by Freya Barker
“Thank you,” I tell him, noting he seems more interested in the house than in me.
It feels like I’m sitting on something when I climb in. I shift and twist around to find a book in my seat.
Suddenly I feel a pinch and a burning sensation at the back of my neck, and a heavy body shoves me down on the seat, trapping my arms underneath me.
“I’m sorry,” a voice whispers by my ear.
I draw on my training and jerk my head back, hoping to catch him on the chin but it feels like my head weighs a ton. I don’t make contact and when I try to struggle, my entire body feels like it’s filled with lead.
I’m trying to think but my brain is sluggish and I’m vaguely aware of the smell of cinnamon.
I fight hard to hang on but it’s no use.
Yanis
“Move it to the left.”
I adjust the tiny camera as Radar instructs.
The Sunday morning call from the owner of Flynn’s Fields was unexpected. I planned to finalize the security layout for the vineyard today or tomorrow, but when Joe Flynn found one of his fermentation vats vandalized this morning, those plans moved up.
I rustled up Radar, loaded whatever equipment we had at the office in the back of my vehicle, and drove out to Palisade.
They did a number on his fermentation tank, using some kind of saw to cut through the steel layers and two thousand or so gallons of wine flooded the facility. The night security guard they hired to patrol the property found the mess but the perps had already taken off. Likely he interrupted them since it looks like they had started on the second of the five tanks. Each of those babies cost upward of thirteen grand. That, plus the wine lost, is a lot of fucking money down the drain.
“You’ve got it.”
I give Radar the thumbs-up and climb down the ladder so I can move on to the next one.
We’re installing the handful of stationary mini-cameras we had in stock in and around the production side of Flynn’s Fields. We’ll replace them with proper ones this coming week as soon as we have a security framework set up and equipment ordered, but for now this’ll have to do.
With eyes now on the facility, as well as the access point, we head to the office space where we find Joe talking on the phone. He doesn’t keep us waiting long.
“Get it done?”
“For now, yes,” I answer him, taking a seat. “We only had enough for the winery, but it’s on a live feed. You already had the gate and access to the buildings secured, but it looks like they gained entrance from the vineyard and through the service entrance beside the big loading door. The alarm on that was basic and easily dismantled, so Radar upgraded it.”
“Jesus,” Joe mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. “My vines…if there is anything more valuable than the tanks or the wine itself, it’s the grapes.”
“Already included in the plan I was working on, but the key element here is good security personnel. You can have top-of-the-line equipment all over this place but unless you have eyes on it at all times, it’s useless.”
“I thought I had everything covered.”
I feel for the guy. He finally had the guts and the means to follow a lifelong dream—which he told me Flynn’s Fields was—only to be targeted when he’s barely out of the starting gate.
“For normal circumstances, maybe.” It’s not my style to beat around the bush. “But someone’s got it in for you, and until police find out who that is and stop them, we’ve gotta close this place down tight. That means the right equipment and trained manpower.”
“I’m at my wit’s end. Whatever needs to be done,” he dejectedly concedes. “Can you provide both?”
We set up custom security systems, provide specialized personal security, and a variety of other services, but we don’t generally guard properties. To be blunt, it’s below our pay scale.
I’m about to tell him so when Joe follows up.
“The cops didn’t seem too interested. Even with it being the fourth time I’ve had to call them in the past month. I could really use some help.”
Fuck.
I glance at Radar, who gives me an oh-what-the-hell shrug. It’s not like we’re swamped with work. Especially now that Bobby Lee is out of commission for the foreseeable future and her tour is done. The contract we have with Boulder Records is for her security only, so it’ll be on the back burner until she’s back on the road.
It’ll probably be good for the team to have something to put their teeth into.
I should get in touch with Bree, get her to start working on establishing contact with the Palisade Police Department. Not sure what time she’s coming back today, but if I can’t touch base with her, I’ll catch her first thing tomorrow.
Thinking about Bree brings back the picture of her in that dress last night. It was the culprit for my lack of sleep. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d have sworn she enjoyed flirting with the cameras, but I recognized the discomfort on her face and felt a pang of guilt.
I’m hard on her and I know it. Every time I worry her pull gets too strong, I purposely send her off on some remote assignment or piss her off with one like the red carpet gig. Having Bree angry at me is safer than when she lets that impervious mask slip and I catch a glimpse of the warm woman underneath.
“Okay. We’ll see what we can do.”
Joe looks instantly relieved.
He directs us to an empty tasting room, where Radar can work on his laptop, and I start making some calls.
My first priority is to get some kind of rotation together so the place is covered at night. The existing night guard will keep patrolling the place, but I want one of my guys on site once the place shuts down. It’s less likely they will try something during work hours when the property is not only bustling with staff, but also with visitors.
Bree doesn’t answer so I leave her a brief message to call me. She’s probably on her way back now. Next is Jake, who doesn’t mind doing a couple of shifts. Radar is willing as well, so between those two, Bree, and myself, we can rotate through coverage.
