Without response, Casandra and Reeves quickly followed Decker down the stairs into the basement. While holding his MP5K in both hands, he kept it aimed at each doorway they passed. Reeves kept watch behind them with his semiautomatic in his hand. Decker held his hand up while stopping. Both stopped behind him. He had them wait while he moved forward with his weapon aimed at the last door on the right. Decker moved into the doorway and aimed his gun into the room, but there was no one there. Decker turned just in time to see Bogart move from one of the doors behind Reeves and Casandra.
“That’s far enough, Reeves,” Bogart shouted.
Decker immediately leaped into the nearby doorway. Reeves aimed his weapon at Bogart and fired, forcing Bogart to fire back in response. In that split second, Reeves pulled Casandra in front of him. She screamed as the bullet struck her in the shoulder, sending her to the floor. Bogart cursed and was forced to duck into the safety of the doorway, giving Reeves enough time to bolt into one of the rooms across the hall from where Decker had taken cover. Decker peered into the hallway and saw Casandra on the floor.
“Casandra!” Decker cried out in something resembling horror.
When Monroe poked his head out of the doorway across from where Bogart was hiding, Decker fired at him in anger and rage. Casandra was left lying on the concrete floor, clutching her bleeding shoulder and crying.
“Let her go!” Decker shouted at them while firing several shots to keep them from shooting the injured woman. “Come on, Casandra. Keep down and come this way. You can make it!”
“We don’t want her, Decker,” Bogart called back. “I wasn’t aiming for her!”
Reeves removed a remote control from his jacket pocket and pressed a button. A large section of the stone wall behind them moved inward, revealing a secret passageway.
“Cover me,” Reeves announced to Decker.
“We just want the flash drive,” Bogart insisted, hoping to retrieve what they came for.
“You shot her!” Decker shouted back in anger. “What kind of bastard shoots an innocent, unarmed woman?” He again looked at the sobbing, injured woman attempting to crawl her way to him. Decker fired several shots down the hallway, covering Casandra. “Come on, Casandra!”
“I didn’t shoot her,” Bogart shouted back. “I was aiming for Reeves. He used his wife as a human shield!”
Decker’s entire body suddenly stiffened. He then glared at Reeves in the doorway across the hall.
“They’re lying. I wouldn’t do that,” Reeves snarled back then held out his hand. “Give me the flash drive, then go get Casandra. I’ll cover you.”
Decker shifted his gaze to the sobbing woman now clutching and clawing at the concrete floor, unable to pull herself any further. She feared standing, afraid of being shot again. Decker looked back at Reeves and showed no emotion.
“Did you ever love her?” Decker asked while glaring at Reeves and cocking his head.
“What?” Reeves demanded as he stared at Decker with surprise. “Of course I love her!”
“Good,” Decker replied, then looked down the hall past the injured, crying woman and sneered at Bogart. “I’ll give you the flash drive, and then you let us go. No one else has to die down here, Bogart.”
“Give us the flash drive,” Bogart replied, “and we won’t stop you from leaving. You have my word.”
Decker removed the lighter from his pocket. Reeves stared at him in horror.
“Don’t do it, Decker,” Reeves threatened. “The information on that drive is priceless. Don’t give it to them for Casandra. Women like that are a dime a dozen.”
Decker glared at Reeves in anger. “I thought you said you loved her,” he scoffed in silent rage.
“Decker,” Reeves snarled, then aimed his semiautomatic at his second in command. “Don’t you even think about--”
Decker turned his weapon on Reeves and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Reeves barely had time to gasp as the bullet exploded in his chest, immediately dropping him to the floor. Decker swiftly returned his attention to Bogart down the hall just past Casandra.
“Show of faith, Bogart,” Decker announced. “Step into the hallway and show me your hands. I get the girl; you get the flash drive. I just want the girl.”
Bogart drew a deep breath and slung his rifle. Monroe cast a look at Bogart and revealed his horror.
“You aren’t actually going to do it, are you?” Monroe demanded.
