Magic Rising (2 page)

Deirdre wanted to give the area another sweep. Stepping into the adjoining hallway, she checked for any guests close enough to hear her or watch her actions. A couple of women giggled as they walked by her. No doubt they’d been partaking in some drugs to liven up the evening. Deirdre waited for them to leave the area.

She was the only waitress wearing an apron over her black slacks, one with pockets wide enough to hide her nine millimeter pistol. The radio receiver fit snugly inside her ear, making it nearly invisible while the main unit was clipped neatly in the cloth. Reaching into the apron, she lifted out a small transmitter, meant to be worn at the mouth, but it could be seen during close conversations forcing her to keep it hidden until it was necessary to communicate with her crew.

“Front? Any sign of our target?”

“No.” Mark’s southern drawl came through with a terrible crackle.

“Car side?”

“Nothing.” Sabrine spoke quietly as if there might be a crowd nearby retrieving their cars from the valet.

“Back?”

“Clear. I mean nothing.” Lee never got that right. She’d trained him personally. ‘Clear’ was only to be used when the suspect had left the area. In this business one had to be anal about details and Lee was not a detail person. He was an excellent hand to hand combat man, but in all other aspects he was inferior and only used on a limited basis.

“Good. Control?”

“Nothing suspicious,” Tech replied.

Deirdre couldn’t check the other members of her crew for risk of exposing their position. One lone waitress stopping throughout the room to talk to other employees would be time consuming and obvious to anyone watching for a trap.

She had used everyone in this job, a total of thirteen guards and one computer tech, instead of her usual two or three regular agents. Most of her employees worked on a job by job basis. They were reliable, as long as they knew the pay was good. Sabrine and Tech were the only salaried staff and the only ones who didn’t need supervision.

Tech was a constant, no matter what the job. This time she had him situated in a side room, converted to an office, directly linked to the monitors that showed every corner through an elaborate camera system. Everyone at the party was on video. She always liked jobs to be recorded in case it turned nasty or the cops stopped being cordial.

Where are you?
She waited, watching the crowd.
Come on. Where are you?

Suddenly the atmosphere inside changed. A sensation similar to electricity swept over her like it always had when things were becoming interesting. She stepped from the hall and scanned the room. There were too many people to keep a proper visual. Deirdre felt the room’s energy change though; someone was here who didn’t belong.

With determination, she gave the room another scan. There wasn’t a single man out of place; each director, actor, backer, and several ex-husbands had been invited. The room bloomed with A-listers, wanting a moment for casual conversation with the popular diva.

From the corner of her eye, Deirdre caught a glimpse of a large black woman dressed in a bright blue gown making her way through the crowd. To Deirdre’s practiced eye, the woman’s shoulders were a little too broad and her steps had an awkward gait as she made her way through the guests.

Deirdre went forward, ignoring the order to keep security unseen. She clipped the transmitter over her ear, letting the black plastic hang next to her mouth. With a flip of the switch on the transmitter, she had continuous communication with her crew.

“BFA, shoulder length brown hair, possible wig, bright blue dress, broad shoulders. Track her, Tech. Repeat black female adult going through the crowd. Get in close.”

Less than forty-five feet separated the woman from Tamara Haas. This seemed to quicken the woman’s pace as she marched directly toward the actress, going as far as pushing through the crowd.

“Do you have a visual?” Deirdre asked as she brushed a stray hair from her face. The woman temporarily disappeared in the crowd.

“Confirmed and tracking. Black, female, adult, wearing blue dress just ahead. Keep going straight.”

Tamara Haas stood on a raised platform, holding her glass high as if thanking the room or giving a toast. In that moment Deirdre found her target. The woman shoved a waiter causing a few drinks to spill as she headed directly toward Tamara Haas.

The situation would be tricky. If this was an excited fan, her opinion of crashing parties would be changed forever. There was no mistaking the rush through the partiers though.

“Deirdre, target reaching into brassiere. High alert.”

There wasn’t a moment to lose. Deirdre pounced, closing the distance between them and causing a small commotion. She grabbed the female suspect’s right hand as a dark object appeared in the woman’s left. It was a gun.

Deirdre changed positions, taking the woman’s left hand and forcing the gun up toward the ceiling. A shot rang out, flying somewhere into the ceiling and causing the crowd to hush before a panic of bodies pushed out from the center of the room. Silence turned to screams that surrounded them while the very masculine black woman fought to bring her gun under control.

Moving swiftly, Deirdre kept the gun raised while swinging one elbow across the target’s face. A brown wig flew off the woman’s head and hit the floor. Deirdre knew she’d found her man. He easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Bringing one leg against the back of his calf and applying pressure, the target went to the floor, landing hard on his back. By the time the man’s dark brown eyes met hers; Deirdre had his gun and was holding it against his head.

“Police en route.” She heard Tech advise her through her earpiece. “We have full video.”

The man beneath her started to struggle. “You don’t understand. That woman has to die. My daughter’s life depends on it.”

Deirdre had heard many lies from madmen. Each suspect was convinced of the truth of some fantastical story. Not once had she ever believed their tales and usually belted them across the face for talking to her. This time, she froze. The man’s eyes were glassy pools of regret and desperation. The emotion pulled at her and she studied his tormented expression as he continued to speak.

“Please,” he begged. “She’ll cause my daughter to die.”

“How?”

Sabrine and Mark were on him, leaving their respective posts while the other employees edged away, keeping their anonymity for future jobs. Deirdre climbed off the man and the two agents rolled him onto his stomach, handcuffing the target for the cops to haul away to jail. It was a standard routine that her people followed to the letter. Still, as they took him to a side hall and the designated holding area, Deirdre knew something in his words was true. She couldn’t say anything though. She trained her people to do their job, ignore the ramblings of criminals, and never feel pity. By the same respect, she led by example. Her questions would wait for another time.