I purposely leave Dimas out of the equation; he’s going to have his hands full with the new baby. Still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact my younger brother is going be a dad.
Shit.
I guess it’s inevitable Ma and Dad will show up in Grand Junction sometime soon. Their first grandchild.
Maybe I should schedule myself for the bulk of the vineyard shifts. I love my parents, but they can be a bit…much.
Radar volunteers for the first shift tonight, and with a plan in place, I head back toward Grand Junction. Since I haven’t heard back from Bree, I try her again while driving. She should be back by now, but her phone keeps ringing before bumping me to her mailbox. It’s not like her to be out of reach for this long.
Once I hit town, I steer toward her building instead of home, but her Jeep is not parked in its regular spot and all lights are off in her apartment. I park and dial Lena.
“Sunday night, Boss? It couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow morning?” she grumbles when she answers.
“Bree’s flight. What time was it supposed to come in?”
“Her flight was for three fifteen, she should be home.”
I end the call with no more than a grunt.
She’s not home.
An uneasy feeling crawls up my spine. Call me obsessive, but I don’t like not knowing where she is. As far as I know, she hasn’t been with anyone recently but however much that has always eaten at me, I almost wish she was currently seeing someone. It at least would explain why she’s not answering her fucking phone.
I pull the Yukon back on the road and head toward the airport.
If she never made it back from Denver, her Jeep would still be parked in the long-term lot.
Chapter Four
Yanis
“Doesn’t look like her name was on the flight manifest.”
That uneasy feeling in my gut expands.
I’m standing beside Br
ee’s Jeep in the airport parking lot and according to the parking attendant, the vehicle hasn’t moved since Friday.
“Can you see if maybe she changed her flight?”
“I’ll have a look, let me call you right back.”
Luckily things are quiet at the vineyard for now and Radar has his laptop on hand.
Not much I can do standing here in the parking lot so I get back in my vehicle and head toward the office. Maybe by the time I get there he’ll have answers for me, but at least I’ll be able to pull the number for Sue Paxton, the singer’s assistant. She’ll know when Bree left. If she left at all.
The gnawing feeling in my gut doesn’t get any better when my phone rings as I walk into the building.
“Nope. Nothing,” Radar says and follows it up with, “Want me to come in?”
My instinct is to say yes, but I can’t leave the client in the lurch.
“No. I’m at the office. Am gonna make a few calls. Stand by, I’ll be in touch.”
Where the hell could she be? It’s already almost ten on a Sunday night and nothing about this feels right.
I try her phone again. No luck. Then I pull up the number for Sue.
“Yanis Mazur, PASS Security. Is Bree still there?” I ask, interrupting the woman’s greeting.
For a moment it’s quiet on the other side.
“Bree? No. She left this morning.”
She sounds confused.
“What time?”
“She changed her flight to seven thirty this morning. The limo picked her up at six twenty.”
“Limo?”
“I hired an airport limo. I didn’t want her to Uber it.”
“And you saw her get in.”
“I didn’t actually see her leave, I was on a conference call, but I heard the limo drive up and moments later heard the front door close. Is everything okay?”
“No. It looks like she never made it here.” My phone beeps with an incoming call. “I’ve gotta go.”
It’s Radar.
“She wasn’t on any flight out of Denver today.”
Ten minutes later I’ve put calls in to Hutch and Dimi, who are both on their way in and am on hold with the Denver PD when Lena walks into my office.
“What are you doing here?”
She puts a box of donuts on my desk.
“I talked to Radar. I’m putting coffee on.”
With that she walks out and I’m reminded why I hired her in the first place. She is one of the most unflappable and organized people I know. You need someone like that in an office like this.
“Detective Evans.”
“Bill, it’s Yanis. I have an issue.”
I worked with Bill when we were both with the Grand Junction PD, before he left for Denver and I left the force altogether. It takes me a few minutes to explain the situation.
“Airport limo, you say? Hold on a sec.”
I hear some muffled voices but I can’t make out what they’re saying, when he’s suddenly back on the phone.
“Brianne Graves, forty-two, thirty-five oh five North 12th Street, apartment twenty-three?”
That gnawing feeling just became a deep burning in my gut.
“Yes,” I rasp, clearing my throat before I follow up a little stronger. “Yes, that’s Bree. Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Don’t know where she is. Discovered her wallet and phone in a bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat in an airport limo found on a shoulder near Switzer’s Gulch, not far from Deer Creek. There was a pair of sunglasses in the back seat, along with what looks like a crushed cinnamon bun in a napkin.”
“Christ,” I hiss.
If she left at six twenty and the limo was found not that far from Bobby Lee’s house, it means she’s already been missing for sixteen fucking hours.
“She there on an assignment?” Bill asks and I confirm, barely able to hold on to my composure. Bill appears to pick up on it. “She someone to you? I mean other than an employee?”
“Fuck yes,” I grind out. “She’s someone to me.”