Bogart frowned and eyed Monroe across the hall from him. “If he shoots me, you shoot him,” he announced, then held his breath. “But he’s not going to shoot me.”
“What makes you so sure?” Monroe demanded while revealing his concern.
“He loves that girl more than he wants me dead,” Bogart replied. “He’s willing to die for her. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Monroe groaned and shook his head. “If Jackie could see you now,” he muttered.
Bogart stepped into the corridor with his hands up in front of him. Decker aimed his weapon at Bogart and stepped into the hallway as well. Monroe kept his gun aimed at Decker. Decker cautiously approached the dead man across the hall. He collected the remote control and the soft leather briefcase without taking his weapon off Bogart. He slung the briefcase strap over his neck and shoulder, then made his way closer to them and the injured woman. Casandra kept her eyes locked on Decker while stifling her sobs. As he approached, she slowly moved to her feet, fearing one of the men would shoot her the moment she stood. Decker pivoted her behind him then dropped the lighter on the floor. He forced Casandra to back up down the hall to the opening in the wall while keeping his weapon trained on Bogart. He motioned Casandra into the opening then darted in behind her, sealing the door.
Bogart released his breath and lowered his hands. Monroe stepped out of the doorway while lowering his weapon as Bogart approached the discarded lighter on the floor. He pulled the lid off to reveal the flash drive hidden within the decorative metal casing.
“You’re very lucky, Bogart,” Monroe informed him.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bogart assured him. “Decker never cared about the information on this drive. He only cared about Casandra. We got what we wanted, and he got what he wanted.”
§
Beck sat on the floor of Jackie’s helicopter with his laptop and frantically tapped on the keyboard. The flash drive disguised as a cigarette lighter stuck out the side port of the computer. Ross and Monroe leaned against either side of the opening from outside the helicopter while Jackie and Gil put the finishing touches of duct tape on Gil’s severely injured helicopter.
“For what it’s worth--” Gil announced with a slightly defeated sigh. He then looked at Kirk, Zack, and Bogart while grinning. “Who’s flying with me?”
All three men raised their brows and took a step back without responding.
Gil eyed them suspiciously. “What?” he demanded and indicated his helicopter. “You don’t think she’s seaworthy?”
“Seaworthy, perhaps,” Kirk remarked with little emotion. “But will she stay in the air--?” He cringed in response and shook his head. “Smart money says no.”
“There’s more duct tape on that thing than there is metal,” Zack informed him. “I’ve used up most of my nine lives. I’m not wasting my last life flying in that piece of shit.”
“Big babies,” Gil scoffed at the men. He sighed with defeat and then looked at Darth, who happily panted and wagged his tail where he sat before him. “At least Darth is willing to fly with me.”
Zack turned to leave and slapped his thigh. “Darth,” he announced with little emotion.
Darth excitedly barked and ran after Zack. Gil folded his arms across his chest while staring after his dog with astonishment.
“I’m feeling a little underappreciated here, guys,” Gil remarked.
Kirk and Bogart didn’t even comment as they turned and walked away.
Jackie offered a sympathetic smile and patted Gil’s broad shoulde
r. “I have faith in your repair skills,” she insisted.
“Take her for a test run with me?” Gil asked while raising a curious brow.
Jackie’s eyes widened with surprise and mild horror. “Are you kidding?” she just about gasped. “If we both die, who’s going to look after our kids?” She gave a nod to the nearby team.
Gil shook his head as Jackie headed back to her own helicopter to check on the flash drive's status.
Beck straightened and pulled the flash drive from his laptop port. “I removed any mention of us from the thumb drive,” he insisted while handing it to Ross. “He had a few juicy tidbits on us, but nothing our enemies don’t already know.”
Ross accepted the flash drive and appeared curious. “Maybe we should make a copy of the drive for ourselves,” he remarked. “You know, just in case. Might be something of use for later down the road.”
Beck flashed a grin. “Way ahead of you,” he teased. “I already downloaded a copy to my laptop.”
