The Huntress

by Dorothy McFalls

  * * * *

  Grayson drove Matt’s puttering Geo Metro into downtown, parking on Peachtree several blocks away from Six-Star Enterprises’ glass tower. He sat in the car a few moments, assessing the scene. It was close to midnight. The streets in this business section of Atlanta were empty. Not a soul in sight, which wasn’t ideal. Being the only one out in the street made him visible—vulnerable.

  His plan was simple. Get into the building.

  When Grayson had discovered Greg’s body—what was left of it—there’d been a pile of papers scattered on his desk, which sent up an instant red flag. One thick folder in particular had caught Grayson’s eye. The tab read “Financial Audit”—a second red flag when up.

  Greg had never taken an interest in the company’s financials before. His strengths had been in networking. Or if a hostile takeover was in the works, Greg had a knack for breaking down psychological barriers put up by the company they were targeting. Financials bored Greg. He skipped meetings where nothing but money was discussed.

  So, what was Greg doing with a financial audit on his desk the day he died? Grayson never did find out. Six-Star security descended on Greg’s office not more than a minute after Grayson had walked in to find Greg’s body. Less than an hour later, he’d been dragged away in handcuffs.

  Of course, that financial audit file wouldn’t still be on Greg’s desk. And if it contained, as he firmly believed, something that had gotten Greg killed, the file would be long gone from this earth.

  But his partner had been an anal bastard. If the file had been important, Greg would have digitized it and stashed the copy away in that secret vault Grayson had installed for him.

  Tonight, his biggest roadblock was getting past security and up to Greg’s office on the sixth floor. The security in the building was state-of-the-art, unbreachable. He should know. He designed it.

  He smeared black face paint on his cheeks and under his eyes to make it easier to sink into the shadows and took one last look in the rearview mirror to make sure the street was still empty. He got out of Matt’s tiny car and edged along the side of a building. Several minutes passed as he blazed a careful trail to Six-Star’s back service entrance.

  He’d practiced this for the past four nights and knew it would take him exactly six minutes to get into position. Three out of those four nights, a security guard had stepped out the service entrance door, taken a quick look around, and then lit up a cigarette. The security guard, due to appear in about four minutes, was breaking the rules and putting the building at risk. He’d patiently watched the building for more than a week to find such an opening.

  As he crouched in the darkness, a stocky club in hand, he hoped the guard wouldn’t choose tonight to kick that nasty smoking habit.

  Five minutes passed.

  Where was he? He began to bounce on his heels.

  Six minutes.

  Still, no security guard. He decided to give him another few minutes before calling it a night. He could try again tomorrow.

  Eight more minutes passed.

  Just as he rose from his hiding place to leave, a shadow moved. A dark silhouette drew close to the service door.

  What’s this?

  He held his position; confident the darkness concealed him as the shadow stepped boldly into the light.

  A sick feeling twisted in his gut in reaction to what he saw. Word on the street was that a woman bounty hunter had been asking questions about him. At first, he’d suspected Vega. But this new bounty hunter wasn’t discrete, he’d been told, and had thoughtlessly gotten herself into a few difficult situations. Vega was good. Too good. She’d be breathing fire down his neck if she had been actively on his trail.

  This woman who’d stepped into the light, a curvy piece of work wearing a black cat suit that left nothing to his imagination, was probably the new bounty hunter. She tilted her head and stared at the locking mechanism on the door.

  You’re not going to get in through that way, sweetie. The longer he watched, the stronger the feeling of recognition grew. Though her long hair was brown, much darker than Vega’s dishpan blond color, her high cheekbones, trim nose and insolent lips were nearly the exact duplicates of Vega’s.

  This hunter had to be a sister or cousin of hers.

  “Damn if I’m going to slum around in that neighborhood talking to senile old biddies for one more day,” the hunter muttered without a care that a security guard could appear at any moment. “If Six-Star won’t let me into their personnel files, well then, that’s exactly where I want to be.”

  Staying in the bright light, she retrieved a phone from a black satchel hanging across her chest. “Snitch,” she said after a few moments. “Yeah, it’s me Fiona.”

