Next Exit, Dead Ahead

by CW Browning

  “You ok?” she asked.

  “Fine,” Alina replied, forcing herself to start up the steps. She tried to ignore the chill as she ascended the steps to the door.

  “John should be finishing up in the Dungeon,” Stephanie told her. “He's getting some additional pictures of the window for me.”

  “Did you find something interesting with the window?” she asked as they reached the top of the steps.

  “The center of the sill was clear of dust,” Stephanie said as they stepped into the prison. “I noticed it on the pictures taken yesterday. John is up there taking a look and getting some better pictures for me.”

  “Did you take a look at the wall outside?”

  “I sent John up there,” Stephanie said. She moved around her and led the way down the corridor to the stairs at the end. “There was a clear shot, but he thinks it would have taken a skilled shooter to make it. Frankly, we can't see anyway someone could have gotten into the window from the outside, and I'm still clueless on why you think a clear shot to the window is important.”

  Alina followed her down the corridor. A faint smile played around her lips as her eyes rested on the back of Stephanie's head thoughtfully.

  “It may not be,” she murmured. “Did you pull anything off the inside of the cell?”

  “Several prints, all of which we're running, but we don't expect anything from them,” Stephanie said as they mounted the stairs. “It's a public area. The biggest problem I have right now is the security cameras.”

  “No footage?” Alina asked.

  “Oh, there's footage all right,” Stephanie answered. “The problem is there are only cameras in the corridors and none in the cells.”

  “That's inconvenient,” Alina agreed. “Do you have any leads from the corridor?”

  “Yes.” Stephanie glanced at her as she paused at the top of the stairs. “A couple unlocked the cell door and went in just before the museum closed yesterday. I have no idea what they did in there, but they came out a few minutes later, locked the door, and went on their merry way. The guide checked the cell about fifteen minutes after the museum closed and didn't seem to notice anything amiss.”

  “And now the guide is missing.” Alina glanced into the empty cell to the right at the top of the stairs. “How convenient.”

  “Exactly,” Stephanie agreed, walking toward the Dungeon.

  Alina followed her, her eyes darting over the ceiling of the corridor as they went. Another chill shot down her spine and she looked ahead. Her eyes narrowed as they rested at the end of the corridor and she frowned slightly. The light coming through the windows was dim and the shadows were long, but even so, she could have sworn she saw something move in the shadows at the end of the corridor. Stephanie glanced at her, noting her intent gaze, and turned her head to follow her look.

  “What's wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Alina murmured. She returned her dark gaze to Stephanie's face and forced a smile. “Overactive imagination, I think. You and your talk of ghosts have me looking for them.”

  “Ha!” Stephanie came to a stop outside the open Dungeon and Alina looked inside to find John on top of a wooden ladder, examining the small window. “John, Alina's starting to believe in ghosts.”

  “Well, this is the place to make you believe,” John retorted, glancing over his shoulder at them. His blond hair glinted in the shadows in front of the window. “I could have sworn you were standing behind me a minute ago. I thought I heard you walk in, but when I looked, nothing was there.”

  “Good grief, not you too. We really have to get you guys out more,” Alina muttered, stepping into the cell. She resolutely ignored the tingling taking over her senses and looked around. The dummy was still against the wall and the metal ring was still in the floor. Everything was just as it had been when she looked around yesterday, but now she felt strongly that something was different. Something had changed. “What's different in here?” she asked sharply, glancing at Stephanie.

  Stephanie stared back at her blankly.

  “Nothing,” she answered. “We haven't touched anything since you were here yesterday, except to bring the ladder in so John can reach the window ledge.”

  “Something's changed,” Alina said, looking around.

  John backed down off the ladder and looked at her thoughtfully.

  “Something like what?” he asked. “Has something moved?”

  “No.” Alina shook her head and turned around slowly, examining everything again. “Nothing's moved, but something is different. I can't explain it.”

