by Wylder Stone
Sorting through the debris on the ground, Trista plopped in a chair, frustrated. “I can’t tell if anything is missing. The files are everywhere, so it’s hard to tell what’s here and what’s gone.”
“I’ll help you get it back in order, Trista,” Estella said. Estella had been employed by Trista for several months and stepped up when Garret, her manager, quit showing up. She was kind, great with kids, and bonded with Mason right away. Her olive complexion and raven black hair complemented her curves, which seemed to have Troy’s attention. Estella was beautiful, young, and Trista was happy to have her on staff. Especially when Garret stopped showing up. She would rotate open and closing shifts with Trista in Garret’s place.
“Could it have been Garret?” Trista asked, thinking about Troy and Jackson’s statement about it having to do with money.
“Who the hell is this Garret?” Owen asked.
“Garret is, or was, my manager. Kind of my right hand around here. He’s the guy who quit showing up, and we haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”
“What do we know about this guy?” Jackson asked.
Trista shrugged because there wasn’t much to say. “Young, local, good at his job, works hard, plays just as hard. Not really like him to do something like this, but Garret is young. Estella stepped up to fill in until we sort him out. Drafted a termination letter. It’s actually in that mess somewhere, I’m sure.”
Jackson wanted to rule him in or out, fast. “Do you have a file on him?”
Waving her hand around at the mess, she laughed. “Yep! Somewhere.”
“I’ll call James. He does all of the background checks, right? He should have something,” Jackson said, walking out of the small office to make the call.
“You’re closing for a few days. We’ll put a sign on the door – plumbing or something so we don’t cause alarm,” Owen said, his anger becoming more present.
“I can’t just close.”
Owen challenged her with a daring look. “You can. You have to.”
“It’ll be better this way, Tris,” Troy offered to break the tension. “We need to get a security system in here and one at the house, too, when we’re finished. If this is Mark, he’s playing games, so we need to up ours.”
“What kind of game is this?” Trista asked, feeling defeated and afraid.
“The kind where he’s trying to make a point that he can get to you, and he found a hole in the security,” Owen answered.
“So he’s making fun of you?”
“That and taunting us. He wants us to react, and we are. Just not in the way he expects us to.”
“I can clean this up, Tris. It’ll be safe if the guys are here,” Estella offered, nodding at Troy specifically. “Really, I don’t mind.”
Running her hand through her hair, still trying to take it all in, Trista reasoned through the stress. “Okay. Okay, but only if they’re here, Estella. You know how to reach me?”
“I do. I’ll call the rest of the staff and take care of the notice on the front door too.” Estella was happy to help. She was fond of Trista and Mason and hated to see the stress mounting on her new friend. “You have a lot on your plate, and you should be with your son. You’ll just worry about him the whole time anyway. It’s okay. It’s just a lot of filing.”
“Don’t worry, Tris,” Troy chimed in with eyes for Estella. “We’ll watch out for her. I’ll even escort her home when she’s done and make sure she’s safe.”
Already shaken from what had happened at her place of business, Trista’s emotions were high, and she let out a tortured cry when she walked in the front door of her home. Owen grabbed his holstered weapon and tucked Trista behind him in a protective manner. He didn’t need to see what she did to know it was bad and trouble was at play. In the short time they had been gone, someone had broken into her home and given it the same treatment they had given her office.
“You stand right here in the doorway. You hear me? Don’t move. Not even a little bit.” Trista nodded, and Owen searched the house. Carefully. Methodically. Searching for the perpetrator, hoping they’d surprised them with their return. Owen had a gut feeling it was Mark’s dirty work and would like to deal with him once and for all.
“Owen…” Trista whispered, frightened to let him out of her sight as he went deeper into the house. She was paralyzed by the stinging fear.
He turned and signaled for her to stay where she was and not to say a word before disappearing down the long hall to the bedrooms.
