Exchange of Fire (30 page)

“I’m staying here to work on the last-minute details for the party.”

Sandra heard Grady’s words, could even discern the meaning, but couldn’t think beyond that. Even though they were outside and a warm breeze filtered over the land, she couldn’t get enough air. Oh God, this was it. Her palms dampened and the blood slowly drained from her head.

Cappy clapped Grady on the back. “For a devil nuts jarhead, you’re not that bad.”

“Likewise, groundpounder.” Grady shook Cappy’s hand.

“Ha. Come on, people,” Cappy barked. “Let’s clear out.”

Trembling overtook Sandra’s body and she couldn’t move a muscle.

Talon stayed at the edge also watching Romeo and Magician saying good-bye, then lifted his chin and stared down his nose at Grady. Grady stiffened, and all his muscles bunched. For too long they stayed that way, battling in some silent testosterone-filled war that only men understood. Finally, Grady pivoted and ground to a stop.

His crystal-blue eyes collided with hers. A shiver wracked her from head to toe, and she couldn’t look away from the ice-cold anguish radiating from his irises. His hands clenched into fists and he marched forward, his long strides eating up the distance in only a few steps.

The muscle ticked along his jaw, and she could only attempt to breathe him in.

“I can’t watch you pack—”

“I know,” she whispered hoarsely, trying to hold back her tears. “I couldn’t bear it either.” Her fingers itched to touch his chest, right over his heart, but she held back. “There’s so much I want—”

“Don’t,” he barked, then swallowed and looked away. He seemed to wrestle with something, then held her gaze again, his face now carefully blank. “Just don’t. I got it.” His jaw muscle throbbed faster. “I’d ask you to drop me a line every now and then, but I think in the end that would just prolong . . .”

“You moving on,” Sandra finished with a whisper. “And you should move on, Grady.” She tried to put a little steel in that command, but knew the wobbling belied the sentiment.

He nodded, but she couldn’t figure out if he was actually agreeing with her or answering some silent question in his own mind.

“You deserve to have everything you ever dreamed of,” she said, though she wasn’t sure why she offered the platitude. It sounded hollow and weak, even to her.

He squared his shoulders and jammed his fists into his pockets. “Take care of yourself, and good luck with . . .” He seemed to struggle with the wording. “I have no clue how to wish a champion bowler secret agent sniper luck.”

A choked sound burst from her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to hold the floodgates back.

“If only I knew then just how close to the mark we all were that night when we tried to guess the origins of your wicked aim.”

She couldn’t form a single word. With one quick sentence, he’d destroyed her. Remembering details like that showed just how much he had cared for her back then.

He took a step back. “I . . . I’ve got to go in now.”

She nodded. “I don’t say good-bye.”

“I don’t either.” He held her gaze for a second longer, then strode around her.

She turned and stayed grounded in her spot long after he disappeared through the front doors.

***

An hour into the You-Worked-Hard-So-You-Deserve-A-Party Employee Event, Grady wanted to hurt something. Badly. Seriously decimate, pulverize, and annihilate . . . something. This party was supposed to be empowering, claiming ownership over his sanctuary again. It also was supposed to serve as a distraction, a way to keep his mind off the tragedy happening in his house. Instead, his overactive imagination decided to provide its own video of her packing her things instead of witnessing the real deal. Which was worse?

A loud bang jolted him from his thoughts. Cecilia lifted a full tinfoil tray off the table and placed the meatballs into the rack with an already lit Bunsen burner. Those little delicacies seemed to be the hit so far. That was the second time she’d filled the tray.

His stomach lurched. He couldn’t even think about going near the overburdened tables of food. He needed a beer, no, more like an entire bottle of something a hell of a lot stronger. This was one of the rare times he castigated himself for not looking into getting a liquor license.
Yeah, dumbass, because drinking and paintball go so well together.

Henry perched on a folding chair at the back of the room, his eyes never pausing. Occasionally he had clapped or laughed when Grady had struggled through the employee awards, but overall the guard stayed in security mode.

