Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8)

by Heather Slade

  “Tara?”

  “I can’t explain it.”

  Anger and frustration seeped out of every one of Knox’s pores. “I want to help you, Tara, but until you tell me the truth, I can’t.”

  Like before, when Knox stood silently at the window, neither of us spoke for long enough that I wondered if there was anything left for either of us to say.

  “I’m going to sleep in the other room.”

  He nodded. “I think that’s for the best.”

  I walked across the hallway, closed the other door behind me, and threw myself on the bed. This was no different than the message Penelope had left, accusing me of stealing money and jewelry from her, Aine, and Ava. Actually, it was different. That had been worse. They’d known me almost all my life. Knox didn’t know me at all.

  25

  Halo

  Honestly, what had I expected? That there would be some reasonable or even logical explanation of why her hair was found on a forged painting’s frame?

  I went back downstairs, wishing I had something stronger than wine to drink. It wouldn’t matter if it were grain alcohol, though. Even the ninety-proof shit wouldn’t numb the pain I felt.

  Why had I been so certain Tara was “it” for me? Was it because I’d been so desperate after the plane crash to find someone to spend my life with that I turned a blind eye to the fact I didn’t know her at all? She’d said it again and again. I didn’t know her.

  What a fucking jackass I was, thinking that Tara and I had been making love. It was a giant load of horseshit, and I’d climbed right in the middle of it like it was a field of daisies.

  I went outside and called Tackle.

  “Hey, man.” He sounded groggy.

  “It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon, what are you doin’? Taking a nap?”

  “What do you want, Knox?”

  “Tara Emsworth is the art forger. This whole time, her little-miss-innocent, serious-lack-of-self-esteem bullshit was all an act.”

  “Hang on a sec.”

  I heard rustling in the background, like he had been sleeping. After the sound of two doors closing, he said, “Okay. Start over.”

  “Richard Emsworth is wanted for selling forged art. Millions of dollars worth.”

  “I know that part.”

  “Tara was the one painting the forgeries.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They recovered one and, lo and behold, inside of the frame, they found a hair. DNA matched daddio’s.”

  “It couldn’t have been his?”

  “It wasn’t one hundred percent. If it had been, yes, it could’ve been his. Instead, it means it belongs to one of his children.”

  “And Tara’s the only one?”

  “Unless you’ve found another.”

  “Sorry, man. I haven’t.”

  “I’m grasping at straws. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Said so herself. The only way it wouldn’t be hers is if it belonged to her sibling. Those are the facts.”

  “I couldn’t find any record of Tara’s mother giving birth to another child.”

  Tara’s mother? What about her father? Harder to track if he’d had any other children, but there were ways.

  “Let’s try another tack.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Half-brothers or sisters on her father’s side.”

  “Give me a few hours, and I’ll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, try not to say anything to her that you can’t take back.”

  Tackle ended the call before I could tell him it was way too late for that.

  The next morning, I re-wrapped the painting to return it to Agent Casavetti’s office. The door to the bedroom where Tara was sleeping hadn’t opened, and I doubted it would until after she was sure I’d left.

  I thought about doing so without saying anything, but Tackle’s words replayed in my head. Instead of walking out the front door, I ran back upstairs.

  “Tara?” I called out, knocking.

  “What do you want, Knox?”

  “I need to talk to you before I leave.” I tried the knob, but the door was locked.

  “Hang on,” she said, opening it seconds later.

  “Hi.” I wanted to reach out, pull her into my arms, and tell her I knew it had to be a mistake, that I’d been wrong last night. I even wanted to pretend none of it had happened. There hadn’t been a hair. Or even a painting recovered. That there hadn’t been a DNA match.

  Her eyes were swollen from crying, and she looked like she hadn’t gotten any more sleep than I had. Behind her, I saw her bags were packed.

  “I have to go into Florence, but when I get back, I’ll talk with Pia about you staying in the villa.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going home. Back to America.”

  I leaned against the doorjamb. “When did this come about?”

  “I called Quinn last night. She’s making the arrangements with her dad today. I’m sure you’ll hear something directly from him.”

  I turned to walk away but looked back at her. “Tara, can you tell me I’m wrong? Can you give me any explanation for why your hair was found in the painting?”

  Her deep blue eyes flooded with tears, and she turned away from me. “I cannot.”

  Once in the car, I checked the time. It was one in the morning in California. I’d likely hear from Doc later, after he made arrangements for Tara to travel back to the States. If he’d let me, I wanted to go with her. Even if she didn’t want me around, I’d be there. I’d stay quietly by her side, through whatever she faced. There was a good chance that if she gave up her father, she’d get a deal and not have to serve jail time. I had no doubt Doc would work hard on her behalf to see to it that it went down exactly that way.

  Memories of my dad flashed in my mind. “Even if it seems insurmountable, we will always be there for you, Knox. We will always do everything in our power to help you get through whatever obstacles you face.”

  I hated leaving Tara right now. So much that I thought about racing back upstairs, repeating my promise to help her, and taking her with me to Florence, just so I could have her in my sight.

