Mission: Her Defense: Team 52 #4

by Hackett, Anna

Then she stiffened and leaned forward. “Go back.”

  That’s when Luke spotted it. A man crossing the street, holding a cylindrical tube over his shoulder.

  “That cylinder could hold the swords,” Blair said.

  “Let’s check the other cameras. See if we can get him from another angle.” Luke scrolled through.

  “There!” she said.

  Luke froze the footage on the man’s face. It was just his profile, but it was clear enough. He had dark eyes and dark hair, with heavy eyebrows and a broad forehead.

  “I can get some of our tech guys to run this through our facial recognition databases. It’ll take some time…”

  But Blair was already pulling out her tablet. “Brooks will be faster.”

  A second later, Brooks’ face came up on the screen. Today, his shirt had a picture of an Imperial walker from Star Wars on it, with a bandage on its leg and a cone used for injured dogs around its neck. Luke’s lips twitched.

  “I’m sending you a photo, Brooks,” Blair said. “I need you to run it through facial recognition. We think it’s the person responsible for killing the people at the Waldorf penthouse. I need a name.”

  The man nodded. “On it.” He tapped on something off screen. “Got it. Running it now.” Barely a few seconds passed. “Got a ping. Guy’s name is Anthony Kazan.”

  “Already?” Luke said.

  “Told you, I’m very, very good, Detective.”

  “So, who is this Kazan?” Blair asked.

  “He works for some rich guy called Salvador Morgan.”

  Luke frowned. “I’ve heard of him. Shady, but never been in any trouble.”

  Brooks nodded. “Most of his wealth is from real estate. He’s also known as a collector of weapons. The older the better.”

  Luke and Blair shared a glance. For a second, their fight was forgotten.

  “I’ve also just found something else.” A wide smile broke on Brooks face. “Remember the owner of the penthouse at the Waldorf, BrightSea Industries?”

  “Yeah,” Blair said.

  Brooks nodded. “Salvador Morgan is a board member of BrightSea.” Brooks kept tapping.

  Luke froze, excitement hitting him. “So, Morgan probably has access to the penthouse.”

  “Yes,” Brooks said. “Although, my bet is that he owns it. You know what the Welsh meaning of the name Morgan is?”

  Blair straightened. “No.”

  “Bright sea.”

  Shit. They were on to something. “Run him,” Luke ordered. “I need an address.” He looked at Blair. “I think you and I should pay Mr. Morgan a visit.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was big and ugly. Blair eyed the enormous mansion. They’d been buzzed in at the gate and driven up the huge, circular driveway.

  The sprawling, vaguely Mediterranean-style house screamed “look at me” in the loudest possible way. It was out in Henderson, surrounded by other, equally as big homes. She and Luke walked up to the enormous front door, inset with etched glass. Salvador Morgan’s place was surrounded by lush lawns and neatly-pruned gardens. No xeriscaping here.

  MacKade rang the doorbell, and a second later, a man in a suit opened it. He stood ramrod straight, his face dour.

  “Oh man, a real butler,” Blair muttered.

  The man’s stoic face didn’t change, but he gave her a look like she’d crawled out from under a rock.

  MacKade held up his badge. The butler stared at it for a second, then waved them in. “Mr. Morgan will be happy to see you. Please follow me.”

  Feeling a tiny bit disappointed that the guy didn’t have a British accent, Blair entered the mansion. Her boots clicked on the marble tiles. “Holy cow.”

  An enormous double staircase led to the upper story. A huge chandelier dominated the void above their heads.

  The butler shot her another look, and she held up her hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal the silverware.”

  MacKade’s soft laugh echoed through the foyer. As they walked inside, she glanced into a large living area flooded with light. It was done all in shades of white: white walls, white carpets, white couches.

  There were also two women lounging on one couch, as sleek as the furniture. They were both wearing tiny bikinis and lots of jewelry. Blair didn’t bother to fight her eye roll. The women were long, thin, and clearly model wannabes.

  She watched their gazes fasten on Luke, interest flaring.