“Grady,” Zach yelled from the drink table. “Time to start forming teams for the laser tag tournament?”

Shit. He needed to keep his head in the now instead of inventing ways to torture himself. “I think you’re right, Zach,” he bellowed in what he hoped was an enthusiastic voice. “People, you heard our employee of the year.”

Catcalls and whistles rang out from the group at the title Zach had received this evening.

“Form your teams now. No more than five to a group. Finish your food and huddle up, but choose wisely. Prizes will be awarded to the first- and second-place teams.”

Chaos reigned. He crossed his arms and waited. Henry pushed out of the chair and disappeared into the Employees Only hallway. Two minutes later, Mike emerged and immediately got drafted by some of the other guards.

Grady cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, “Everybody got a team?”

The noise lessoned to murmuring.

“Good. Allie’s going to walk around with a bowl. Take
one
piece of paper per
group
. That number is the order your team will play. Got it?” He waited for a few beats. “When you have a number, head upstairs. First group plays the second group. Third group plays the fourth, etc. We’ll keep going until we have our winners.” The excitement level rose. “Observation Room’s open for anybody who wants to watch.”

He escaped up the escalator and stole into the announcer’s room tucked into the front of the laser tag floor. He braced his hands against the table and hung his head. “You can do this, Grady. Only a few more hours to go.”

The urge to obliterate something still swirled in his chest, but at least the goddamn videos of Sandra walking out his door—
son of a bitch
—stopped.
Way to go, moron.
Thinking about how he wasn’t thinking about them only made them flare up again.

He pushed away from the table and flicked the row of light switches. The fluorescent overhead lights shut off and the excessive amount of black lights buzzed to life. Tubes of pink, blue, purple, and green neon lights also sprang to life, swirling and waving their way across the walls. He jabbed the music system on and cranked up the dance music he used for employee events.

Heavy bass lines thumped from the large speakers stationed throughout the room, and techno beats set a festive tone. Too bad his mood would be better served by head-banging to heavy metal than grooving. He looked out the heavily tinted window running the length of the room and picked up the microphone. The second he clicked it on, the music dimmed. “All right, teams one and two. Make your way to the laser tag floor. Let the competition begin.”

Zach prowled into the room, his large laser tag gun poised in a ready position, followed by a group of young ladies who worked the merchandise counters. Bright blue LED lights lit up the clear plastic centers of both the front and back of their black vests, and a thick black cord helped keep their matching blue-lit guns attached. They maneuvered over the obstacles and rooms to start at the other end of the arena.

The central eatery ladies marched in next, outfitted in similar vests and guns with green LED lights. The women fanned themselves in the front of the room in a formation that in real life would get them killed in seconds.

Grady’s voice cut through the music again: “Ready. Set. GO.”

Sandra thumped the side of her head against the window and hugged her legs tighter against her body. The position hurt her shoulder like hell, but she didn’t care. What was some physical pain when her insides were already flayed? Tears blurred her vision and she could no longer see the woods ringing Grady’s property. After enduring the silent trip back in Cappy’s Jeep (thank God the man didn’t do bare-your-feelings-so-I-can-placate-you talks), she had crawled into the corner of the living room and hadn’t moved since.

Wind whistled through the bullet holes pockmarking the panes, reinforcing exactly why she had to go. But holy Lord, did she want to stay.

Magician plopped on the floor beside her, tucking her small body between the ruined couch and Sandra. She wrapped her arms around the ball Sandra had made of herself and rested her head against Sandra’s bicep.

“This may be trite,” Magician said gently, “but it needs saying. Remember, time heals all wounds . . . and stilettos wound all heels.”

Inwardly Sandra gave a small chuckle, but she didn’t have the energy to push the sound out. About the only thing she could manage was a pat on the back of Magician’s hand.

“Ted,” Cappy rumbled, his footsteps vibrating the hardwood floors.

He must be coming from the bedrooms.

“You need to pack that up. We’re rolling out in a few minutes.”

Sandra’s heart flipped and her stomach plummeted.
Not so soon!