He cleared those rooms, closets, and any other space that someone could hide in, but there was still an odd noise they couldn’t identify. Something letting them know they weren’t alone. Collecting Trista as he passed back by, Owen went to the back of the house, following the noise. The kitchen had already been cleared; it was an open floorplan, and there were no obstructions to the kitchen
There was blood they hadn’t seen from the living room, plenty of it, all over the floor. Another scratch and thud quickly directed Owen to the end of the blood trail and put him right in front of the kitchen pantry. A subtle moan, then another knock and scratch. Owen wasn’t quick to toss the door open and shoot whoever was on the other side. They sounded wounded, and given the blood, it wasn’t a threat hiding on the other side of the door. It was a victim in need of help. But they’d left the home empty, and that made the scene all that more confusing.
With gun aimed and Trista safely tucked behind him, ducking behind the center island, Owen tossed the door open and yelled, “Don’t move!”
Broken plates and glasses had littered the floor, blending with the blood, and the pantry wasn’t any less gruesome. But sitting in the middle of it, wagging his tail, saturated in blood, was Killer.
“Oh, my God. Killer.” The dog stood at his name, happy to see them, but immediately sat back down. It was clear the dog knew his surroundings were dangerous because he’d already learned the hard way, evidenced by the puddles of blood around him and on the pantry door where he’d been scratching to get out.
“How did Killer get here? He was next door with Mason.” Trista panicked.
If the dog was now home and not where he was supposed to be, where was Mason? The two were inseparable and left together earlier that morning.
Owen quickly pulled out his phone, “Dante, Mason? Okay. Yes, he’s here. Break-in. No, stay there. Keep Mason there. The kid can’t see this, and I don’t want you guys walking into a trap.”
Quick to make another call, Owen paused to tell Trista that Mason was okay and put her at ease. His tone dropped too, and the anger-fueled level was unusual for him. “Tayler, he was just here. I need everyone here. We’re locking down until there’s a complete sweep of the grounds – next door too. Dante knows. I also need…a vet.”
Within minutes, the place was swarming with police searching the surrounding area for their culprit. Troy had Estella in tow, making good on his promise to keep an eye on her.
“He’s smart. Mark’s been here before and knows the woods and backroads. He would have come in, just as he disappeared, quick, easy, and without a trace.” Owen reasoned, piecing things together.
“Into the endless maze of old forest service roads, under a curtain of trees and brush,” Derek added. “He’s no stranger to living off the land and off the grid. Hiking in and out, camping out there, you name it. He’s done some pretty gritty missions and deployments in rougher terrain and conditions.”
“Exactly.”
Jackson’s solution was bold and would draw attention, but it fell under his expertise. “We could get a chopper up. Look from the air with better and faster coverage. If he’s back there, I’ll find him.”
Owen knew Mark, knew how he operated. How he played the game. “Nah. My guess is Mark was here early, watched us leave, and let himself in right away. He knew we’d head into town and check on his first mess. He would’ve only stayed long enough to make his point and leave. He’s long gone by now. Chopper would just let him know how many ste
ps behind him we are this time.”
“How’d he even get in here?” Trista said, roaming around the space, clearly shaken. It was one thing to talk about a looming threat but an entirely different thing to have it land in your living room and place of work simultaneously.
“Broken window in a bedroom on the north side of the house,” Jackson replied, entering the kitchen where they all stood. “That’s why nobody saw him.”
“Nothing but trees on that side and a fence on the west side, giving him a nice easy shield from the street view. Shit,” Troy said. “We need cameras up now, or he’s coming back.”
Owen’s face reddened as anger consumed him. In a low timbre, he turned to Trista, and said, “Go pack a bag for you and Mason.”
“What? No! I have a mess to deal with…here and at work. I’m not running with my son.”
“I’m getting you two out of here until we have this place better secured. He got too close, Trista.”
