by Fiona Quinn
“Yup. Let’s play that one out.” Monroe said. “Say he and Danika step over some boundary, and Bardman gets his hands dirty. He ends up dead.” Monroe pointed back and forth between the two men. “I want to know what Bardman said to Lacey and what the heck he handed her.”
“If he handed her anything at all,” Higgins said.
Monroe ignored the comment. “And get someone to pick Danika up immediately. We don’t want another body to process.”
Steve grimaced.
“Shit. We were days away from shutting this case.” Monroe stretched his hands to the ceiling with a groan, laced his fingers, and posted his hands behind his head. “We need a plan. Come on Finley, what would Lacey do next? Where could she possibly have gone?”
Chapter Six
Deep
Friday Morning
Deep Del Toro spun his steering wheel next to a parking spot well away from the hubbub up the street and backed his Land Rover Defender behind a bare-branched oak. He took a moment to assess the scene. News vans dotted the street, waiting for Lacey’s press conference, where they’d get the scoop on last night’s murder. Reporters in their long coats and winter hats shivered through their sound checks, then squared their shoulders and smiled brightly as they taped stay-tuned teasers from the sidewalk, with a back drop of stone buildings.
After his answering service passed him a non-message from Martha’s phone at zero-four-hundred, Deep had decided to run a quick safety check on Lacey on his way to the airport. It had to have been Lacey calling for help from her colleague’s phone. It’s the only thing that made sense. In her crisis, she had reached out to him. And that gave him hope.
When Lacey had turned down his invitation to dinner the day they met, walking away from Lacey Stuart had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Bar none. But she had said she was dating Steve. And all Deep could do was leave the door open and hope that she’d walk through. Maybe today was that day.
Before he could get over to the address pulled up by his service operator, the radio announced that Lacey Stuart and her lawyer would be holding a press conference at the gallery. Listening to the announcement, Deep’s gut contracted. Lacey was making a big mistake exposing herself in public. He had watched the videos of her at the bar on the news and those posted to YouTube and social media sites last night – and what he saw looked professionally orchestrated. Somehow, Lacey had thwarted someone’s plan. Professionals didn’t like to be thwarted, and they definitely didn’t like it when witnesses answered questions. Especially on podiums in the public eye.
Deep wasn’t sure what Lacey’s lawyer was thinking by allowing her to have a press conference, in such a public setting. Then again, yeah, he did. Lacey’s lawyer wanted all that free publicity he was going to get. Reynolds would want the televised images to fit a specific picture painted of himself. One that mirrored what Reynolds had seen put on by high-dollar lawyers-to-the-stars.
Last November, when Lacey had showed up at Iniquus to shake hands all around and to personally apologize for the role she’d played in the art fiasco, Deep had taken a disliking to Reynolds. Deep had made sure he was by Lacey’s side the whole time, keeping an eye out for her. That same protective instinct he felt then had motivated him to come into the city this morning. So what if he missed his flight to Costa Rica for an overdue vacation? He could see that Lacey made it safely to the police station, make sure a few of his buddies over there kept eyes and ears on her, and then take a later flight. After all, the cross-country four-wheeling expedition wasn’t headed out until the next morning. He could catch a different flight later in the day, or, if push came to shove, he’d catch up to his friends on the trail. No problem.
Deep opened his rear hatch and reached in his jump bag for the black skull cap that he pulled low over his brows. He yanked a hoodie over his head and zipped it up, then tugged the ties enough so it concealed the sides of his face. He added a winter coat that hid his build. He’d rather not be recognizable — even to Lacey.
Sauntering up the street, in his blue jeans and work boots, Deep blended in with the news crew techs. There was a lot of grumbling going on as they set up their lighting systems. Even though it was coming up on zero-seven-hundred, the sky was dark and heavy. Ice crystals scented the air with a coming storm. The temperature must have dropped thirty degrees in the last hour.
