Next Exit, Dead Ahead

by CW Browning

  “I think I can handle myself and anything that comes along,” she murmured. “You'll stay here.”

  Damon watched as she grabbed her laptop and carried it over to the bar. She opened it and reset her security perimeter before turning to study him. His blue eyes met hers and she noted the tiredness in his gaze.

  “What did you do with the head?” she asked softly.

  “Relocated it.”

  “Do you have any ideas who might have put it there?”

  “My gut tells me it's one of the Mexican Cartels,” Damon answered and she nodded in agreement.

  “Mine too.”

  Alina turned and went into the kitchen, reaching up to lift down a sauté pan from the pot rack above the island. She placed it in the center of the granite top and the island slid to the side silently, exposing an opening in the floor. Damon grinned.

  “You were serious about the command center,” he said as he came around the bar and into the kitchen. Alina nodded and turned toward the refrigerator.

  “Of course!” She opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. “I'm one step ahead of you already.”

  Damon raised his eyebrow and accepted one of the bottles from her. He watched as she descended the stone steps, disappearing into the opening in the floor.

  “Of course you are,” he murmured, following her.

  A moment later, the island slid back over the opening, leaving the kitchen empty.

  Chapter Seven

  Stephanie sat back in her chair and yawned, rubbing her eyes. She glanced at John. He was working on a digital mock-up of the Dungeon on his computer. They were the only two in the office on a Saturday night and the building was eerily silent. John had brought Five Guys back for dinner and Stephanie reached out to snag a cold fry from the leftover pile in the cup on her desk.

  “I'm fading fast,” she said with another yawn. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was almost ten. “How's that going?”

  “Well, with the measurements of the window, I don't see how a person could possibly get in that way,” John said, rotating the digital room on his monitor. “According to the prison records, someone did escape through the window in the past, so it can be done going out. I just don't see how anyone could possibly get in. Even if they managed to squeeze through the opening, which I know I couldn't do, it would take some wiggling and the window is too far away from any kind of ledge to make that possible.”

  “I agree.” Stephanie got up and stood behind John, studying the digital cell on his screen. “I don't think an adult could get in there. So, if they didn't go in through the window, then we're back to the prison itself.”

  “The camera footage this morning showed Karl trying the cell door and then going downstairs to get the key.” John sat back in his chair and picked up a pen from his desk, twirling it in his fingers. “So, we know he's not lying about the cell being locked this morning.”

  “Pull up the footage from yesterday.” Stephanie leaned on his desk and crossed her arms. “Let's see what happened during the day.”

  John tossed the pen back onto the desk and leaned forward to type on his keyboard. The digital replica of the cell disappeared and, a moment later, the media player opened. John opened the file and let the surveillance tape play for a minute before he started fast-forwarding. The corridor outside the Dungeon was empty during the morning, but around lunchtime, a couple appeared. They made their way down the corridor, moving in and out of the cells while they looked around leisurely. John slowed the video as they approached the Dungeon. He and Stephanie watched in silence as the couple stopped. They peered into the cell, talking and pointing. The man tried to open the door and it was apparent that it was locked. Stephanie glanced at the time stamp in the corner of the video. 12:22pm.

  Over the next three hours of tape, the Dungeon had four more groups of visitors. Each group tried to open the door, and each time it was still locked. Stephanie was somewhat surprised at the amount of visitors the museum received. For a building that she herself hadn't even known was open to the public until last night, the prison certainly got a fair amount of traffic. Rachel, the guide, appeared with one of the groups, talking and motioning animatedly. Stephanie spoke to Rachel after she interviewed Karl. She found the woman to be friendly, sensible and knowledgeable about the museum. Watching her on the surveillance footage now, it was also clear the woman enjoyed her job.

  “They all try the cell door,” John remarked after the fourth group had passed.

  “It makes a good reference for us,” Stephanie answered with a grin. “At least we know all this time, the cell was most definitely locked.”

  “True,” John agreed.

  He slowed the tape down again as another couple appeared in the corridor. The woman carried an over-sized tote bag over her shoulder and the man had a camera slung around his neck.

  “Want to make a bet on how long before they try the door?” he asked, glancing back at Stephanie with a grin.

  “Nope,” Stephanie retorted as she watched the couple walked straight to the Dungeon. “Wait. They're not looking around. What are they doing?”

  She sat forward and John snapped his head around to watch the monitor. The couple walked right past the open cells, not even glancing inside, and came to a stop outside the locked Dungeon. Stephanie's eyebrows soared into her forehead and John let out a low whistle as the woman produced a key and unlocked the cell, swinging the door wide open.

  “Where's the camera footage in the cell?” Stephanie demanded sharply.

  “There is none,” John answered. “They only have footage of the corridors.”

  “What?” Stephanie looked at him in disbelief. “No cameras in the main attraction?”

  “It's a small museum,” John said with a shrug. “I got everything they had, and there are only cameras in the corridors.”

  “Great!” Stephanie glared at the footage on the monitor. “What are they doing in there?! I can't see anything!”

  “I can enhance the shadows.”