Estella had been quiet, listening to what everyone had to say while taking in the scene, and added her own two cents as emotion shook her, “Trista, I think he’s right. Look at what’s happened to your home. What if you or Mason had been here? Don’t worry about the messes. I can still help with cleanup. Especially if these guys are going to be here. I really don’t mind, and nobody’s after me. I’m safe. You’re clearly not, honey.”
“I can’t ask you to clean my house and office.”
“You’re not, I’m offering. I’ve been here enough to know where most everything goes. Plus, we’re closed a few days, so I have time,” Estella argued. A lone tear spilled over, which was understandable. Everyone in that room was used to chaos and drama, but she wasn’t. This was new to her, and Trista was quickly reminded just how abnormal this life was. It was the stuff made for television and movies, not everyday life.
Doc Rickman, the town vet, made his way into the kitchen where everyone had congregated, unrolling his long sleeves and re-buttoning the cuffs. “Well, Killer has a sore shoulder. Looks like he was probably kicked. The blood on his face wasn’t his. In fact, most of it wasn’t his, from what I can tell. My tech and I gave him a good exam, and all we have besides the shoulder are a few superficial wounds on his feet and legs from walking through the broken glass.”
A sigh of relief escaped Trista. In a very short time, that dog had become extremely important to her son. And her. “That’s great. Thanks, Doc. So the blood? He’s covered in it.”
Doc Rickman chuckled. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a good watchdog, and your intruder didn’t anticipate him. Given the mess and lack of serious injuries, the blood belongs to your intruder. My tech has Killer in the big bathtub in the master bedroom. Hope you don’t mind, but she’s giving him a good bath and tending to those foot wounds. A little rest, and he’ll be fine.”
“He was next door with Mason. Killer must have known something was wrong, and he came over here.” Baffled but grateful, Trista was glad Owen got that dog.
“Dogs are like that. Have a sixth sense or something. Could’ve smelled the guy, heard, or seen him. Who knows?” Rickman said. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit, though.”
“Trista, it’s not safe here. Even the dog knows it,” Troy gently delivered. “Let Owen take you guys to Santa Monica. You’ll be safe at Elite.”
The Elite building ran through her mind, stirring memories of her time with Owen years ago. He was taking them to Santa Monica, to his fortress, to his home.
The emotions that rushed to the forefront were such that she couldn’t reconcile them at the moment. Too much had happened. Too much was still happening. Trista felt defeated and was ready to surrender and let Owen take care of her, protect her, save her.
“I’ll pack,” she started, “but the dog is going with us.”
Estella smiled with relief which matched the surrounding tone. “I’ll help you get Mason’s things together.”
Something caught Trista’s eye as she passed a credenza just before entering the hallway that led to the bedrooms. It was decorated with family photos mostly and a few artful decorations. But something was off. Enough to catch her eye, but what. Stepping back, she scanned the area. Some of the photos had been knocked down, some broken on the floor, and some right where they were meant to be. Of course it didn’t look right. It was a mess, but there was something more. Something that even from the corner of her eye made her still and sent a chill down her spine as the hairs on the back of her neck stood tall. Something menacing. Something threatening. Something evil.
Something was intentional about what remained upright – a pattern, a message. The only pictures that remained upright were those of Mason. Everything else was shattered on the floor or face down on the credenza. She looked at them, each sitting like a bread crumb leading her to the next, creating a path to something she was supposed to see. It took her a moment because she studied each one, trying to evaluate the significance and read the message intended for her.
It was Mason at various stages of life, including some they’d just framed. Then she saw it. There was one out of order. It was Mason as an infant at the end of the line, but he wasn’t alone in that picture. It was a message alright. Mason was part of the plan, and the message was from the man holding him in the photo. The picture wasn’t just out of place. It didn’t belong to her. She didn’t have any like it, intentionally. It was a picture of Cesar. Her dead husband. A criminal. A monster. A murderer.
“Owen!” Trista yelled, eyes fixed on the photo.