  “And you say you have to get us out more,” John murmured, his blue eyes dancing. “If you see a ghost languishing on the floor, do me a favor. Tell him to go somewhere else so we can get some work done in here.”

  Alina glanced at him, her lips twitching.

  “I don't believe in ghosts,” she retorted. “It's the smell. The smell is different.”

  “Yes!” Stephanie exclaimed. She stepped into the cell and looked at John. “Remember I said it smelled funny in here yesterday?”

  “When there was an arm leaning against the wall? Yeah,” John retorted.

  “It wasn't the arm.” Alina shook her head. “The arm wasn't here when I was here and I smelled something too. The smell is gone now. That's what's changed.”

  “So what?” John shrugged.

  “Just making an observation,” Alina replied. Her eyes fell to the metal ring in the floor again. Almost unconsciously, she crouched down and hooked a finger through the ring thoughtfully. “What's the story with the window?”

  “You were right, Steph,” John said. “There are streaks in the dust though the center of the window sill, almost like something went over it.”

  “Does it look like someone came through it?” Stephanie asked. John shrugged.

  “Hard to tell,” he answered. “Why don't you go up and look and see what you think?”

  Stephanie shook her head and remained where she was, just inside the cell door.

  “No, thank you,” she muttered. “I'd rather not.”

  John looked at her and raised an eyebrow slightly, his lips twitching.

  “Don't tell me you're afraid to come in here!” he exclaimed.

  Alina glanced up from her study of the metal ring, her eyes resting on Stephanie's face. A slight flush infused her cheeks as she glared at John defiantly.

  “Hey, last time I was in here, I got a God-awful, debilitating cramp in my stomach,” Stephanie retorted. “Karl said it's common with people in here, and it's one of the reasons they started locking the door.”

  “It's damp in here,” Alina said calmly, standing. “I can see it could make your muscles cramp up. I'll look at the window. I'm curious,” she added with a slight grin and turned to go up the old wooden ladder.

  Stephanie and John watched as she climbed the ladder and examined the window, careful not to touch anything but the top of the ladder. Alina glanced out the window and down into the back prison yard. The maze looked mundane and unexciting in the cold light of day, and Alina noted the high wall surrounding the yard. She looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then dropped her eyes to the narrow stone sill. The window was cut into the thick outer wall and was barely large enough for her to fit her shoulders through. Alina tilted her head and studied the window briefly, then went back to the ledge. As John had pointed out, the outer edges of the ledge were covered in a fine film of dust and cobwebs, while the center of the ledge looked as though something had been dragged across it.

  “Someone or something definitely came across here recently,” Alina decided, glancing over her shoulder to Stephanie.

  “Do you think it was a someone?” Stephanie asked from the door.

  “There are no hand-prints,” Alina answered slowly, returning her gaze out the window thoughtfully.

  “So, we're back to square one,” Stephanie muttered.

  “Not necessarily,” John said slowly. “We're making progress. We're eliminating
possibilities. Any ideas on the head yet?”

  “Not one,” Stephanie replied, watching as Alina backed down off the ladder. “What do you think about the head, Lina?”

  Alina turned to find both Stephanie and John watching her closely.

  “I think you have a meat puzzle on your hands,” she answered calmly. “And, whoever sliced up your informant has a twisted sense of humor.”

  “Well, that's helpful,” John muttered and Alina shrugged.

  “I could tell you a lot more, but then where would be the fun in that?” she asked blithely.

  “Throw me a bone,” Stephanie pleaded. “I've got nothing right now.”

  “I don't think you really want me to do that,” Alina murmured, her eyes dancing. “You already have a head and an arm. Don't get greedy.”

  “Ugh.” Stephanie rolled her eyes as John chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

  “I have a couple of theories, but they don't make any sense,” Alina said, moving away from the ladder. Drawn by some invisible force, her eyes fell to the metal ring in the floor again. “I don't know how they got the arm into the cell, but I can tell you the head outside is some kind of warning. For who and for what, I don't know, but I would expect more pieces of your meat puzzle, if I were you.”

