Almost home. All they needed to do was get down those stairs to the door. His knee had better hold out. Jillian slid her gaze toward the voices, then, being the strong, decisive woman he’d come to know, something in her eyes flicked and she threw her shoulders back. “I’m ready.”
Slowly, they crept along the side wall. The voices grew louder.
“You stupid son of a bitch. You’ve completely fucked us.” That was the slick suit guy. The mutt with the combo British and South African accent.
“Your lackeys had nothing to do with it? All they needed to do was deal with her. Twice they blew it.”
Jillian yanked on Lynx’s shirt and he nodded. As much as he’d like to stand and listen, they needed to get out. “Keep moving,” he mouthed and continued creeping along the wall.
“What about Greg’s files? You got those?” Slick Suit asked.
“We cleaned them out.”
Good thing Janet copied them.
“Where is Ned in all this?” the mutt asked.
“He still doesn’t know, but after the boyfriend went to his house, he’s damned suspicious. It’s a loose end we’ll have to tie.”
“Do we know if Greg told anyone?”
“No.”
Oh, he told someone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ingrams said. “It’ll never track back to the other companies. Vanuatu protects our privacy.”
“You fool. The other companies are protected, but we’ll lose this one. You will take the fall. None other. You cocked it up by not controlling Greg.”
“I kept him silent as long as I could,” Ingrams said. “How could I know he’d grow a conscience?”
“You’re lucky he jumped.”
What a couple of schmucks. Pure evil. Lynx checked on Jillian behind him, found her wiping tears from her cheeks. Poor thing. She’d been through a war.
And they weren’t done yet.
Using his thumb, he gestured to the door they’d be leaving through. The stairs leading to the exit were directly across from them. All they needed to do was get to the door and they were out.
“Let’s go,” he mouthed.
He motioned her to head down the stairs in front of him so he could keep an eye on the two men in the office.
Jillian moved swiftly, staying on her toes to keep her steps light and silent as she descended.
At least until Slick Suit exited the office and spotted them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Bloody hell,” Slick Suit yelled.
Jillian spun back and Lynx pointed to the door. “Go!”
He hauled up the stairs, his knee screaming like a son of a bitch, and took a hobbling, barely running start toward suit guy. His mind exploded and his blood surged. With one hand, he grabbed the railing, swung his feet in the air and slammed them into the center of the charging man’s chest.
Fire tore into Lynx’s knee, the pain so fierce his entire leg burned. The man stumbled, his mouth wide while he gasped for air. Momentum shoved him against the rail where his arms bicycled and bent him backward.
Go over.
Energy crackled inside Lynx, the soldier—the survivor—in him coming alive. He rushed forward, caught him on the jaw with a right and sent him flying.
Ingrams grabbed Lynx, swung with a left and connected on the cheek. Lynx roared back, tackling Ingrams. The two of them hit the floor and something shattered in his knee. Pain radiated in all directions.
He rolled off Ingrams, saw Slick Suit coming at him again and then, out of nowhere, Jillian jumped on Slick’s back.
Goddammit. He’d told her to go.
Slick Suit rammed her against the guardrail, her back taking the brunt of it. She screamed and Lynx leaped up. “Eyes!”
She hefted herself higher on suit guy’s back, wrapped her fingers around the front of his face and jammed her fingers into his eyes.
He cried out and made a move to pry Jillian’s hands away. She leaped off his back as he stumbled toward the stairs. At the edge, Lynx dove for him, gave him a shove and sent him soaring down the steps, his head bouncing off the cement landing. Nighty-night.
One down.
“Jack!”
He spun. Ingrams was on his feet and heading for Jillian. “Run!”
A second set of stairs was down the hall and she sprinted to them. Ingrams grunted and grabbed Lynx’s throat with both hands. Years of training roared back and Lynx locked on to his forearms, yanked and—boom—drove his palm into Ingrams’s nose. He crumpled to the floor. Heaving, Lynx scanned the area. Jillian was already down the stairs and heading for the door. Ingrams remained unconscious and Lynx, his knee on fire, hauled ass toward the office the men had come from.