  I couldn’t do that, though. She didn’t trust me, not that she had reason to. Even if I swore I wasn’t taking her into custody, she wouldn’t buy it.

  I started the engine, telling myself that the faster I got to Florence, the sooner I’d be back.

  I was about to walk out of my meeting with Agent Casavetti when both of our cell phones rang. At the same time, someone ran toward us in the hallway.

  “There’s been a shooting at Valentini. Two agents are down!” the man shouted.

  “I’m calling Lucia,” Matteo said, hitting the screen of his phone with the tip of his finger. “Quello che è successo?” he shouted when she answered. “Wait. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “Mancuso is down, so is Romano.” It sounded as though she was running.

  “What about Tara?” I asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Where is Pia?” asked Matteo.

  “She and her mother are in Milano. They left early this morning.”

  “Confirm that,” Matteo said to me.

  I stepped away and dialed Pia, who immediately answered. “Hello, Ben. How are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine, Pia. Thanks. Um, did you happen to speak with Tara this morning?”

  “Tara?”

  “I’m sorry. Catarina.”

  “No, my mamma and I left very early. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.”

  “Ben? You’re worrying me.”

  “She and I had a spat, is all.”

  “I see. I warned you not to hurt our Catarina.”

  “I’ll do my best to make it up to her. I promise. I’ve got to go. Oh, before you hang up, when do you think you’ll return?”

  “Not for a few days. I told Catarina this yesterday. I’m
taking my mamma to see a medical specialist. Is there a reason I need to come back?”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry to have bothered you with this.”

  I relayed everything I’d learned from Pia to Matteo as we raced out of the building. Not far from where we stood, a helicopter waited to transport us to Valentini. We were inside, headsets on, when another call came through from Lucia. Matteo hung his head as he listened.

  “Both Mancuso and Romano are dead. Tara Emsworth is nowhere to be found.”

  Once back at Valentini, I couldn’t control the thoughts racing through my head. There wasn’t a single part of me that believed Tara killed two AISE agents. Imagining what might have happened instead, left me feeling so sick to my stomach that I’d attempted emptying it more than once.

  I watched from the terrazza as a team from AISE continued to comb the farmhouse for evidence. Other than the fact that the two men assigned to her detail were dead, there was no other sign of a struggle.

  I checked the time. It had been seven hours since the call came in, saying the two agents were down. Seven hours since I called Doc to brief him on what had transpired and tell him that Tara was, again, missing.

  It would be another eight before he and whomever he was bringing from the K19 team landed at the Florence airport. The only person I knew for certain was coming, other than him, was Tackle. Doc made it clear that when the K19 plane stopped at the private airfield near JFK to refuel, Tackle would meet them there.

  “Wait,” I’d said before he ended the call. “I’m sorry, Doc.”

  “Apology not accepted. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

  Whatever the ultimate outcome, I’d handled so many things wrong since the day I first set foot in Italy that I didn’t deserve to become a K19 partner. Security guard at a mall would be out of my reach.

  Matteo was the lead on the investigation into Tara’s disappearance and the death of the agents. Initially, he’d deferred to me, but I told him I was standing down.

  “We’re checking in with informants and running as much security footage as we can,” he reported. “So far, nothing.”

  It was just after one in the morning when Doc, Tackle, Striker Ellis, and Razor Sharp walked into the farmhouse on the Valentini estate. Matteo Casavetti and the rest of his team had left a little after ten, promising to be back at eight the next morning.

  “There’s another vehicle behind us,” said Doc, stepping aside to let Tackle greet me first.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I fucked up big time, man,” I mumbled, turning my back to the other two guys.

  The front door opened again. Gunner Godet and Mercer Bryant, along with his wife, Quinn, Razor’s wife, Ava, Aine McNamara, and Penelope Ramsey walked in.

  “I don’t know about the other two, but both Ava and Quinn threatened their husbands with divorce if they couldn’t come along,” said Tackle, who stepped aside as, one by one, the four women hugged me.

  “Have a seat, Halo,” said Doc. “We’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve learned.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was sit, but I followed Doc’s orders anyway.

  “Two things,” said Razor. “First, we have reason to believe Tara was taken by men working for the ’Ndrangheta crime syndicate.” He looked over at Ava, who was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m okay. Go on.”

  He sighed. “They’ve all been briefed,” he said to me. “This isn’t news to them.”

  I nodded. “Is there more?”

  He tossed a couple of grainy photos down in front of me. One image made me feel more nauseous than I had in my life. It was of Tara, being carried into a building, blindfolded, bound, gagged, and more than likely drugged.

  “Is this her father?” I asked, pointing to the photo of a man who appeared badly beaten. The question I wanted to ask, I wouldn’t. Not with Tara’s four best friends in the room.

  “Tackle?” said Doc.