Deep didn’t have to think long about why Reynolds had chosen this time of day for the press conference. Reynolds wanted to hit the prime news time. He’d want to get his voice on the radios and television sets before people had focused on something else in their day. Deep stepped over a sluch puddle from last night’s rain. His gaze slid along the roof lines. What Reynolds obviously wasn’t considering was the tactical disadvantage all this had on Lacey’s safety.
Deep took advantage of the buzz and turf selection going on by the TV crews to gauge the area. He tried to figure where he’d initiate his shot if it was his job to take down a combatant. The columns that curved along the portico and the overhanging roof of the gallery offered her some protection. But certainly not enough.
Deep wished he’d had a better heads-up so he could have been first-on-scene and done a thermal search of the area. But he guessed his surprise at the choices Reynolds was making would have been the same for any would-be bad guys – someone trying to harm Lacey would be scrambling to get into place the same as he was. Chances were that the bad guys wouldn’t even try. They might let this opportunity pass on by rather than stick their necks out so publicly. That was his hope, anyway.
Deep edged forward through the crowd, his brain moving with the precision trained into him as a Marine Raider. His eyes swept from cover to cover as he planned possible escape routes, choke points, and blind spots. He scrutinized the people’s faces to see who belonged to which group and if anyone stood out as being alone, like he was. It was hard to interpret nervousness or hidden weapons on days like today when people hunkered down and shivered with their hands thrust deeply into their pockets. It put him at an uncomfortable disadvantage.
At the top of the hour, Lacey and Reynolds emerged from the building. Reynolds looked like he was playing his role to perfection with his long, black wool coat and carefully tucked silk scarf. His arm reached in a fatherly way around Lacey’s back as he steered her toward the podium.
Lacey wore a suit that bagged over her petite, athletic body. The overly-bright colored winter coat looked like she’d pulled it from someone else’s closet. Which might very well be the case, Deep reminded himself. Lacey probably hadn’t gone home since the murder took place. She seemed so small and pale standing there. She lifted her chin and let her gaze travel around the crowd, looking people in the eyes with the conviction of an innocent woman. Though, she still had a vulnerability about her that tugged at his heart.
By the time Reynolds stepped up to the podium, Deep had maneuvered his way to the front of the crowd, just to the side, where he had a good view of the platform. Deep rounded past a sound engineer holding a long-handled microphone boom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out on such an inclement morning.” Reynolds stopped speaking to allow the news crews jostling to come to a standstill and for quiet to descend.
Lacey offered up a plastic smile, her teeth chattering. Nerves or cold? Deep tried to decide. That’s when he spotted the red dot of a laser scope dancing near her hairline. Even before his conscious brain was able to recognize and interpret the meaning, Deep pushed into the balls of his feet, launching himself towards her. On muscular legs, he propelled forward as the dot slid down toward the center of the T-zone where a bullet would instantly kill Lacey.
As the point of light settled between her eyebrows, Deep’s feet left the ground. He wrapped his arms around Lacey’s waist, forcing her backwards with the full weight and power of his go-mode.
Before they hit the ground, Deep rolled with Lacey in his arms so that it was his body that crashed onto the stone flooring.
; There was a collective intake of breath before a woman’s scream cracked the air as if it were glass. The sound glistened the area with shards that ballooned out into the frozen morning, suspending time, then tinkled to the ground. Shouts and chaos followed.
Deep never stopped his forward momentum. As soon as his back touched down, he kept turning until he was on his knees with Lacey between his legs, his body shielding hers. He looked down to see her face — gray and fixed with her mouth agape. Her brows lifted toward her scalp and her lids peeled back, showing the whites of her sclera all the way around her dark brown irises. He instantly recognized that her brain had shut down. She was frozen with fear.
From behind the column, Deep leapt to his feet, reached down and grabbed Lacey’s wrist. Then he reached his other hand between her thighs, and hoisted her over his shoulder in a rescue carry. His eyes caught on Reynolds hunkered behind the podium with his hands wrapped protectively over his head. The news people climbed over each other trying to get out of the confined area, dumping their equipment in their haste. A man squatted over a woman lying on the ground, blood spurting from her wound.