On the desk sat an M16. Probably the one from the attack on Vic. Lynx grabbed it, checked the magazine. Ready to go. Also on the desk was a .45. He took that too.
He limped out of the office and checked on Slick Suit. Still out cold on the landing.
Jillian stood by the exit door bouncing on her toes. He waved her up to the landing and handed her the .45.
“If he wakes up, shoot him.”
Her eyes bulged. “What?”
“I’ve gotta get Ingrams tied up and check the other two. If this guy wakes up and comes after you, shoot him. Center mass.”
Holding the gun with both hands, she pointed it at Slick Suit. The way their luck was running, she’d panic and blow him apart. She might do that anyway with the way her hands were shaking.
He grabbed her wrist. “Only if he wakes up and comes after you. Okay?”
She bobbed her head.
It’d be a Jackson Lynx miracle if they got out of this one.
In the office where he’d garnered the weapons, he found a plastic garbage bag filled with pliers, rope, a KA-BAR knife and rags. Among those items were other nefarious-looking goodies, but he stopped at the rope. No sense dwelling on what could have happened.
He hauled ass—as fast as hauling ass could be with a busted knee—back to where Ingrams lay. Once there, he dragged the moaning man to the iron railing and tied him to it with a two half-hitch knot. For kicks, Lynx took another width of rope and tied his ankles together. Good and trussed up.
He spun back to Jillian, still with that .45 on the mutt. Her hands weren’t shaking as much. “You okay?”
She slid a sideways glance at him, but went back to her prisoner. “I’m good. Go check on the other two.”
Doing his quasi run-limp-walk, he moved down the hallway, toward the back storage area where they’d been brought in. Weapon at the ready, he pushed open the door, swung in and did a quick reconnaissance. The smaller guy’s body still lay on the floor where Jillian hit him, but the big guy was gone. Shit.
Given that the room was empty, Lynx gave it a quick walkthrough. Nothing. Tractor Arms must have fled. He checked the other guy’s pulse.
Dead. He shook his head. Jillian would have nightmares for years.
Weapon still raised, Lynx put his back to the wall and sidestepped to the door that had previously been locked. He leaned against the inside lever. Unlocked. Tractor Arms must have had the key and escaped.
Damn. Should have checked his pockets. Major mistake.
Pressing his weight into the handle, Lynx pushed the door open and, again, weapon ready, scanned the area. No life.
They’d deal with the big guy later. He had a stab wound to the eye. He’d turn up at a hospital somewhere when it got infected.
On his way back to Jillian, he heard a muffled shout and picked up the pace on his quasi hobble-run.
He shoved the hallway door open and saw Jillian with the .45 still trained on Slick Suit, but Ingrams’s head was swinging back and forth. “Jack, he’s waking up.”
“Got it.” He stood
next to Jillian and checked on her prisoner. Still out. “Do you remember Boller’s number?”
She nodded. “I memorized it.”
“Nice work. What is it?”
She rattled off the number and Lynx repeated it to himself as he walked back to the office. He held his weapon in one hand and picked up the handset of the desk phone with the other. Dial tone. Excellent. Some of the tension snagging his shoulders released and he cracked his neck. Almost there.
He dialed Boller’s number. It rang once before the agent picked up. “Where the hell are you?”
“I have no idea, but we need you here ASAP. Total shit storm. Grab this number off your phone and trace the address. You’ll need backup. And a body bag.”
With that, he hung up. Lynx had a plan. A plan the DEA agent wouldn’t like. Staying on the phone with him would only lead to questions and a conversation Lynx didn’t want to have. The way he figured it, he had a good ten or fifteen minutes before law enforcement showed up.
He could do a lot with ten or fifteen minutes.
“He’s on his way,” he yelled to Jillian. “Stay on that guy. I’m gonna talk with Ingrams.”
