Escape (Last Chance Series, Book 3.5) (6 page)

Slowly he pushed the door wider, then after a silent count of three swung into the room.  It looked a hell of a lot like it had when he’d left it.  One of Tracy’s shoes lay on the rug, her silk panties on the floor near the credenza. 

His heart rate slowed as he realized that everything else seemed to be in order.   He’d warned her before about leaving her door open, but she’d never believed it mattered.  As far as she was concerned the hallway was just an extension of the apartment.  And in some ways, he could see her point.

“Tracy?” he called.  “It’s me.  Baby?  Are you here?”  All the lights were on.  He walked through the living room, past the other shoe, and the remnants of his bow tie thrown across a chair.  His body clenched with the memory.  At least the night had started out on a high note.  

But then it had ended at the other end of the spectrum.  He stopped in the bedroom doorway, the tray with the rose petals still sitting on the bed, the ring box beside it, the diamond winking knowingly in the light. 

Frowning, he turned around slowly, taking in the apartment again. Tracy’s dress was pooled on the floor by the bed.  And the rumpled sheets still bore signs of their recent endeavors. 
So where the hell was she? 

He turned around, eyes falling to her cell phone on the bureau next to her purse and her keys.  She wouldn’t have left without her wallet and phone.  His gaze moved to the bedside table.  Except for the lamp it was empty.  With a smile, he nodded, his brain presenting the answer, as relief mixed with frustration.  The ever-present stack of file
folders was missing.  In the space of like fifteen minutes he’d proposed, been rejected and they’d ended their relationship—he’d buried his sorrows in a glass of whiskey, or two—and Tracy had gone to work.

He walked back out the apartment door, turning away from the lobby elevator, heading instead for the private one Tracy used to reach the labs.  If she thought she could forget about him that easily, she had another think coming. 

“Move.”  The guy with the gun shoved it into the small of Tracy’s back propelling her forward into the lab at the far end of the corridor.  She stumbled as she stepped into the room, fighting to keep her balance.

Across the way, a second man straightened from the back of the room where he was inspecting the body bays.

“Who the hell is this?” he barked, his eyes narrowing, his lecherous gaze moving along the curves of her t-shirt and sweats, his lips twitching slightly as he reached her bare feet.  His hand rested on the butt of a gun protruding from the waistband of his pants, his fingers stroking it in a way that made Tracy’s skin crawl. 

“Does it matter?” the other man responded, his fingers closing around the tender skin above her elbow as he pulled her farther into the room.  “The point is that she’s here.  And that she knows we killed the guard.”

“I take it you didn’t find anyone else?” the second guy asked, his gaze shifting to his friend.   

“Jesus, Marshall, I told you I checked the security feed. The corridors were empty.”

“Well, you didn’t see her now did you?” Marshall shook his head, clearly exasperated with the other man. “Which makes me wonder what the hell else you might have missed, Henry.”  He said the name deliberately.  Clearly angry
with Henry’s use of his name. 

“I didn’t miss anything,” Henry replied, his tone belligerent.  “I’m telling you the feeds were clear. I don’t where she came from.  But now that we’ve got her, it’s easy enough to make her disappear.”  He raised the gun, the muzzle pressed into the back of her neck now.

Tracy held her breath, frantically trying to figure a way out, but there didn’t seem to be any options, and she could see from the glint in Marshall’s eyes that he was in agreement with his friend.

“Maybe I can help you,” she said, lifting a hand in supplication.  “If you’re trying to find drugs you’ve got the wrong floor.  The only things we have worth stealing are two floors down.”   They actually didn’t have much of anything with street value.  But the men had no way of knowing that.

Marshall considered her words, his expression contemplative.  “We’re not after drugs. We’re actually here to find a friend of ours.”

“I beg your pardon?” In her confusion Tracy actually forgot to be afraid.  “There isn’t anybody here.”

“Not living.”  Marshall shrugged again, reaching out to open another drawer.