  John hit some keys on the keyboard and the picture zoomed in on the door of the Dungeon. They couldn't see the couple in the cell, but they could see their shadows thrown onto the floor by the glint of afternoon sunlight shining through the window. The smaller shadow moved around the cell while the other stood to the side. John leaned forward with Stephanie as they studied the picture.

  “I can't make out what she's doing,” Stephanie murmured. “Is she near the dummy?”

  “She's towards the back of the cell,” John answered.

  A minute later, the couple emerged and John and Stephanie watched as the woman locked the cell again. They walked away from the Dungeon and disappeared down the steps at the other end of the corridor, leaving the corridor empty again.

  Stephanie looked at the time stamp in the corner of the screen. 3:49pm.

  “You don't think...” John paused the video and glanced at her, his voice trailing off.

  “That she put the arm in the cell just then?” Stephanie asked, meeting his pale blue gaze.

  “She was carrying a large bag,” he pointed out.

  “Do you really think a woman would carry a severed arm around in a purse?” Stephanie demanded with a grimace.

  “Well, they're the only ones who went in there,” he said.

  “Keep playing the footage,” she told him. “The museum closes at 4, so there shouldn't be any more visitors.”

  John restarted the video. Sure enough, there were no more visitors in the next ten minutes of tape. About fifteen minutes after the museum closed, Rachel appeared in the corridor and walked through the cells. She stopped outside the Dungeon and tested the door, looking inside before continuing through the rest of the cells on the floor. After her quick walk-through, she disappeared down the steps toward the first floor again.

  “Well, the arm obviously wasn't there then,” John muttered. “She would have seen it.”

  “Yep,” Stephanie agreed with a frown.

 
John sped up through the rest of the footage. The shadows lengthened as darkness fell. Around ten o'clock, Karl appeared in the corridor and strolled down, glancing into the cells as he passed. After that, the corridor fell empty again and remained so for the rest of the night.

  “Well, at least we know the arm wasn't there at ten, either,” Stephanie murmured. “Karl looked right into the cell.”

  “When you talked to the guide, did she say anything about letting a couple have the key to the Dungeon?” John asked.

  “No,” Stephanie answered grimly. “I'll be having another chat with her tomorrow.”

  “I'll run their pictures through our databases tonight and see if I can get their names for you before you talk to her,” John said with a yawn.

  “Do it tomorrow.” Stephanie straightened up and headed back to her desk. “It's late. Let's wrap it up for today and start again with fresh heads tomorrow.”

  “I won't argue with that,” John said as he rubbed his neck and yawned again. “I can't think straight anymore.”

  “Me either.” Stephanie reached over, switched off her PC and pulled her purse out of her desk drawer. She gathered up her trash from their hasty dinner and dropped it into the can next to her desk. “I wonder if we'll have the report from the ME tomorrow?”

  “He said he would have it for us in the morning. He's dedicated, our Larry, working on the weekend for us,” John answered, switching off his computer. He stood up with a stretch. “I don't know what he can tell us from just an arm, though.”

  “At the very least, he can tell us if Rodrigo was alive when he lost his arm,” Stephanie answered, turning to walk with him toward the elevators.

  “You don't think he's still alive, do you?” John asked.

  “No.” Stephanie shook her head. “I don't.”

  “Why would they put his arm in a prison?” John asked for the hundredth time that evening.

  Stephanie shrugged as they walked up to the elevators.

  “I have a feeling that will end up being the biggest headache of this whole thing,” she murmured.

  Damon sipped his beer and leaned on the counter next to where Alina was seated in front of a laptop. Her command center was a long, narrow room lined with counters on one side and plasma screens on the other. He counted two servers spaced along the wall under the counter, and several desktop PCs in addition to the laptop she was currently accessing. Occasionally, a fan would kick on to cool one of the servers and the constant, quiet hum of technology filled the room. Two of the plasma screens displayed her security perimeter and the rest were dark. Damon knew from past experience that if she was in the middle of a job, all the plasmas would be lit up and running database searches. They would display remote views of relevant locations and maps, and hold information that she needed readily available.

  One of the dark plasmas came alive while he was looking around and Damon found himself staring at the faces of three dead men he knew well.

  “These are the three Cartel heads that were killed in August in Mexico,” Alina announced, spinning around in her chair and glancing at him. “I'm sure you recognize them.”

  “Of course.” Damon winked at her. “It was all over the news at the time.”

  Alina's dark eyes met his and she smiled slightly.

  “I'm working on the assumption that the Cartels weren't happy when their leaders were shot in the head,” she continued.

  “I believe the news said it was a fire,” Hawk murmured.

  Alina's eyes danced and her lips twitched.

  “My mistake,” she answered. “Of course it did.”

  Damon nodded complacently and sipped his beer again. His eyes returned to the three faces on the plasma. He remembered the night, lit up with flames, and the shadows as they stumbled out of the burning buildings. He remembered watching through the scope, waiting for the three faces on the plasma to appear. He remembered every second of that night.

  “How the hell could they have found out it was me?” he wondered out loud. Alina's lips compressed slightly.