Deep plastered himself against the building where the shot had originated. He sucked in a lung full of air and ran full out down the sidewalk to his car, where he dumped Lacey onto the passenger seat.
He was extending the seat belt to strap her in when her foot shot out and caught him in the diaphragm. Deep’s lungs deflated, forcing him to take a knee while his body fought to get his respiratory system back in rhythm. He pushed back away from Lacey’s second kick, then yanked back his hoodie and pulled off the cap to reveal his face to her. It took a second. Suddenly, she pushed out of the car, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
“Oh my God, Deep. What have I done? I’m so, so sorry.”
Deep tried to use his arms to create a pocket of air around him while his chest spasmed from her kick. He couldn’t manage speaking yet. Instead, he folded her arms across her chest and pushed her into the car. He made his way slowly around to the driver’s side with a fist countering the jumps of his diaphragm. With or without oxygen, this was a dangerous spot, and Deep had to get Lacey to safety.
Chapter Seven
Lacey
Friday
Lacey’s fingers knotted tightly in her lap. She had squeezed them bloodless. “I’m so sorry I kicked you, I didn’t know who you were.”
Deep had the car in drive and was steering with one hand, his other hand working the gear shift. With an intense focus, Deep searched his mirrors, taking sudden turns and switching lanes. Lacey had never seen Deep like this – it was intimidating, and she felt very small as she curled into the seat beside him.
Finally, Deep closed his mouth, and Lacey thought he might be breathing normally again.
“Can you speak yet?” she whispered.
“I’m good. Are you doing okay?” He sent her a brief but thorough once over.
The blood that had filled her brain with pressure as she had dangled from Deep’s shoulders was finally flowing back down into her body, and Lacey was left feeling dizzy and disoriented. “Why did you tackle me and carry me like that?”
Deep glanced at her then changed lanes to drive between two semis effectively hiding them from view as they sped along the highway. “You didn’t hear the gunfire?”
Lacey’s face drained of color, and she felt the interior of the car whirling around her. “Gunfire?”
Deep reached a hand over behind her neck and pushed her head down between her knees. “At this rate, one of us is going to pass out before we get somewhere safe. Hang on.”
Lacey fought off a swoosh of nausea as grey clouds filled her head and distorted her vision. She put her hands on the floor board and wished that Deep would stop driving like a maniac. She just wanted to be still for a minute and figure out what was going on. As her head cleared she pulled herself back up to sitting.
Deep lifted his hips and tugged his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Lacey had heard it vibrating since he had thrust his keys into the ignition. Whoever was on the other end of the line was darned persistent. Deep jetted his car off the ramp and onto a different highway. He tapped the screen for speaker phone, then said, “Deep here.”
“Holy moly! Tell me that wasn’t you downtown dodging bullets at that gallery.”
“Hey, Lynx.”
That was Jane. Lacey recognized Deep’s teammates voice immediately. Bullets at the gallery — “Oh my God, that really happened?” she asked. It wasn’t that she had disbelieved him – it’s just that it was so farfetched.
“Deep, it was you down there,” Jane’s voice came over the speakers, “I knew it. You’re all over the news. You were the last thing the cameras caught before all hell broke loose, and the crews ran for their lives. Was that Lacey I heard in the car with you?”
“Yup. I thought, you know, she turned me down for dinner last time I asked, so this time I went for the Neanderthal approach.” Deep sent Lacey a devilish wink.
Was he really flirting with her after such a near miss?
“Cute. Were either of you hurt?” Jane’s voice was colored with worry.
Deep raised an eyebrow at Lacey, and she scanned her body. She wasn’t sure if she was hurt or not. She felt sore and nauseated and a little bit like she wasn’t fully pieced together. And she had lost her shoes—again. She offered Deep a tight-lipped smile.