  Blair rolled her eyes again, leaning in closer to him. “What a cliché. I keep expecting a tiger to wander through.”

  “A white one,” MacKade murmured back.

  Blair laughed and the butler speared her with another sharp look. Yeah, yeah, I’m not sleek, cultured, or pretentious enough to fit in around here.

  The man led them down a long hall and stopped at a set of double doors. He knocked, then threw them open to reveal a spacious office decorated in dark woods with gray accents.

  A man rose from behind an enormous oak desk.

  Blair took him in briefly, before her gaze went to the weapons lining the walls. God. Her belly clenched. There were swords, daggers, axes, and crossbows, all of them in top condition. It was one hell of a collection.

  Then her gaze snagged on a dagger on the wall resting beside its silver sheath.

  “Shah Jahan’s dagger,” she breathed.

  “It’s very rare, and one of the most valuable knives ever sold.” The man rounded the desk. He wore gray slacks and a white, striped shirt. He had a clean-shaven, handsome face, smooth, brown skin, and dark hair. She noted that his hair was styled and his nails manicured.

  “I’ve read about it.” Once owned by a famous emperor of the Mughal Empire, it was perfectly formed, the etched blade an elegant curve with a sturdy hilt. A weapon made to be used. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing it. Or using it.”

  “You fight with blades?” Morgan asked.

  She smiled. “I like fighting of all descriptions.” She pointed to the dagger. “But seeing something like that is pretty amazing.”

  His gaze sharpened on her, sliding down her body. “I like rare things.”

  MacKade took a step closer to Blair, their arms brushing. “Mr. Morgan, I’m Detective Luke MacKade with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police. This is my colleague, Blair Mason.” He held up his badge.

  Morgan’s gaze cooled. “Salvador Morgan. I’m always happy to help Las Vegas’ hardworking law enforcement.”

  Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo of Kazan from the security footage. “Do you know this man?”

  There was a flicker of something on Morgan’s face, then it was gone. Blair felt the urge to drum her fingers, but kept watching him.

  “Yes, Anthony Kazan. He’s been in my employ for over six years. I’m afraid I haven’t seen him for several days.”

  “What was he doing for you?” MacKade asked.

  “Tony is a jack-of-all-trades. He was working on a lot of jobs for me.”

  “Something to do with the cursed swords of Muramasa?” Blair asked.

  She saw annoyance cross MacKade’s face. But time was ticking, and she wasn’t going to waste time tiptoeing around with Morgan.

  Salvador Morgan leaned back against his desk. “I’ve heard the legends about Muramasa and his swords. They are beautiful blades, and very valuable.”

  Blair wandered closer to a display of swords on the wall. She reached out, her finger trailing over the hilt of what she knew was a Viking sword.

  She noticed Morgan watching her, his gaze on her fingers. She saw the flash of interest. Creep. He was watching her like he might watch an interesting weapon he wanted to possess.

  “They are very valuable.” She turned. “And would be a nice addition to your collection.”

  “There are lots of things I’d like to collect,” he drawled. “But yes, I would love a Muramasa sword in my collection. Preferably two.”

  Ugh. After this, she was going to need to take a shower. She felt a throb of something fr
om beside her and turned her head. Anger was written all over Luke’s face.

  “I have no idea where Tony is,” Morgan said. “But if you find him, I’d like to know. He has some things that belong to me.”

  The man was ballsy, practically admitting that he’d organized the theft of the swords. But gut speculation wasn’t enough for them to do anything about it.

  “Thank you for your time.” MacKade gripped Blair’s arm and yanked her out of the office.

  They didn’t talk until they were outside the man’s mansion.

  “That’s one guy who’s taken the cliché of rich dude to the extreme,” she said.

  MacKade yanked open the door of his Explorer and then stomped around to slide into the driver’s seat.

  Well. Someone wasn’t happy. “I just moved things along, MacKade. I didn’t want to spend all day in there.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he started the SUV.

  “Guy has some balls admitting to stealing the swords,” she added.