No reply from Ted, just the sound of tapping.

“Ted,” Cappy barked. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” the IT genius replied, harried. “I’m almost to the bottom of my e-mails.”

Magician let go and peered around the sofa. Sandra placed a trembling hand over her mouth. Tears would not make leaving this house any easier, but they seemed to be all she could muster lately. Damn, she hated being so weak-willed, acting like a tragic heroine, but now she understood their motivation.

“Uh, Cappy?” Ted said, alarm and uncertainty tingeing his voice.

Sandra sat up. Unease skittered down her spine, cutting through the haze.

“What is it?” Cappy asked.

“I got an e-mail from Condor.”

Sandra couldn’t stand up fast enough. She bumped into Magician but didn’t slow down as she barreled to the dining room table.

“What’s it say?” Sandra snapped, her shattered heart now pounding with fear.

“You want me to read it out loud?” Ted asked, still staring at his screen.

“Yes!” almost every person on the team said in unison.

His head snapped up and he blinked startled eyes. Sandra wanted to choke him.

She, Cappy, Romeo, and Magician all took a step closer.

Ted cleared his throat. “Okay. He says, ‘Hey Buddy, thanks for helping me out. I still can’t believe you got your boss to call me. I almost fell over when Victor Dalmingo identified himself. I have to admit that the guy’s a bit of an asshole, though.’”

Most everyone snorted, and even a “duh” slipped out from someone.

Sandra’s hands gripped together and blood rushed to her head.
Shitdamnfuck
. This did not sound good.

“‘I’m surprised,’” Ted continued, “‘he wanted my contact’s number directly. Didn’t think someone that high up would be able to dial his own phone, but then again, maybe his secretary did it. Anyway, just—’”

Sandra didn’t hear another word. She raced to the corner and snatched up Mars’s canvas bag, dodging around the other members as they too hauled ass to leave. Time didn’t exist. Between one blink and the next she was sitting in the passenger seat of Cappy’s Jeep, pressing her foot to the floor, wishing she had her own gas pedal. They needed to go faster.

***

Henry’s chair squeaked as he slumped into the leather and rocked. Watching thirty-two security cameras by himself would normally demand all his focus, but not tonight. With the center closed, he only had to ensure no employee wandered too far away from the main event for too long.

“Henry? You okay in there?”
Sid asked through the walkie-talkie’s speaker.

Henry gnashed his teeth and picked up the device. “Yes. No changes in the last fifteen minutes. I told you I would alert you if I saw something.”

“Okay,”
the kid answered.
“Check in with you later.”

Henry dropped the walkie-talkie onto the counter and resumed rocking his chair in a steady rhythm.

Walking into the Security Room full of FBI agents and consultants had set his alarm bells blaring. Why would Casper push him out of the picture if such specialized entities were needed? Simple answer: He wouldn’t. At least not without there being more to the story. Henry had
years
of experience on the force and had worked plenty of cases. He could’ve easily helped keep the employees and customers safe from whatever brought all these guys in.

Something wasn’t right.

He’d known it the second Casper dragged Sandra in the room to keep her from running, and the feeling had never let up. Sitting at home with his gut gnawing at him only made his wife miserable. She finally ordered him to “get to the bottom of it so she could have some peace.”

And what about this group of consultants? What was with their monikers? Except Ted—no last name. How could he do any type of diligence on names like Talon and Cappy? Probably the point.

Henry scanned the eight large-screen TVs, his cop instincts tingling at all the intrigue and tension. Darkness descended over the Observation Room as the laser tag competition got under way.

How did Sandra fit into all of this? The FBI agent hadn’t said it, but her apology admitted she had some part to play in an investigation involving a “nasty drug ring.” How could he have misjudged her so badly? Sweet? Kind? Best hire Casper ever made? Never in his seventy-two years had he been so wrong about a person, especially after he joined the force. His senses had always allowed him to see through a person’s mask to the real character inside. His solve rate on cases had been higher than most because he listened when his gut spoke. When he first met her, he honestly didn’t think she had the knowledge or the aptitude to take down a fully trained Marine, not to mention one Casper’s size.