“Damn, my friend. Looks like she might be in trouble. They found the dead driver slumped over the wheel. Knife wound to the back of the neck, at the base of the skull. Body is at the medical examiner’s office, but the detectives on the case are still there with the crime scene unit.”
It takes a minute for that information to sink in, during which time Dimi walks in and takes a seat on the other side of my desk.
“If you’re suggesting what I think you are, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Not her,” I tell Bill firmly. My eyes are glued to my brother’s worried ones. I’m sure mine reflect the same.
“She wear a blade?” Bill asks gently.
“Doesn’t matter. If she had anything to do with this, you wouldn’t have found the limo or the body.” Across from me Dimi’s eyes widen. “And she definitely wouldn’t have left her bag with all her information behind. She’s smarter than that.”
“She could’ve panicked,” he suggests.
“Bree doesn’t panic,” I fire back. “Someone took her. They would’ve had to disable her, though. She wouldn’t have gone willingly. She’s highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Driver’s license says she’s only five two.”
“And every fucking inch of her able to fight off guys twice her size. Make no mistake.”
He harrumphs, making it clear he’s not necessarily taking my word for it, but he should. Bree is a force to be reckoned with on all levels. I should know, I haven’t been able to shake her power over me for fifteen fucking years.
“I’m flying out there,” I announce.
“No flights until morning.”
“I’ll charter one.”
Dimi nods affirmatively and leaves my office. I know he’ll be on the phone making it happen before I say my goodbyes.
“Good luck with that,” he scoffs.
“Then I’ll drive. It’s four hours.”
“Fine. Call me when you get here. I’ll take you to the scene. Smooth the way for you.”
“Appreciated,” I bite off.
“Yeah, she’s somebody special,” he confirms to himself.
I don’t bother responding and hang up.
Both Lena and Dimi are on the phone in the bullpen.
“Anything?”
Dimi shakes his head.
“Not before six in the morning,” Lena shares, hanging up.
Dimas gets off the phone as well just as Jake walks in.
“What now?”
“Load up my Yukon. Arms, tactical gear, surveillance equipment. Bring everything,” I announce. “We’re driving.”
Bree
I smell Pine-Sol and laundry detergent.
I struggle to grab hold of that information as it tries to slip from me again.
Soft.
I’m lying on my side with my cheek on a pillow. There’s no pain. I can’t hear anything and my eyes won’t open. It’s like floating just below the surface of awareness. I know it’s there, I’m reaching for it, but I keep sliding down.
Now I hear something. Voices.
I make an effort to blink my eyes open but something is covering them. A blindfold?
Where am I?
The smell of clean sheets registers and locks in. I’m in a bed, on my side.
I try to move my arm, but my hands are behind my back. It feels like handcuffs.
The voices get louder. Two men approaching.
“…your incompetence. Tell me you disposed of the driver?”
“Staged it just like you instructed.”
I force the clouds from my head and remember the red-carpet event last night. Eating a burger in the back of the limo. Sue in the kitchen this morning. Walking outside, the waiting limo, the waiting driver. Maybe six feet, stocky, Ray-Ban sunglasses, graying goatee. Could’ve been bald under the chauffeur’s cap, I’m not sure.
I’m trying to recall if I heard his voice but I don’t think he ever said anything.
Then that burning in my neck. A needle? I was drugged.
I hear the sound of a door opening and force my breathing and heart rate to slow down. Better to let them think I’m still out of it.
“This is not her. Doesn’t even look like her.”
“She’s not wearing makeup. You saw her last night, all dolled up and busting out of that dress.”
“Exactly. You’re trying to tell me this is the same woman?”
“I watched her go in and watched her come out the house again. I had my eyes on her the whole time, I swear it’s her.”
“Turn her over.”
I let myself go completely slack and resist any reaction as a pair of hands roll me to my stomach. Nothing I want more than to take out the asshole pulling my yoga pants down in the back, but I know I don’t stand a chance with my responses sluggish, my hands bound, and two of them hovering over me.
The shiver is almost impossible to suppress when I feel a finger trace down my lower back and come to rest at the base of my spin.
“See that?”
“Don’t see nothing, Boss.”
Suddenly the finger is gone and I hear the familiar sound of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.
“Bobby Lee has a tattoo there, moron. It’s not her, you stupid fuck!”
There is a sound of footsteps running from the room and another set following slower.
Still, the reverberation of a gunshot is so sudden and loud, I can’t hold back the involuntary startle.
“You awake?”
The voice is much closer than I anticipated.
If one of them got shot, it means I only have one left to deal with. I just need to bide my time.
Rough hands roll me over again and I feel his hot breath on my face.
“It’s close, I’ll have to give him that…” he mumbles under his breath.
Then I hear a rustle and a soft metal zing. The hair on my neck stands up; it’s the sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath.
“Easy way to tell if someone is faking it, you know,” he says in a conversational tone, like we’re having a casual chat over coffee.