  “And I will damn well find a way to prove it and charge the bastard.” MacKade’s words came out like bullets. “We’ll stop by Kazan’s house. Baxter checked it out and said the guy wasn’t there, but I have a search warrant now.”

  His tone was ruthlessly contained. Blair pulled a granola bar out of her pocket, opened it, and started munching. “Morgan organized for the swords to be stolen and sent his man Kazan to do the job.”

  “Kazan took the swords, instigating a massacre to hide the deed.”

  Blair nodded. “Then he went to the Waldorf Astoria, I assume to hand the swords over to Morgan, but something went wrong.”

  “And now Kazan is on the loose with two cursed katanas.” MacKade’s tone vibrated with frustration.

  “You going to tell me why you’re so pissed? Is it because I got straight to the point with Morgan?”

  “No.” His hands flexed on the wheel.

  “Because he taunted us and you can’t arrest his ass right now?”

  “No. I didn’t enjoy watching that asshole drool all over you.”

  She paused, the granola bar frozen in the air. She sucked in a quick breath and felt flickers of heat in places she wouldn’t admit to. She kept her tone light. “Can’t say I particularly enjoyed it, either.”

  That earned her a grunt.

  “You turning all possessive on me, MacKade?”

  He shot her a hot look. “Looks that way.”

  Blair fought not to shift in her seat. How could that make her both annoyed, nervous, and a little turned on?

  It wasn’t long before MacKade pulled up in front of a small house in Whitney, in the eastern part of Las Vegas.

  The house was nondescript, with a single garage, cracked driveway, and untended yard. No one answered their knock, and Blair peeked in the window. No one was inside the sparse living room.

  MacKade knocked several more times, but no one came to the door. It didn’t take a detective badge to work out that the place was empty.

  They walked around the back. MacKade went straight to the back door, lifted his boot, and kicked the door in.

  She gasped. “Detective, I don’t think that’s by the book.”

  “It’s you who’s always telling me that sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zone to get the job done. To save lives.”

  She held up a hand. “Hang on, I need a moment to appreciate this.”

  He cocked his head. “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “So, the great Detective MacKade is finally listening to me?”

  “Shut it, Mason.” He walked past her and entered the house.

  She followed him in. They walked through the three-bedroom house. It had an air of disuse. She noted unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, and empty beer bottles beside the couch.

  “He’s not here,” she said.

  Kazan had a guest room and a junk room-slash-office, neither of which were hiding the man, or any katanas. When they approached the master bedroom, Blair instantly spotted the shuriken embedded in the door. “MacKade.”

  They both stared at it for a second. MacKade drew his Glock and they cautiously peered into the bedroom.

  Blair sucked in a breath.

  Japanese writing in red paint was scrawled everywhere on the wall behind the unmade, queen-size bed.

  “Hell.” MacKade lowered his weapon. “You know any Japanese?”

  “No.” Blair stared at the text. “But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say ‘happy birthday’, or ‘I love you.’”

  * * *

  Luke led Blair back to his Explorer. The crime scene techs were still busy photographing the Japanese writing at Kazan’s place, and the shuriken had been taken into evidence.

  He knew they wouldn’t find any fingerprints. Just like the one from Blair’s apartment.

  He’d already made some calls, and they had a translator on standby. Blair had also sent pictures through to Brooks.

  But Luke wasn’t seeing the Japanese symbols. Instead, he kept seeing Salvador Morgan slobbering all over Blair.

  Shit. He should have his head in the game. He blew out a breath.

  Blair slid into the seat beside him and fidgeted.

  He knew what that meant. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a candy bar he’s stashed there earlier. Lucky it was winter, or it would have been melted goo by now. He handed it over to her.

  “MacKade, I think I love you.” She tore it open and bit in. Then she moaned.

  He felt that throaty sound around his cock. Damn. He shifted in his seat and pulled away from the curb. The possessive feelings rattling around inside him were making him twitchy. When he dated a woman, he considered her his for the time they were together, but he’d never felt this all-consuming need to stake his claim on a woman.