  Fiona. A fitting name for Vega’s sister—it had to be her sister, Grayson decided.

  “Listen, Snitch. I’m standing in front of a door with a lock flashing all sorts of lights. It looks electronic. Is there anything you can do to get me in?”

  In your dreams, sweetie. This building is impenetrable.

  Fiona recited the address after a long pause and then added, “Have you thought anymore about getting those files for me off Vega’s computer? I’ll double your fee.”

  The danger of getting arrested while trying to break into the politically powerful Six-Star Enterprises’ headquarters should have put this hunter on alert. She definitely shouldn’t be chitchatting on the phone while standing like a damn target in a spotlight at the back entrance.

  “Okay, okay, I understand why you won’t do it. I’ll stop asking. How’s the lock coming?”

  Hah! Like she’d get any further than where she’s standing right now. Go home, little girl. This game is for the professionals.

  “Got it. Thanks, Snitch. I’ll wire the payment in the morning.” Fiona tucked the phone back into her satchel.

  Instead of giving up like he’d expected, she stood her ground, watching that infernal blinking red light just above the slot on the door where a specially designed key card had to be inserted in order to deactivate the lock. What in the hell was she waiting for?

  His calves were beginning to cramp from crouching in one spot for too long, which only made him crankier. He fingered the club in his hand. He’d been prepared to knock out that security guard who hadn’t bothered to show up—and the guard hadn’t done anything to deserve it. A tap on the head would get the bounty hunter out of his way—at least for the night. He inched forward.

  The red light on the door turned green. The lock clicked.

  “I’ll be damned.” He couldn’t help but whisper.

  Fiona, too absorbed with pulling the heavy metal door open, paused just long enough to make one last survey of the area before stepping inside.

  Never one to pass up a golden opportunity, he caught the door before the latch clicked back into place and followed her in. He shadowed her up the back stairs. There were security cameras on each landing. Fiona didn’t seem to care. Grayson tried his best to stay out of their range, but figured if a security guard had been paying the least bit of attention to the monitors, they’d soon have company in this stairwell. He pushed the short club into a belt loop and pulled out the Glock. He double-checked to make sure the pistol was loaded and ready.

  He was just nearing the fifth floor landing when the door swung open. Since he’d been expecting it, the two men bursting into the stairwell didn’t rankle his nerves at all. He calmly backed down a few of the steps to wait for the guards to take Fiona into custody.

  She made the perfect diversion. The two men took her completely by surprise. Terror flashed in her eyes. She gave a shout and dashed up the stairs. If his luck held, Fiona would be apprehended and he’d have the benefit of a building in chaos to help cloak his efforts to get up to the sixth floor undetected.

  The guards, guns drawn, chased after Fiona like two hounds drawn to the sight of a squirrel. Neither glanced down the stairs in Grayson’s direction. They passed like a blur.

  A high-pitc
hed scream cut short followed.

  They must have cornered their prey, which would give him thirty minutes, tops, before the building swarmed with police. That should be just enough time to empty out Greg’s vault.

  He backed further down the steps. His dark clothes stood out worse than a bright sign with great big letters shouting, “come get me” in the fully lit stairwell.

  He watched from around a turn in the stair as the two men came lumbering back down to the fifth floor landing with Fiona trapped between them.

  “Boss said to get her out of the way if she started meddling,” the larger of the two men said.

  For Grayson, the world stopped for a moment. He’d been expecting the standard dull-gray uniform all Six-Star security guards were required to wear. These two were not regular members of the Six-Star security team.

  “She’s meddling all right. I should pop her neck while we’ve got her out,” the second man said. They wore black from head to toe. A black mesh mask completely covered their faces.

  “I say let’s have some fun first. She’s a pretty bitch. I’d like to get my teeth into her.”

  That second man who must have been in charge considered the suggestion for a moment. “Guess it couldn’t hurt. No one’s going to find her body, anyhow,” he said finally. “We could tie her up.”

  Okay, so the cops weren’t on the way.

  But it wasn’t as if he’d gotten Fiona into this mess. She’d be just as dead if he’d picked tomorrow night to make his break-in.