  My friend stood, picked up his laptop, and sat beside me. “Your hunch about the half-sibling was dead-on, Halo. Tara doesn’t have any full brothers or sisters, but her father did have a child with another woman before he married Tara’s mother. My guess is he kept that kid’s mom and maybe even the kid himself, paid off for years. He doesn’t go by Emsworth. The name is Brando Ripa.”

  Tackle opened several images on the screen. “This was taken a few years ago when he graduated from the Art Institute of Chicago. Before you ask, it is known more for being a museum, but there is a college attached to it. They call it the School of AIC. It’s considered one of the best art colleges in the world.”

  He moved the image on the screen so it was side by side with the one I took of the man I saw with Tara in the casina. It was impossible to tell for sure, but it could be the same guy.

  “He left the States shortly after college and took up residence in Europe.”

  “You think he’s the forger?”

  Tackle nodded. “Not only that, I’m not entirely certain that Papa Emsworth knew what his son was up to.”

  He opened another document that looked like a bill of sale. “This lists four of the paintings that were reported to be forgeries.” It was easy to see that Richard Emsworth had paid a hefty price for the originals. “There’s provenance included with the invoice for every one of the pieces of art. We have more of these that also show provenance.”

  “We need to get on the move if we wanna get in and out before daylight,” said Gunner, motioning with his head.

  “Halo, the choice is yours. Stay or go,” said Doc. “Either way, every one of us will back your decision.”

  “Go,” I answered without hesitation. There was no fucking way I could stay here while the rest of the team attempted to clean up my mess. The other thing was, if it came down to it, I wouldn’t hesitate for a split second to give my life to save Tara’s.

  “Eighty-eight, Razor, you’ll stay here. Relay as much as you can find out about Ripa. Everyone else, gear is in the vehicles. Suit up. AISE is sending a team to meet us.”

  We were close to Florence, on the outskirts of where AISE’s informant had said Tara and her father were being held in an abandoned warehouse, when I finally got the balls to ask. “Tara?”

  Gunner, who was in the front passenger seat, turned and looked back at me. “First of all, we don’t think the ’Ndrangheta family believes Tara had anything to do with this. What we do think is that the father is refusing to give up the whereabouts of the son.”

  “And Tara will?”

  Gunner shook his head. “Daddy will pick her over him.”

  “And then what?”

  “We get there first.”

  26

  Halo

  “Well, looky there,” said Gunner through my earpiece. “One o’clock from the building’s entrance, boys. Head ’em off.”

  Through my night-vision goggles, I got a clear read on the man I’d seen with Tara, being led from a vehicle toward the warehouse where she and her dad were being held.

  “Stand down,” said Gunner when I took a step forward. “Follow my lead.”

  I watched as the two men escorting Brando Ripa dropped to the ground after being taken out by a bullet, one each, in the head. Before their captive could flee, Doc, Striker, and two AISE agents grabbed him and pulled him into a waiting SUV.

  “We’re up,” said Gunner, motioning for me to follow. “You know what to do?”

  “Affirmative.”

  The hand-held radar device AISE employed, indicated there were six people inside the building. Which meant with four of us along with six from AISE, the ’Ndrangheta who were guarding Tara and her father were greatly outnumbered.

  I had one job. Get in. Get Tara. Get out. No matter what else was going down, I was not to engage. Tackle’s job was to get Tara’s father.

  “Get your asset and get the fuck out,” Gunner repeatedly barked at us. “Nothing else. Do you understand me?”

  “Copy that,” I
’d muttered.

  “Let the big boys take care of the dirty work.” I swear I saw him rub his hands together.

  Seconds before we entered the building, the power was cut. “There!” Gunner said through the earpiece, pointing toward a body prone on a mattress on the floor. I raced over and gathered Tara into my arms, shielding her with my body as shots rang out all around us. There were more in the building than AISE had originally counted, but it wasn’t up to me to cover the rest of the team. My job was to get Tara out. That was it.

  I raced out the door into another waiting SUV. Lucia was behind the wheel. As soon as I had Tara inside with the door closed behind me, she sped from the building.

  “She’s breathing. Doesn’t appear to have any visible injuries,” I said, untying the ropes binding her. Once I freed her arms and legs, I removed the piece of cloth they used as a gag and then the blindfold. I cradled her in my arms, stroking her hair.

  “We need to take her to a hospital,” I said to Lucia, whose eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror.

  “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  “She was obviously drugged with something.”

  Tara’s eyes opened suddenly, and she thrashed against me. While I’d removed my helmet and face shield, the tactical gear I still wore must’ve frightened her.

  I held her arms when she tried to hit me. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe now, Tara.”

  While I’d thought she was awake, it appeared more now that she was caught somewhere between the states of sleep and consciousness. She continued to struggle, trying to hit me, and yelling to let her go.

  “Tara, it’s Knox! Wake up!” I shouted. She stopped moving, and her eyes studied me.

  “You kidnapped me!”

  I kept my grip tight on her wrists as much to stop her from hurting herself as me. “I rescued you.”

  “The last thing I remember…” She closed her eyes tight and then dissolved into sobs. “You promised I’d be safe. You promised no one would get to me.”