  Being around Blair was leaving him with a constant erection and heat in his gut. She was driving him crazy.

  “I got another call while you were talking to the tech guys.” Focusing on their work was the best distraction. “Another dealer with a tip on the katanas.”

  She turned to look at him, licking chocolate off her fingers. Luke fought back a groan.

  “Do you think that means we’ll get attacked by a samurai again?” Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be disappointed if we did.”

  So damn bloodthirsty. “We’ll keep an eye out this time, and hopefully avoid any sword-wielding maniacs.”

  He pulled onto the interstate heading north. “I don’t think Morgan is leaving shurikens and Japanese writing around Las Vegas.”

  “Nope. We have another player.”

  Dammit. “Lachlan have anything?”

  She shook her head. Then she leaned forward, staring out the side mirror. “We have company.”

  Luke glanced in the rearview mirror. He saw five black motorcycles whizzing through the traffic, gaining on them. Another appeared. No, make that six. He cursed.

  “Shit.” Blair turned in her seat. “I had three black bikes following me on the way to the station this morning. They disappeared, so I thought it was nothing.”

  The bikes were gaining. “Hang on.”

  Luke sped up and the Explorer shot forward. The traffic wasn’t too thick, but he didn’t want to risk innocent lives. His jaw locked.

  The motorcycles broke into two lines of three and flanked their SUV. Luke looked out his side window and saw the lead rider pull a handgun.

  “Fuck. Get down!”

  Bullets thudded on metal. Luke slammed his foot down and swerved the vehicle. He clipped the bike and the rider almost fell. The bike dropped back.

  “Lachlan.” Blair had her phone to her ear. “We need you guys. Now! We’re on the I-515 being pursued by attackers on motorcycles. Yep. Okay.” She shoved the phone away. “My team is on the way.”

  Luke changed lanes, moving around a small truck. “People are going to get hurt.”

  “We’ll try not to let that happen.” She was looking out her side window. A bike roared up beside them,
the rider’s face obscured by a black helmet.

  Suddenly, Blair opened her door, ramming it into the bike. With a screech of tires, the bike wobbled and the rider flew off.

  She slammed the door closed and grinned. “One down, five to go.”

  The other five bikes zoomed ahead of them. Luke saw them cut in front of a car.

  Shit. The car swerved, slowed, then crashed into the concrete divider in the center of the road.

  “Stay focused, MacKade. We’ll get them help, but we need to stop these bastards first.”

  He gripped the wheel and watched Blair draw her SIG. “Blair—”

  She opened her window. “Hold us steady.”

  She climbed out the window, her entire upper body outside the car. Dammit, she was so damn fearless.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  He kept the Explorer steady as she fired on the bikes. He saw one motorcycle tip, sliding sideways across the road.

  Ahead, he saw a silver minivan come into view. Oh, hell. “Blair!”

  The bikes flanked the minivan, blocking the lanes. Luke slowed down. More bullets hit the Explorer, cracking the windshield.

  “Blair!”

  She ducked back inside. “Fuckers.”

  All of a sudden, the minivan veered to the right, clipped a bike, then hit the concrete barricade. It flipped, rolled, then stopped on its roof.

  “Shit,” Blair muttered.

  Luke jerked on the brakes and the Explorer skidded to a stop. Luke pulled his Glock and Blair already had her door open, firing her weapon.

  The bikes spun around, converging on Blair and Luke. Bullets hit in a barrage and Luke ducked down, saw Blair doing the same.

  Shit, they were pinned and he couldn’t get to the minivan to check on whoever was inside.

  Then he heard the roar of engines.

  Blair turned her head, then grinned. “Perfect timing.”

  Two black SUVs sped in from behind. They roared past them.

  One SUV ran straight into one bike, sending the rider spinning into the air. The other SUV’s tires screeched as the driver executed a perfect one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.

  Both vehicles stopped and the doors opened. Big bodies exited, all wearing black body armor and holding high-tech assault rifles.