“You’re looking for a body.”  It was a statement not a question, but Marshall answered anyway.

“Yeah.  A body.  A friend.  In this case, it’s one and the same.”  He slammed the drawer shut, the sound echoing through the lab.  “He’s not here either.”

“So let me do the girl and we’ll get the hell out of here,” Henry offered, his fingers still biting into her skin.

“Let’s not get in too big of a hurry,” Marshall said, thumbing through a stack of papers on the desk in the corner.  “Looks like she might be of use after all.”  He held up the slick front of a brochure.  Braxton Labs—with Tracy’s face plastered across the back panel.  “Looks like you managed to catch a big fish.”

“What are you talking about?”

“According to this brochure, you’ve managed to capture Tracy Braxton.  This is her lab,” he held up the photo for Henry to see.

“No fucking way.” In any other situation, Henry’s disdain would have made her laugh, but now, in the moment, it pissed her off, and without thinking,
she swung back with an elbow, slamming into the guy’s solar plexus.

He grunted in pain and then smacked her across the side of the face with the butt of the gun, sending Tracy sprawling across the floor.  A glass dish, dislodged as she fell, shattered against the concrete.  Stars shot across her field of vision, pain exploding in her head.

“Goddamned bitch,” Henry growled, lifting the weapon, his eyes glittering with anger, one hand clutching his abdomen where she’d hit him.

At least she’d die knowing she’d inflicted a little damage. 

“Hold on,” Marshall said, waving a hand to call Henry off.  “No point in terminating what could be a very beneficial relationship.”  He was staring at her breasts again, and Tracy wished to hell she still had the scalpel. 

Henry grunted his protest, but Marshall waved him quiet.  “This place is a fucking maze and so far we’ve come up with exactly nothing.”  He paused for a minute, his gaze colliding with hers.  “So how about it Ms. Braxton?  You want to be helpful or you want Henry here to do his thing.”

It was a no brainer really.  Anything that might buy her some time.  “What is it you need from me?”  She rolled to a sitting position, wiping a trickle of blood from her temple.  Despite the pain, there didn’t seem to be more than a surface cut. 

“I don’t know,” Henry shook his head, his gun still trained on her.  “What if she tries to trick us?”

“Then she dies.”  Marshall pulled his own weapon.  A wicked looking little Sig-Sauer.  “Are we all clear?”

“Crystal,” Tracy said, lifting one shoulder in acceptance.  “So who are you looking for?”

Marshall perched on the edge of the desk, still holding the Sig.  “Walker Fitzpatrick.”

For a moment Tracy’s mind went blank. She started to shake her head,
then she remembered.  The guy at the bottom of the well.  The DOD employee.  The accident that wasn’t.  “So I was right ,” she murmured, “the man
was
murdered.” She lifted her gaze to meet Marshall’s.  “And I’m guessing you were responsible for that?”

“Right.” Marshall rolled his eyes.  “And now I’m breaking into a morgue just to be sure he’s dead.  I thought you were supposed to be some kind of big-wig investigator.”

“I use science to figure out circumstances surrounding a suspicious death.  And most times from there I go on to figure out who did it.  But I’m not a mind-reader.  I just assumed that since you broke in here in the middle of the night and killed my security chief that you’re not one of the good guys.”

“Well, now that kind of thing is purely subjective, isn’t it?”  His smile was hollow.  “But you can rest assured I’m not the one who killed Fitzpatrick.  Stupid prick.  Hell, truth is, the only thing I really care about is the package he was carrying.”  

“Well, if he had anything with him, it’ll be with the police in Minnesota. Not here in my lab.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that,” Henry said, still rubbing his gut where she’d hit him. 

“Fine.  I’ll take you to the body.”  She glanced around the room, looking for something she might be able to grab.  A weapon of some kind.  “It’s not here.  We’ll have to go down one floor.”