  “Warning?” Stephanie frowned thoughtfully. “I hadn't thought of that.”

  “Why would you?” John asked, watching as Alina stared at the ring on the floor again. “I thought heads on pikes went out with the Dark Ages.”

  “Only in some cultures,” Alina murmured absently, raising her eyes to his. “In others, the practice is still very much alive.”

  Chapter Nine

  When Alina pulled around the house, Michael's truck was parked in front of the garage next to Damon's motorcycle. The two men were standing near the trees at the back of the lawn with their backs to the driveway and Alina eyed them warily as she rolled to a stop. As she watched, Damon reached into his back holster and pulled out his weapon. Michael stepped to the side slightly to give him more room, watching as Damon steadied the handgun and fired off a round into the trees. Shaking her head slightly, Alina got out of the car and beeped it locked. Michael glanced over and waved.

  “Do I want to even want know?” she called, strolling across the grass towards them.

  “Probably not,” Michael replied as she grew closer. “We're comparing range.”

  “Is that what you guys call it these days?” Alina retorted, raising one eyebrow slightly as she joined them in the trees.

  “He modified his 9 mil,” Damon told her, nodding to Michael. “We're comparing notes.”

  He moved out of the way and Michael pulled his weapon out of his side holster, aiming it through the trees. Alina looked in the distance and saw a can hanging from a tree branch about twenty-five yards away. Michael aimed and fired. The can flew up and around the branch.

  “We both hit it,” Damon said. “I'll move it back another five yards.”

  He headed off toward the can and Alina looked at Michael.

  “Long time, no see,” she said. “How was Brooklyn?”

  “Fine.” Michael looked at her. “Damon said you were sight-seeing.”

  “Mmm.” Alina nodded. “An old prison museum.”

  “Is that so?” Michael's eyes glinted green in the speckled sunlight filtering through the trees. “See anything interesting?”

  “Nothing to lose my head over,” Alina murmured.

  “I got a call from Blake this morning,” Michael told her. “You remember him? You left a gun on his dining room table?”

  “I remember,” Alina said, amused. “How is he?”

  “Fine. He still wants to know how you got past his pit bull,” Michael answered with a grin.

  “Buddy and I came to an understanding.”

  “How did you know his dog's name was Buddy?” Michael shook his head. “Never mind. I probably don't want to know.”

  Alina laughed and watched as Hawk finished tying the can to another tree and turned to head back towards them.

  “I'm assuming Blake didn't call you to talk about Buddy,” she prompted.

  “No.” Michael glanced at her. “He seems to think that a Mexican Cartel Lieutenant is wandering around New Jersey,” he told her. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  “A Mexican Cartel?” Alina asked. “In Jersey?”

  “Well, its Lieutenant, at any rate.” Michael nodded. “The guy popped up on Blake's radar after he evaded DEA agents in Arizona and disappeared.”

  “Interesting,” Alina murmured. “Why do you think I would know anything about it?”

  “Your SEAL had some pretty unsavory people after him the last time I saw you two,” Michael said. “Now, here you are, here he is, and supposedly, here is a Cartel Lieutenant. It doesn't take much of an imagination to put it all together.”

  “I think your imagination is getting a little ahead of itself,” Alina retorted dryly. “I'm not sure why Damon is here, but I'm fairly confident he's not chasing a cartel.” At least, not yet, she added silently.

  “Well, I won't lie. I'm relieved to hear that,” Michael told her. “I don't need to tell you how dangerous those guys can be.”

  Viper shifted her dark gaze to his and Michael shivered involuntarily at the look in her eyes.

  “They aren't the only ones,” she said softly before turning to walk away. She went a few steps before pausing. She turned her head and Michael was relieved to see that the chilling look was gone from her eyes. “Just out of curiosity, did Blake give you a name?”