First, he’d get a chair because his knee was a disaster and he needed to conserve energy for when Slick Suit woke up. He dragged one of the office chairs along the concrete and placed it a few feet in front of where Ingrams was tied.
Then he walked up to him and bent at the waist to see just what state of unconsciousness the man was in. “Hey.” He gave his foot a not so light nudge. “You awake?”
Ingrams groaned. Almost there.
Lynx’s knee barked at the pressure and he stood tall to shift his weight to the other foot. He studied Ingrams, the guy who’d allowed those animals to terrorize Jillian, and slapped him. One good shot to wake him up.
His head sprang up and he opened his eyes.
“Welcome back.” Lynx settled on the chair.
“Jack?”
Jillian shuffled closer, but stopped. She still held the .45 on suit guy and her arms must have been getting tired. For a woman, that gun was not light. She remained steadfast, though, even if her battered face wore the scrunched look of confusion.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m great. We’ve got a few minutes before the P.D. gets here and Ingrams starts screaming about his rights. Right now, he and I are a couple of guys about to square things.” He kicked Ingrams’s foot. “Am I correct?”
The man’s eyes darted to Jillian. “You’ll both go to jail for this.”
* * *
Jillian could not believe it. He was threatening them with prison? As much as it hurt her face, she cracked a grin. “Really? In comparison to what you’ve put us through, you think we’re going to jail?”
Ingrams stayed silent. Good thing too, because with how fried her nerves were, she might march over and clock him one with the cannon she held.
“How’s Slick doing?” Jack asked. “He should be waking up about now, no?”
Jillian held his stare a second. Slowly, he lifted his eyebrows and, as if he’d sent a telepathic message, she understood. Brilliant. She checked on Slick Suit and tilted her head. “He’s moving a little. Probably anytime he’ll wake up and realize we’ve completely screwed up his plan.”
Ingrams tried to swivel to get a look at his partner, but being hogtied, couldn’t twist.
“Here’s the deal,” Jack said, drawing Ingrams’s attention. “My guess is your buddy down there is going to wake up and say he tried to stop you. From my perspective—” he plucked at his still-soaked shirt, “—and my recent experience with a jug of water, he’s the guy running whatever circus you assholes have going.”
Ingrams shook his head in that panicked way people do when their existence comes apart. Jillian checked on his partner, but the guy was still out. His chest was moving, so she knew he was still alive. Hopefully, he’d stay out until the cops showed and she wouldn’t have to shoot the sick bastard.
She went back to Jack. His clothes were soaked and his Boy Scout hair poked in every direction, but with the scary-looking automatic weapon in his grasp, he still managed to maintain his officer-in-charge confidence. The man was beat to hell and yet commanded attention.
A piece—a chunk really—of her heart died. Right there, watching him, knowing he was a good man, a man she’d already fallen a little bit in love with, but couldn’t have in her life. Not unless she found a way to let go of her trust issues.
And with the way she felt in the hospital, watching him enjoy that temporary high, she’d never get the image out of her head. If they fought, that image would flash. His biggest weakness, oddly, was also hers. He was the addict and she was the one in love with the addict. Either way, the drugs would control the course of their relationship.
No way around that one.
“So,” Jack said to Ingrams. “Before the DEA and the local P.D. show up, why don’t you help yourself out?”
“Fuck off,” Ingrams said. Jillian felt that last nerve, the one struggling not to burn, incinerate.
She pointed the .45 at him. “Say that again and I’ll shoot you myself. Look at my face. This is what your people did to me. You terrorized me. If you don’t think I’ll kill you, you’re wrong. Self-defense. And with the way I look and the police reports I’ve filed, they’ll believe me.”
Jack held his hand to her, but stayed focused on Ingrams. “You’re screwed. We heard you and your buddy there talking about Greg. We know he was involved. And with what the DEA will find when they get a warrant to search Stennar Pharm’s files, the ones we hacked into and copied, you’ll all go down. Hell, they’ll probably be able to prove someone pushed Greg off that balcony.”