“Lacey’s fine. I might have some internal bleeding.” Deep rubbed a hand over his chest with a grin on his face. All Lacey could do was stare at him with her eyes stretched wide. He seemed perfectly fine, perfectly at ease with the fact that someone had just shot a bullet in his direction. He actually seemed to be having fun.
“Internal bleeding?” Jane chuckled. “If that’s all, I won’t worry. Okay, so you’re not in Costa Rica. Instead, you’re saving a damsel in distress. Now that you have her, what are you going to do with her?”
Lacey pressed her hands over her throat.
“Well, funny you should bring that up,” Deep said.
“She can’t come on Iniquus campus. And Striker’s house isn’t habitable yet,” Jane continued.
“Yeah about that . . .” Deep paused, watching his rearview mirror. Lacey turned to look out the back window. A van was moving up with a little too much conviction, but it didn’t follow their car when Deep veered across three lanes and took an off ramp. Lacey spun back around and grabbed at the armrest, sucking in a lungful of air.
“Oh no,” Jane suddenly moaned out. “They pronounced her dead. The reporter who took the ricochet, it sliced through her carotid, and she bled out. Shit.”
Dead. A reporter from the press conference was dead. Lacey repeated the words in her head, trying to make them make sense. Words were so funny right now. Lacey could hear them. Recognize them. But when they were strung together into thoughts that were being passed back and forth between Jane and Deep, it was like listening to a foreign language. She just couldn’t make them mean anything. It made her panicky. It made her vulnerable. When you can’t think, you have no power. That much she understood. Lacey turned her face to the side window and let tears roll down her cheeks. She could taste them, hot and salty, as they pooled in the crevices beside her lips.
“Please, tell me you’re headed for the police station,” Jane was saying.
“For some reason I don’t think that’s the best move. That shot was professional. I’m not sure who’s playing on what team, if you know what I mean.”
“Gotcha. How about Dave Murphy? I’m sure this case hasn’t landed in his lap, but if you wanted to talk to a detective with whom you already have rapport, and who you know is as clean as they come –”
Lacey silently listened to the teammates work through a strategy and thought how oddly heavy she felt. Like her borrowed coat had been made of lead.
“Actually, we’re almost thinking along the same thought line.”
“So you’ll go to Dave?” Jane asked.
“Well maybe n
ot so much Dave as maybe your neighborhood. I was kind of hoping I could use your house while I try to figure out why a sniper was aiming between Lacey’s eyes.”
“Deep,” Jane said, and then paused. “Yeah, I’m not sure about that. If Lacey’s got a target on her back, I don’t want her anywhere near my neighbors. I don’t want any more evil finding their way into my neighborhood.”
“No one would be able to trace her there. I swear. We’ll use the back entrance, and she’ll go dark. I mean, you’ll have to give your neighbors a heads up that I’m staying there, possibly for a few days, but you wouldn’t have to mention Lacey. She’ll be a shadow.”
“Are you sure you can manage her?”
“If I can’t, then I won’t stay there, I promise.” Deep flicked on his blinker and turned onto a new road.
Lacey felt his eyes on her, so she turned toward him.
“Lacey and I haven’t had a chance to talk yet, so I don’t know what she wants or needs. I want to get her somewhere quiet so she can think and make her decisions.”
Quiet. Yes, that’s what she needed. Just some quiet. Just some space so her brain could function again, and she could come out of this funk.
“There must be a reason you don’t want to use one of the Iniquus safe houses,” Jane said.
“Well, yeah. If the police or FBI hires Iniquus to find her, I’d have to hand her over. No matter what Lacey wants.”
“Deep, if Iniquus gets a contract to find her, I’ll have to tell them you picked her up and where you are.”
“That’s true, but you’d have to know Iniquus had the contract, and with the rest of our team down range, and you in the Puzzle Room by yourself, no one’s going to hand you this case. One of the joys of ‘need-to-know’. You won’t need to know, and people will think I’m on vacation.”
