for a long moment. An ugly heat burned low in his belly when he thought of Cliff lying here, cuffed to Draco’s headboard. Pressing his lips tight together to keep from saying anything stupid like—from now on my bed is the only one you’ll be cuffed to—he flipped on the light switch then crossed to where the elevator doors were partially concealed behind a trifold screen. He pushed the button and they slid open noiselessly.
“I didn’t even know that was there,” Cliff said quietly from the entry.
Ryan turned and walked back to the main part of the office, needing to be away from the bed and the unwelcome images of a bound and submissive Cliff.
“Ryan? Tell me again why you’re here?”
Meeting his friend’s light steel-gray eyes, Ryan waited a beat before he answered. Cliff’s once dark hair was definitely more salt and pepper now, and longer than he usually wore it. He’d been up and getting ready for a run early this morning, with no time for a shave, so his jaw was scruffy and begged for Ryan to touch it, to feel the bristle beneath his palms. The loose-fitting windbreaker did little to disguise the solid build of the man, even under his body armor. Everything about Cliff was just…right.
Why hadn’t he realized this sooner? His heart seemed ready to gallop away, the beat of his pulse sounding loud in his ears. Moistening his lips, Ryan stalled for time, forgetting for a moment what the question was.
“You’re still active duty, Ry…and with your new orders…this really is a situation you shouldn’t be involved in. I appreciate you going through the building with me, but seriously, you need to go before Wagner gets here and officially makes you part of the case. This is something I can handle alone.”
Ryan blinked once, then the truest words he’d ever spoken seemed to tumble out of his mouth. “You’re never going to be alone as long as I’m alive.”
*
Cliff stared at Ryan, trying to make sense of the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. It was the second time he’d said something to shock Cliff since he’d arrived…twenty minutes ago? Before he could ask for clarification, the quiet vibration of his phone against his hip drew his attention. Since he’d had to replace his SEAL issue special communications equipment during his retirement processing, the list of people who had the number could be counted on one hand—Detective Kam Wagner being the first one who came to mind. Cursing the interruption, he snatched the phone and checked the caller ID. Shit. He had to take the call.
He glared at Ryan. “We’re not finished with this. You hold that fucking thought,” he growled out. “Snyder,” he snapped into the phone.
“You’ve got two coming in through the front with automatic weapons. Jesus-fucking-Christ. Go into the private elevator in Draco’s office and lock it down between floors. Shit, Snyder. I’m coming in behind them but reinforcements are three minutes out—”
“Wait outside for backup, Wagner. You’re outgunned and I’m safe…you hear me? Fucking wait outside.” Cliff punched the end button and dropped the phone in his windbreaker pocket, already heading for the door. “We’ve got two targets, carrying automatic weapons of unknown type. Coming in through the front door. Not sure how much time we’ve got. I’m going to hold them until backup arrives. As soon as I have them pinned, you get clear. No vest, no target practice. Non-fucking-negotiable, Rhino—disappear.”
Any response was lost in the sound of the front door glass shattering under a sudden burst of automatic fire that announced the arrival of the would-be attackers. Apparently no time at all was how much they had.
Cliff dove through the doorway, counting on the fact the sound of his movement would be masked because the assholes would have ruined their hearing when they fired. Rolling away from the office door, he came to a stop at the top of the landing and risked a quick look over the stairs. Two men dressed in stocking caps, cammie pants, and black T-shirts held AK47s waist high as they scanned the room. Ducking out of sight of the men below, Cliff used hand signals to indicate there were two men, two weapons. He didn’t bother to turn to see if Ryan was behind him—the signals were standard ops, and Ryan would stick around until he knew Cliff had the situation controlled.
With help on the way, it would be preferable to avoid using his weapon. He was concealed carry permitted in California, but he’d prefer to avoid drawing further scrutiny from the SDPD. He also needed to keep the assholes downstairs to make things easier for the locals. The thoughts flashed through his mind even as his body was putting his plan into action.
Switching the SIG to his left hand, he reached into his vest and removed a flashbang with his right. He risked another look and saw both men’s heads turn toward the opening where a glass door and privacy vestibule had once stood.
Kam Wagner ran toward the doorway, his badge in one hand, his service revolver in the other. His mouth moved, clearly shouting but the words were indistinguishable. The fool hadn’t heeded Cliff’s advice to wait outside. He intended to stage a one-man rescue.
As if in slow motion, the two men raised their weapons and started to turn. Kam was unprotected—a clear shot through the open doorway. Cliff pulled the pin on the stun grenade with his teeth, then memorizing the position of the two men relative to the rest of the room, he closed his eyes and tossed the device ten feet behind them. The blast was deafening, but before the flash even burned out, Cliff was up and firing his weapon, registering the second set of gunshots coming from his left.
“Target acquired,” Ryan said quietly when they stopped firing.
Cliff never hesitated. He turned to Ryan. “Give me your gun,” he ordered, snatching it from Ryan’s hand. He pointed it to the mess downstairs and fired it once, making sure there wouldn’t be any doubts he’d fired both weapons. “Get out of here now, Ry
. There’s nothing to show you were here. Go to McP’s,” he said, referring to the SEAL hang out in Coronado. There would be plenty of willing witnesses to Rhino’s presence.
Ryan stared at him, his large hazel eyes looking nearly brown in the gloom of the hallway. His lips parted, but Cliff couldn’t let him speak. Not right now.
Sirens could be heard, echoing off the buildings, there would only be seconds left.
“Ry, if you care about me even a little, then do this for me. Please? I’ll be okay, everything here is justifiable—and it’s going to take days to clear up. You can’t afford to be involved right now. Get out before anyone sees you. There’s a way off the roof and you know it…” He reached for Ryan’s face, but dropped his hand before touching him. “Please,” he repeated softly.
Nodding once, Ryan pressed a quick kiss to Cliff’s mouth. “Meet me at SEAL Beach next Tuesday. Zero-five-hundred. I’ll be waiting.” Then he turned and ran through the door to the office.
Underneath the wail of sirens, tires screeched on the pavement, and dozens of car doors open, voices shouted. Cliff stayed put, not wanting to draw friendly fire from a wannabe hero. Finally someone seemed to be in charge, as he heard the distinctive click of an amplified bullhorn.
“Police—you’re surrounded. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up.”
Chapter Twelve
Cliff stared at the papers spread on the dining room table and tried to work up some enthusiasm for creating a pros and cons list on his yellow legal pad. Stifling a yawn, he ignored the pen and reached for his coffee instead. Considering how late he’d arrived the night before, he deserved to have at least two cups of coffee before he started the intimidating task of deciding what to do with the rest of his life.
A quick tap on the door was all the warning he got before it swung open.
“Mind if we come in?” Ty asked, stepping through the doorway without actually waiting for an answer. Cass followed close on his heels, a bronze-toned travel mug in his hands.