Ingrams shook his head again, but this time his eyes were big and wide and crazed. Jillian’s level of respect for the talented Jack Lynx surged.
He turned to her. “Wouldn’t that be a kick? If this asshole threw that poor guy off his own balcony?”
“No,” Ingrams said.
Still with his eyes on Jillian, Jack said, “I think that’s what we’ll go with. And when his buddy here wakes up, that’s what he’s gonna say.” He stood, grabbed the chair and dragged it out of the way. “If Slick Suit down there was smart, he set this whole thing up to look like you were the guy. Am I right or am I wrong? I mean, that’s what I’d do.”
Brilliant.
Ingrams craned his neck. “What?”
Jack laughed. “Dude, you’re so fucked. They’ll get you a nice cell in Marion. Good news for you is that they’ve downgraded it to a medium security prison. At least you won’t be on lockdown 24/7.”
Jillian heard a noise and glanced at Mr. Slick Suit. His foot moved. Just an inch. She brought the .45 up and aimed. “Jack, he’s waking up.”
“Excellent, we’ll have them both awake when Boller gets here.” He pointed at Ingrams. “Boller is DEA by the way. And he’s had his eyes on you boys.”
Sirens sounded, but they were still distant. Ingrams dropped his head. Thinking. He just needed another good push. Jillian jerked her head at Jack to urge him on.
Jack limped toward the stairs. “I need to open this door for the P.D. Hold on to your asses. This will be a wild ride.”
“It wasn’t me,” Ingrams shouted just as Jack got to the top of the stairs.
He rushed back. “Tell me.”
“Greg Leeds was helping us.”
“Who’s us? You and the guy on the floor?”
“Yeah. He’s Ray Bosnick. He’s a drug dealer from overseas. He has legitimate businesses too. He owns Stennar Pharm.”
“Wait,” Jillian said. “I thought Visionary owned Stennar Pharm. Does he own Visionary?”
Ingrams nodded. “He owns the holding company. It’s the pare
nt company for three companies here in the U.S. and several overseas.”
“That’s the Vanuatu company?” Jack asked.
“Yes.”
“Who is D. Smith?” Jillian asked. “We found files belonging to him.”
“There is no D. Smith. Bosnick and I are the only ones with access to those files.”
“That explains that,” Jack said. “What’s the story with the Baxtin? Stolen?”
“No. Bosnick owns the lab that produces the drug, but it’s not under Visionary. Half of the Baxtin produced is legit, but it’s expensive. The U.S. lab produces legitimate medications for big pharma companies, but the Baxtin is the moneymaker. They produce Baxtin the right way part of the time. Then they produce alternate batches where they leave out the most expensive ingredient.”
Jillian’s mouth dropped open. They were screwing with the meds. “Why? Because it’s cheaper to produce?”
“Yes. Legitimate lot numbers are put on the vials. Some of the vials are used ones they round up from clinics and hospitals.”
That was why the one vial looked weird to her. They were recycling the vials.
Jack nudged Ingrams with his foot. “How do the drugs get to the legit market?”
“The lab ships them to distributors owned by Visionary. Stennar Pharm is one of those distributors. Then the concocted drug is funneled into legitimate facilities as the real thing. It’s sold at the price of the actual drug when it doesn’t cost nearly as much to produce.”
“The companies are half-legitimate?”
Ingrams nodded. “They’ve been hiding the production of the concocted drug under the veil of the legitimate drugs.”
Jillian’s stomach dropped. She worked for a company that tampered with drugs and probably endangered people’s lives. “Greg was in on it?”
“Not at first. We brought him on slowly. He had money problems.”
“Ah, shit,” Jack said. “You threw money at him to get him on board?”
Ingrams stayed silent. No need to respond. The answer was there.
The entry door flew open and in came a bunch of men dressed in full combat gear screaming at them to drop their weapons. Chaos closed in, voices boomed and cluttered her mind. Jack put his weapon on the floor, slid it away and held his arms up. He jerked his head at her and his mouth moved.
Opposing Forces Page 27