Owen was quick to her side, recognizing the fear in her cry for help. “What is it.”
“This.” She picked up the framed photo. “This one isn’t mine. He left it. Why would he leave that? Why are there only pictures of Mason left upright and then this one at the end of the line? Why Cesar? Mason doesn’t even know him or remember him.”
Taking the photo from her grips, he studied it quickly then handed it over to someone from Elite. Owen remembered the day the picture was taken because he was there. He was in the background, and it seemed Trista hadn’t noticed. She was blinded by the fear that seeing Cesar left in its wake.
Owen said, “He’s a twisted bastard. That’s why. I’ll take care of this. Go pack. We’re leaving.”
Estella linked arms with Trista as a comforting gesture and slowly walked her down the hallway to collect her things. Though she wasn’t in Bear Springs when Cesar had been, Estella heard the stories. Everyone that lived there did.
Owen stood in the living room with his brothers, fuming. “How the hell did he get this far without him seeing us anywhere? We are the best in the business. The authorities come to us for help, yet we missed him?”
“He’s good,” Troy offered. “You trained him, Owen.”
Jackson interrupted with the rest of the plan to keep Trista and Mason safe. “You guys will be safe at the office, Owen. James and Derek will be going back with you to help. In the meantime, we’ll keep working here. We have another team coming in to fill their spots and assist with the investigation while Derek and James are with you – Cade and Connor.”
Nodding his head, Owen was relieved to have his brothers’ support and that of his extended family. Cade and Connor were their cousins and often worked with Elite Force. They were top-notch bounty hunters who went after the world’s worst enemies and brought them to justice. If anyone could fill in the gaps at Elite, it was them.
Owen nodded to acknowledge the plan and offer his approval. “Remember, if you find this asshole first, I need him alive. We need to figure out how he got out in the first place. We’re missing something – something big – and need him to tell us what it is. Then I’ll deal with him.”
9
The drive to Santa Monica from Bear Springs was several hours, only taking a short time longer this day as they traveled through the snow at the higher elevations, finally able to move faster and safer as they made their descent to warmer temperatures below.
The Los Angeles area was beautiful this tim
e of year as much as every other season. It was late fall. The weather was changing. The air was cool and even crisp during some evenings and early mornings while the days remained moderate and usually sunny. It was a break from the typical heat but without compromising the beauty and ability to explore the vast surroundings, especially in Santa Monica.
The Elite building came into view after exiting the freeway at the oceanfront district. It hadn’t changed and still held a bold, sleek presence among the rest of the buildings. It was the last place Owen and Trista had been together, really together, before everything they built slowly unraveled. It was nostalgic – both eerie and exhilarating.
The place really was like a fortress, not easy to get into or out of unless you belonged and knew how. She felt safer the minute the roll-up door and gate to the underground parking closed behind them.
Everything was exactly as she remembered, even his apartment, down to the furniture. Nothing had changed, and all still appeared new and unused. Owen’s place felt unlived in – it even smelled new – confirming what he had said before. The time he was gone from her life, Owen was out in the world, fixing his past so they could be together. He clearly hadn’t been there much at all.
Mason had fallen asleep on the long ride to Santa Monica. Owen carried him from the car, Killer at his side, to the room the boy would be staying in. Killer circled the floor bedside just as he did at home, right at Mason’s side. When Owen quietly pulled the door almost shut, he moved to his own room, where he stashed Trista’s bag.
“I’m not sleeping in there. Not with you,” she protested.
“Yes, you will.” She started to interrupt, but Owen talked over her, finishing his thought. “I’m staying in the other room. You’ll have your own bathroom, and the bed’s better in my room.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Just outside Mason’s room and unwilling to stir him from sleep, Owen gestured for her to follow him to the balcony off the living room. He grabbed two beers from the outdoor kitchenette refrigerator and turned on the gas fire table in front of the couch they sat on.