It hurt Henry when Casper confirmed he didn’t need Henry on his skeleton staff of guards. Anyone with half a brain could deduce the boy had been trying to keep him away. Henry thought they had a stronger relationship, that Casper appreciated his skills and considered Henry to be a valuable asset to the center’s security. One phone call let him know how wrong he’d been.

Henry peered at the screens showing the closed-off areas. All quiet on the bottom floor. His gaze snagged on a pretty brunette in a white uniform consolidating two pans of meatballs into a single tray. Cecilia then handed the empty metal pan to one of her assistants and proceeded to place foil over the now full tray.
Must be time to pack up.

A few Gradwick employees refilled their plates from the remaining open trays, then strolled to the tables in the eatery.

Henry allowed his eyes to follow the assistant’s path as she carried a stack of empty pans to a waiting van with the caterer’s logo by the back door. It didn’t take Cecilia’s three-man crew long to tear the tables down and store the contents in the vehicle.

A flash of blue then a blur of green caught Henry’s attention on another screen. An intense battle between two opponents raged on the laser tag floor. He couldn’t tell who the players were with all the neon and black lights, but they both appeared somewhat skilled. Probably the group of kids who ran the laser tag section. They played the game way too much to give any other employee a fighting chance.

By the time Henry checked in on Cecilia, she had the van circling around to the front of the building and heading for the main exit. His eyes lazily swept over the rest of the cameras filming the grounds. Moonlight filtered down on the open lawn in the front and on the sides. Nice and quiet as expected. His gaze continued to the back section.

He sat up. Was that . . . ? He squinted.
Did that tree just move?
He stared at the spot and witnessed the tree morph into two black blobs.

Henry bolted out of his chair. Every nerve alive, screaming,
Warning, warning.
He shuffled as fast as his arthritic legs would let him, patting his belt. The service revolver he carried during his days on the force rested in its leather holster as it had for countless years.

He ignored the employees calling his name as he hurried past, cursing his age for slowing him down. His left hand felt for the walkie-talkie and came up empty.
Damn it.
He must have left it on the desk. His gut told him he should go back for it and inform Casper or Sid he had left the Security Room, but he wasn’t going to. His instincts drove him forward. Besides, he’d show them this old-timer still had plenty of good years left inside.

The back door clinked shut behind him. He pulled his gun from its holster and crept forward. The fluorescent lights mounted high on the center’s roof helped illuminate the parking lot, but only extended a foot or so into the property. The bright moonlight tried to cast its glow on the grounds, but his cataracts formed halos, giving him slightly blurry vision and no amount of blinking against the distortion helped.
Damn it.

Nothing stirred except a breeze rustling through the leaves. The trees lining the back of the property remained still, none of them practicing mitosis by dividing into two anymore.

“I know what I saw,” he muttered to himself, steadily moving toward the Dumpsters at the edge of the employee parking lot. He pulled in a deep breath and steadied his nerves. His thumb flicked the safety off and he leapt around the corner of the trash bin.

A crouched figure rose, his arm lifting a gun.

Henry didn’t hesitate—he fired. The revolver recoiled and jolted his arms.

The black-clad man staggered back, and Henry pulled the trigger again.

The assailant crumpled to the ground just as a rock skittered behind Henry. He whirled, the weight of the gun pulling his aim down. He fired again, his arms trembling against the strain of holding the heavy piece.

“Fuck!” a deep male voice yelled, staggering to the side as a string of Spanish flew out of the man’s mouth.

White-hot pain lanced through Henry’s stomach, forcing him to drop to his knees. The echo of gunfire—not his own—cascaded into the night. He tried to take in a breath, but agony prevented him from getting sufficient air. He fell to his back, clutching his abdomen as warm liquid filled his palms. Only then did it register he was in deep shit. He tried to count the number of black-clad figures surrounding him, but only reached three when a heavy-soled boot filled his vision. Sharp pain exploded in his skull and his world faded to black.