“Good job,” Ross replied, then handed the cigarette lighter to Bogart. “You’re up, Bogart. Take this to Holden and explain that we found a second drive without giving up too much detail.”
Bogart stared at Ross with something resembling horror. “If I go back there, Harris and Holden are going to detain me for hours,” he lightly whined, attempting to gain some sympathy.
“This was your mission,” Ross replied, then grinned. “You’re not getting any sympathy from me. Man-up. We’ll meet you back at Jackie’s house.”
Bogart frowned in response. “Fine.”
Chapter 9
The following afternoon, a handsome, well-dressed man in his late twenties entered the ritzy art gallery located near the shopping district within Colorado Springs. The gallery currently only had a dozen or more visitors. The massive gallery was a labyrinth of walls containing artwork and many sculptures by local artists. Track lighting, as well as ceiling lights, showcased the artwork to potential buyers. Judging by his expensive clothes and the way he carried himself, the handsome man, Michael Rinaldi, obviously came from money. He barely glanced at any of the expensive paintings and artwork as he made his way through the labyrinth. Michael had a headful of thick, dark hair and perfectly bronzed skin. He was athletically built with just enough muscle mass to make quite an impression on most women. The gallery owner, Dwight Rosenthal, saw the younger man, stopped what he was doing, and approached with a delighted smile on his face.
“Michael,” Rosenthal announced cheerfully while greeting the man with his hand extended.
Rosenthal was a moderately handsome, clean-cut man in his mid-forties. He was shorter than average with a classic ‘dad bod’ and a certain regal appeal. The gallery owner’s light brown hair was naturally graying, which added to his distinguished look.
Michael accepted his hand and shook it. “Mr. Rosenthal,” he announced. “How’s business?”
Rosenthal made a face and shrugged. “Slow, but it’ll pick up this evening,” he announced and once again grinned. “And, please, call me Dwight.” He then laughed. “You’ve been dating my daughter a month now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rosenthal then tilted his head and appeared curious. “I didn’t think you were going out until later this evening.”
“Our dinner reservation isn’t until seven,” Michael informed him, then offered a tiny smile. “I just couldn’t wait that long to see her.”
“I was worried you were canceling,” Rosenthal remarked then laughed somewhat insecurely. “She would have been devastated.”
“No, I’m definitely not canceling,” Michael informed him, then reached into his pocket. “In fact, I’m dying to give her an early birthday present.”
Michael opened the six-inch-long, black velvet box to reveal a stunning, ten-carat diamond tennis bracelet in white gold. Rosenthal stared at the bracelet with some surprise, then beamed with delight. Michael shut the box and returned it to his jacket pocket.
“Think she’ll like it?” Michael asked while grinning.
Rosenthal snorted a laugh. “She’s going to love it,” he replied.
“Where is she?” Michael asked.
“She’s around somewhere,” Rosenthal replied while maintaining his grin. “Why don’t you wait in the office? I’ll find her and send her back there. You can surprise her. She’ll be thrilled.”
Michael smiled his agreement, then headed across the gallery for the back. He entered the office near the rear of the building and shut the door behind him. Rosenthal’s office was larger than most offices and contained many expensive paintings with sold tags on them. The antique desk was barely visible beneath shipping supplies, and a nearby table was cluttered beyond recognition. Rosenthal and his daughter used the office as a staging area to crate the sold artwork and evaluate new work sent by local artists to sell on consignment. The shop had their favorite, best-selling artists, but they always welcomed new talent. Michael walked across the large area and eyed the expensive, sold paintings waiting to be packaged and shipped. Some of the price tags were shocking. He observed a particularly hideous painting and noted the enormous price tag on it. It seemed unfathomable that someone would pay that much for something so dreadful. He heard the office door open and turned while rousing his best smile. His expression suddenly dropped.
“What the--?”
A twelve-inch, silver-sculpted decorative dagger slashed him across the throat, spraying his blood onto the hideous painting. Michael barely had time to cry out as he instinctively clutched his bleeding throat before collapsing.