The target disappeared down the hall and Deirdre went to Tamara Haas who was being fanned by her latest suitor. A few party guests crept back in, staying in clusters at the edge of the door, curiosity kept them from leaving, but fear held them away from the main floor.

“Are you okay, Ms. Haas?” Deirdre looked the woman over, noticing that her eyes appeared glassy and her bottom lip trembled.

“Yes. A bit stunned-up but fine. Thank you.”

“Good.” The timing was bad but Deirdre couldn’t resist. The target had said some things that correlated directly with the actress. “What’s your relationship to the gentleman who attempted the attack?”

“Nothing.” Tamara Haas touched her mouth, before crossing her arms over her chest as if caught in a terrible draft. Her body language spoke volumes.

Deirdre hated when people lied to her. Anger swelled in her bosom. Unlike the A-listers, Deirdre didn’t give a rat’s ass who Tamara Haas was or what connections she had. Her only concern was a case that felt off.

“Don’t lie to me, ma’am. He claims that you have a connection to his daughter. He’s going to tell the cops the same story, and if I know the guys at that police station, the rumor will be in the papers by morning.”

“I don’t know anything about him or his family. You shouldn’t listen to the stories of the insane.”

“I probably shouldn’t.” She paused, watching the actress fidget uncomfortably. “I’ll send you my bill.”

Deirdre turned to the hallway where the target had been taken. It was a desolate space, primarily used for storage and filing. The staff at Cotters had opened up this section for any detainees and given her the biggest room on the hall for any work. It had a few fold-out chairs and one sturdy table. The room didn’t look like it belonged in the same building as the sparkling chandeliers, crisp linens, and polished marble floors. It just goes to prove that even buildings have dark sides.

She opened the door, seeing Mark standing guard until the police arrived. The gentleman they’d caught burst into tears and she prayed this job would be over quickly. She didn’t like to see men cry.

“Has the target said anything?” Deirdre asked.

“Only ranting about his daughter. When are those cops going to show up?” It seemed the target’s reaction bothered Mark too.

“Soon. Tech called them as soon as I took down the target.”

“I am not a target. My name is Shope. Jack Shope. You have to stop Tamara. She’ll get my daughter. My baby can’t die.” Without the wig, he looked like any normal man on the street. His hair was cropped close to the scalp, nearly military. His eyes were wide, glassy, and his muscular form hulking in his dress and heels. His black skin looked even darker beneath the bright blue dress. “I’m not crazy. I’m only protecting my daughter. You have to believe me.” His words cut through Deirdre’s shell and touched her heart.

Protecting his daughter. That was a familiar sentiment.

She couldn’t get involved. Everything had to be kept at a distance. The criminals were “targets”, nothing more, no names, nothing personal. The people who hired them were called “clients”. There could be no emotional attachment to either for Deirdre to do her job efficiently. She knew it was the one rule to never break, almost never.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Lora Shope.”

Mark looked at her, appearing shocked over her question. They’d worked together since she’d started Security Specialists. Not once had she ever addressed a target. She’d never had a client tell her a complete lie about the association with a stalker either. Tamara Haas had told Deirdre too many lies to be an innocent victim.

“Deirdre, the police have arrived.” Sabrine stepped to the side and motioned to someone behind her.

There were other questions Deirdre wanted to ask but the timing was bad. The daughter’s name didn’t mean much to her but perhaps asking made the target feel better. A man in a dress shouldn’t cry in jail. Nasty things could happen when the guards weren’t looking.

“Let’s prepare the target for transfer.”

A uniformed officer entered behind Sabrine. He seemed too taken with Sabrine’s backside to say anything at first. Sabrine was a spunky girl who, in Deirdre’s opinion, was built for sex but had martial art skills that would drop half the police force if she felt so inspired. Sabrine kept her hair short, rising in a three-inch spike on the top of her head and dyed fire engine red. It added to her tough exterior, one that she’d practiced for years.

Without turning, Sabrine addressed the officer. “If you’re done ogling, I’d like to get my cuffs off the target.”

The officer stepped around her mumbling something incoherent. Sabrine followed, removing her cuffs while the officer placed his around the target’s wrists, and searched him. With the transfer completed, the target had become the official property of the Lawrenceton Police Department.

“Well if it isn’t Deirdre Galiena Flye? When we got the call I thought I might see you.”

The detective who entered the room wore a cheap suit, cheaper cologne, and had irritated Deirdre since the first moment she laid eyes on him six years ago.

“Hello Farmer,” remarked Sabrine with an equal amount of distaste.

“Just call me Deirdre. The rest is too long.” This guy had been a major thorn in her side since he made detective. “Do you think you can take this guy to jail without losing him?”

“Whenever you have time to give me a statement.”

“You know Tech handles that. He’s upstairs and is currently making you a copy of the surveillance video. That will be sufficient.”

He started to say something, then closed his mouth. Deirdre had special arrangements with the local authorities and they made concessions where she was concerned. She protected people with power, those with media connections, and people who could get the mayor re-elected. Few locals messed with Deirdre.

Except for Ryan Farmer.

Farmer stepped closer, apparently in the mood to start trouble. She hated how he enjoyed talking close, forcing her to endure the scent of old cigarettes and coffee breath. When he first did this, she thought he was about to come on to her, but no. This guy must’ve picked it up from a bad PI movie where the jerk spoke low, sharing secrets no one else in the room was supposed to hear.

“I researched you Deirdre Galiena Flye. I know all about you. Flye, that’s Irish right? You’re a little tall but I could see you being Irish, Deirdre Galiena Flye.” His words were an obscene whisper that sent waves of repulsion down her spine. She hated when he said her name. That’s probably why he kept doing it.