  “I don't think they found out on their own,” she replied, picking up her beer and sipping it. “The Cartels don't have the resources to track people like us. They were given a tip.”

  “By Regina?” Damon asked, glancing at her. Regina Cummings was a woman who had caused a mess in Washington two months ago. Alina nodded and Damon looked back to the plasma with the pictures on it thoughtfully.

  “She put a bounty on your head and sent it to every mercenary, assassin and covert agent she had access to,” Alina pointed out. “It wouldn't surprise me at all for her to have also sent it to the Cartels.”

  “Actually, it wouldn't surprise me either,” he agreed. “So which Cartel is it?”

  “That's the question,” she murmured. “Someone's been watching you. I spotted them this morning.”

  “Excuse me?” Damon looked at her and she shrugged.

  “You knew I'd find out where you were staying,” she answered unapologetically. “I wasn't the only one.”

  “Were they in a crossover?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Alina swiveled back to the laptop and set the beer down.

  “A crossover was leaving my lot tonight in a hurry right before I found the head,” Damon said, turning away from the plasma to look down at her.

  “Putrid, retro-green?” Alina asked, glancing up at him, and he shrugged.

  “It was dark out,” he replied. “I can tell you it was a medium color, but that's about it.”

  Alina nodded and pulled up a file on her laptop, motioning for him to take a look.

  “Meet Jessica Nuñez,” she said. “She's the registered owner of the crossover, but not the driver. It was a man camped outside your condo this morning, not a woman.”

  Damon leaned down and looked at the picture on the laptop screen. He reached over her and scrolled down, scanning the information she had gathered so far. Alina got a whiff of musk and her heart skipped a beat. His face was inches from hers, his eyes on the laptop screen, and she could feel the warmth of his body radiating from his closeness. Swallowing, she pushed her chair back to put some distance between them. Damon glanced at her, laughter leaping into his eyes.

  “Just trying to give you more room,” she muttered defensively.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Mrs. Nuñez is as clean as they come,” Alina said, ignoring him. “She and her husband don't even have a parking ticket between them.”

  “They're from Mexico,” Damon said, scrolling down some more.

  “Yep.” Alina nodded. “They came to the States legally, spent a few months in Arizona, and then came here when Mr. Nuñez accepted a teaching position with Rutgers.”

  Damon finished scanning the information and straightened up. Turning to lean on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her thoughtfully.

  “Have you been able to find any connection between her and the cartels?” he asked.

  “I haven't tried.” Alina looked up at him with a grin. “You hadn't found a head in your yard yet. Was it really on a pike?”

  “Yes.”

  “That's pretty intense,” she murmured. “Can you pass me my beer?”

  Damon glanced behind him on the counter and picked up her beer, handing it to her.

  “How did they find me in Jersey?” he wondered. “Even Charlie doesn't know I'm here yet.”

  “That's something we need to find out quickly,” Alina said, lifting the beer to her lips. “I don't like that you seem to have lost your invisibility. I was afraid something like this would happen when your face got sent out to hundreds of mercenaries.”

  “Charlie was able to get most of the images pulled, but there's no way of knowing how many times it had been reproduced and downloaded,” Damon told her. “We knew there would still be a few lingering incidents of clean-up to be done. He's been monitoring everything, listening for chatter.”

  “It infuriates me all over again when I thin
k about it,” Viper said, her eyes darkening with anger. “When I think about all the damage that bitch did...”

  “It's over. Forget it,” he advised. “We knew we'd be cleaning it up for months. Let it go.”

  “It still makes me crazy.” Viper looked up at him, her eyes glittering dangerously. “I would do it all over again, if I could,” she said softly.

  “I know.”

  Damon's dark blue eyes met hers and they stared at each other silently. He could feel the restless energy coming off her and he suddenly realized that Viper had kept moving for two months to help control the anger still simmering deep inside her. He smiled slowly. He could think of a few different ways to help her manage all that unresolved anger.

  “I don't think I like that smile,” Alina murmured. “You look like a cat that just saw a mouse.”

  “Do I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Trust me, mice were not what was on my mind.”

  “I don't think I want to know what was,” she said, pushing his legs out of the way and sliding her chair back over to the laptop.

  Damon grinned.

  “Chicken,” he murmured.

  “I have an associate in Mexico.” Alina ignored him and opened a secure email. “I'll see what they can find out for us. Maybe they've heard something.”

  “Which of these can I use?” Damon finished his beer and set the empty bottle down, looking at the other PCs. Alina motioned to the one beside her without looking up from her laptop. Grabbing the only other chair in the room, he settled down beside her. “You check your source, and I'll check mine. Too bad we don't have anyone in the cartels.”

  “Mine is close enough,” Alina murmured.

  Damon glanced at her.

  “You never cease to surprise me,” he said, waiting for the secure portal to load on his machine. “After Solitto, I shouldn't be surprised. You managed to cultivate the head of the Jersey Mob easily enough. How many bad guys do you associate with?”

  “As many as you,” Viper returned promptly and looked up with a grin. “I learned from the best.”