“Lead the way.”  Marshall reached down and jerked her up, the motion sending the pain
crescendoing through her head again as broken glass cut into her bare feet.  She bit back a cry, fighting a wave of dizziness.  If she was going to find a way out, she had to keep her head.

They walked out into the hallway, Tracy limping as Marshall held her arm, his gun jammed into her side.  Henry flanked her on the other side, his weapon at the ready.  And from the expression in his eyes it wouldn’t take much provocation to convince him to use it.  The man definitely held a grudge.

They reached the elevator, and when Tracy reached for the call button, Marshall pulled her back. 

“Just one floor, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, wincing as the gun’s muzzle bit into the skin between her ribs.

“All right,” he said, “then we’ll take the stairs.  Henry, make sure everything is clear here, then follow us.”

The other man nodded his acceptance, then moved off in the opposite direction.  Marshall pushed Tracy through the doorway that lead to the stairs. 

“So what is it you’re hoping to find?” Tracy asked as they started down, blood from her cut feet staining the stairs.  “I mean, besides the man’s body.”

Marshall was silent and, for a moment, Tracy thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then with a shrug, he replied.  “Information.  I’m looking for the information that Fitzpatrick was selling my boss.”

“State secrets?” She shivered at the thought, wondering what Fitzpatrick had gotten his hands on. 
Something worth this kind of effort to retrieve obviously.  “But I told you there were no personal effects delivered with the body.  He was taken to the morgue in Minnesota first.  They did the rudimentary workup on the body.  So the guy didn’t even have his clothes when he came to us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Marshall said, “the information is inside him.   It was Fitzpatrick’s idea.  He was really paranoid.  Afraid that his boss was going to figure out what he’d been up to.”

“Treason?” She said the word sweetly, but she could feel Marshall tense beside her. 

“Look, lady, my job is just to retrieve the microchip.  I don’t give a fuck what’s on it.  I just care about the pile of money I’m going to get paid for my trouble.”

“Right.  And to hell with national security.”

“Works for me.   Besides, it’s not like it’s all lollipops and roses on the other side of the equation.  You’re just lucky we got here first.  The
man who killed Fitzpatrick was hired by the company that he stole from.  And believe me, Victor Cherov is a man who shoots first and asks questions later.” 

Tracy shivered.  She’d heard of
Cherov.  Not a man she wanted to tangle with.  But that didn’t make her current situation any less dangerous.  Marshall shoved her forward again as they stepped out into the hallway on the lower floor.  “Which way?”

For a moment she thought about trying to stall him further.  Pretending she didn’t know where the body was.  But that was simply postponing the inevitable. Better to try to use something in the lab to turn the tables.  And better to do it now before Marshall’s friend came back.

“He’s in here,” she said, pointing to the door just across the corridor from the stairs.  

Gripping her elbow, Marshall propelled her into the room, his gun still biting into her side. 

“Where?” he asked as he flipped on the lights.  She blinked in the sudden brightness, waiting for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the bright light.

“Third drawer from the left.” 

He pushed her forward.  “Open it.” 

She reached for the bay, her fingers closing around the steel handle.  The heavy drawer was built on gliders, meaning that it took very little effort to open it.  And with a little force, it just might be able to do some damage.  The key was to get Marshall into the right position. 

“So is this him?” she asked, keeping her voice as low key as possible, as she began to ease the drawer out. 

As intended, Marshall moved closer to the end of the drawer, his attention on the body inside.  And with a surge of adrenaline, Tracy yanked the drawer out.  But Marshall was faster, wheeling out of the way, his hand closing on her shoulder, jerking her against his body, the gun jammed into her side.

“Next time you try something like that,” he warned, his breath hot against her neck, “I’ll blow your fucking head off.  Do I make myself clear?”

Tracy nodded, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs.  She had no doubt that Marshall was telling the truth. 
If not now, then most definitely later.  There was no way he was going to just let her walk out of here.  So the best she could do was continue to play for time and pray for a miracle.