§
Rosenthal’s beautiful, young daughter, Emily, approached the office. Emily was a petite girl in her mid-twenties with her light brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her dress was smart yet somewhat sexy, showcasing her moderately athletic body. She wore excessively high heels to add height to her otherwise short frame. Emily seemed pre-occupied with the list her father had given her. It was out of character for her father to pull her away from a potential customer to complete such trivial tasks.
“This could have waited,” Emily muttered and shook her head.
She opened the office door and entered while studying the list in her hand. Emily took two steps into the room before slipping and nearly falling. She caught her balance and looked down. There was a large pool of blood on the floor. She followed the blood to the spattered painting. Her eyes then dropped to Michael’s lifeless body face down on the floor. His eyes were open, and the large, deep gash across his neck was clearly visible. Emily screamed in horror at the gruesome sight of her dead boyfriend.
§
Holden entered the art gallery's backroom while the detectives and the crime scene crew were still conducting their investigation. He took a moment to scan the large office area and flashed his badge at several police officers, who attempted to keep him away with the other lookie-loos. The moment the police officers saw the badge, they backed off. After taking in the entire scene bustling with forensic photographers and investigators, Holden approached the homicide detective he’d dealt with many times in the past. Detective McGrath was only a few years older than Holden and had made quite a name for himself in the homicide division. He was a reasonably handsome, clean-cut man with short dark hair and stood a tick over six-foot. He had just enough muscle to seem impressive, although not necessarily the aggressive, fighting type.
McGrath saw Holden and released a deep sigh. “How did I know they’d send you?” he remarked and shook his head. “Am I being punished?”
“Just not your day, I suppose,” Holden remarked, then flashed a tiny smirk.
“How’s Jackie?” McGrath asked while offering a tiny, sly smile as his mood lightened, indicating he’d only been kidding with the federal agent. “Come to her senses and leave you yet?”
“She’s pretty much the same but with a nicer tan,” Holden replied with little emotion. “I’ll be sure to tell her you’re still dogging her. She’ll happily kick your ass.”
McGrath
grinned and chuckled. Holden glanced at the dead man on the floor. The scene was so fresh; they hadn’t even gotten around to the chalk outline yet. Without getting too close, Holden crouched down and studied the dead man. A strange look crossed his face. He then straightened and eyed McGrath.
“You know who he is, don’t you?” Holden asked.
McGrath nodded while raising his brows. “I know,” he replied. “That’s why I called the Bureau. Mafia types have been dropping dead all over the state. I just wasn’t expecting to find one this close to home.”
“What do you know so far?” Holden asked while studying the crime scene.
“The victim, Michael Rinaldi,” McGrath began then raised his brow and eyed Holden, “son of the infamous Sebastian Rinaldi, was dating Emily Rosenthal, the gallery owner’s daughter.” McGrath consulted his notebook. “Michael arrived about an hour ago. Rosenthal sends him back here, gets his daughter to surprise her, and she finds her boyfriend dead.” McGrath shut his notebook. “Michael was killed approximately ten minutes after he arrived at the gallery. No signs of struggle. He either knew his killer, or it happened so fast, he didn’t even have time to react. He couldn’t have been dead more than ten minutes when the girlfriend found him. If she’d gotten here any sooner, she probably would have run into the killer herself.”
“Lucky break for her,” Holden muttered and again scanned the room. “She’d probably be dead too.”
“I haven’t questioned her yet; she was too distraught when I arrived,” McGrath informed him. “You’d think someone dating the son of a notorious mob boss would be able to roll with the punches a little better.”
“If he had been honest with her, perhaps,” Holden remarked, then eyed the blood-spattered painting near the body with a stern, serious look. He then squinted and pointed at it. “Is that the actual sticker price for that painting?”
“Quite valuable for something so hideous,” McGrath replied, then indicated the room. “Everything in here is worth a small fortune.”
“And nothing was stolen?”
Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U. Page 7