  “Jenaro Gomez,” Michael answered.

  “Never heard of him,” Alina murmured as Damon joined Michael again. “Happy shooting, boys.”

  Angela glanced at her watch and tossed her gym bag across to the passenger's seat before sliding behind the wheel. Sunday mornings were sacred time for her. It was the one morning of the week when she never let anything interfere with her routine. She went to the gym and then spent the rest of the morning focusing on herself. Sometimes she went to breakfast. Other times she went to get a manicure. Still others, she went shopping. This was her time. She could do what she wanted with a few precious hours before she had to start preparing for another week at work.

  Another week in hell.

  Angela was confident that no one had any idea just how much she despised the company that paid her. She was careful never to say or do anything that would reveal how much she hated it there. She started working for the bank straight out of college and had worked her way up the corporate ladder. The bank had been a smaller, local bank then. When it merged with the larger national One District Bank, Angela had weathered the storm of layoffs and come out even higher on the ladder. Now, after ten years, she held a comfortable title of Assistant Vice President and was on a solid course to make Vice President within the year. She would be the first female to advance to the title in the AML department in the history of the bank. After clawing her way through the male-dominated halls of a traditionally chauvinistic building, Angela wasn't about to let a little thing like her loathing for the parent company to get in her way now.

  Each day was a struggle to get through, but Angela was too stubborn to pack it in. So many times she was tempted to quit and walk out. Yet, inevitably, she powered through the battle to come back and fight another day. The stress was taking its toll, however. Her body was starting to betray her. Her blood pressure was chronically high and the dosage of her anti-anxiety medicines were becoming larger and larger. Angela knew she couldn't keep this up much longer. Once she made VP, once she broke that last gender barrier, she would re-evaluate her position.

  Until then, she had Sunday mornings.

  Starting the engine, she put the car in reverse and backed out of her spot. Glancing at her nails, she decided a trip to the nail salon was in order. Angela was just pulling out of the parking lot when her blackberry started ringing in her purse. Stifling a sigh, she hit the hands-free button on her st
eering wheel.

  “Hello?”

  “Angela Bolan?” a male voice asked.

  “Yes.” Angela slowed to a stop at a red light.

  “This is Lowell Kwan, from the IT Department at the bank,” the voice told her.

  “Yes?” Angela frowned.

  “I'm afraid I have some disturbing news for you,” Lowell told her. “I understand you were a friend of Rodrigo Frietas.”

  “Well, friend would be a bit of an overstatement,” Angela murmured. “I know him through mutual friends. Wait. Did you say...were?”

  “Yes.” The voice on the phone paused for a moment. “You haven't heard yet?”

  “Heard what?” Angela hit the gas as the light changed and headed toward the highway that would take her to her nail salon.

  “I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Rodrigo Frietas is dead,” Lowell said apologetically.

  “What?!” Angela gasped, shocked despite herself. “But...I just saw him last Monday!”

  “Yes, it's quite a shock,” Lowell agreed. “It was a nasty business with his head. I'm afraid it gets even worse. I'm calling you because it appears that, before he died, Rodrigo accessed the bank mainframe with your credentials.”

  “WHAT?!?!” Angela swerved to the right, cutting across two lanes of traffic to get to the shoulder of the highway. Ignoring the indignant horns and hand gestures from the cars she cut off, she came to a stop at the side of the road and clicked on her hazards. Snatching the blackberry out of her purse, she hit the hands-free button again and put the phone against her ear. “What the hell do you mean he accessed the mainframe with my credentials? I barely knew him!”

  “I understand.” Lowell's voice was much clearer now that she was hearing it through the phone itself and Angela detected the trace of an accent in his voice. “I'm not sure how he did it, to be honest. I'm going through his desktop and I came across a file buried on the root drive. I'm looking at the logs now. Someone accessed the mainframe with your credentials from this PC the day before he disappeared last week.”