  “We’ll have a good time now.” The larger of the two beasts groped her shapely bottom. Fiona moaned.

  The second man tightened his hold around Fiona’s neck. “Let’s go before she wakes up and starts screaming.” He pushed the door to the fifth floor open.

  In less than a second, they’d be gone, and Fiona’s fate sealed. He could pretend he didn’t see any of this, get up to the sixth floor, and get Greg’s second set of papers without much risk of detection. Those two thugs would be well occupied for quite some time.

  But he owed Vega. He’d shot her and then left her hurt and chained up miles from the nearest medical care. Though he might not owe her this much, he knew he owed her something. Besides, surprise would be on his side.

  Without further consideration of the consequences, he propelled himself up the stairs and leapt over the railing where they turned a corner. He slammed the butt of his pistol into the skull of the larger of the two men, dropping him like dead weight. The second man—who really wasn’t that much smaller—released his death grip from around Fiona’s neck, letting her slip to the floor, and spun around to jam his pistol into Grayson’s belly.

  Grayson reacted instinctively, giving a sharp chop to the bastard’s wrist. The pistol dropped from his hand and bounced down the stairway. Grayson followed up with a quick upper cut that didn’t seem to do anything but make him angrier.

  Both his and the guard’s gaze flew to the thug he’d knocked out. A second pistol lay right beside him. Grayson kicked the gun down the stairway.

  “Damn you!” The bastard swung a hard right.

  The fist grazed Grayson’s jaw, sending him skittering down several of the steps in the cramped space before he caught his balance. Being several steps below the bastard put him at one hell of a disadvantage. He jammed his gun into his pants. If he shot this one, he’d probably attract more like him. He’d mostly likely have to deal with an army flooding into the deadly cramped space.

  The guard smiled. His white teeth gleamed with amusement from behind his mesh mask. “Come on you scum,” he taunted. “Fight me. I’ll be a rich man once you’re dead.”

  Escape was really the only option. The hell with getting himself killed while trying to save Vega’s sister. He leapt down nearly a full flight of stairs and crashed onto the fourth floor landing.

  He glanced up for just a moment and saw that the masked assassin had wasted no time in taking pursuit. Grayson also caught a glimpse of a feminine hand hanging off the edge of the metal fifth floor landing.

  A helpless, feminine hand.

  Damn. Damn. Damn it to hell and back. He couldn’t just leave Fiona to be killed.

  “I won’t owe Vega a blasted thing after this,” he grumbled, and charged back up the stairs. A long, slightly curved knife appeared in the guard’s hand. The sight of it didn’t slow him. He tackled him low in his legs, knocked him off balance, hoping to toss him down the stairwell.

  The bastard grunted with the impact, wobbled, but didn’t fall. Rethinking his plan, Grayson twisted to one side as the long knife came slashing down.

  He kicked up, aiming for the slashing wrist. The knife clattered down the stairs. He sent a wicked punch just under the ribs.

  The guard cursed again, but this time with less venom. He held his side and tried to kick Grayson in the face. Grayson caught his foot and kept pushing until the guard toppled over backwards, his head smashing on the edge of a step, his mask slipped off.

  Grayson wasn’t one to gloat. He stepped over the downed man, stealing a brief glance at his face, and climbed the steps to Fiona. He scooped her up and made a beeline to the back service door. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk going to the sixth floor when there might be more masked guards lurking in the building anxious to put the last nail in his coffin.

  With Fiona snug in his arms, he slipped out the building the same way he entered. Security at Six-Star would be five times tighter tomorrow night. He’d missed his opportunity to get some solid evidence against Joshua Whitfield. Perhaps he’d never get another. Vega owed him.

  Fiona groaned and pushed against his chest when he lowered her into the passenger seat of Matt’s tiny Metro. He studied her innocent face in the dim dashboard light. This one had no business venturing into such danger.

  Morning would soon wake up the city, and Fiona would be alert and spitting like a kitten. What was he going to do with her?

  Chapter Ten

  “Out of the goodness of my heart, I hand you an easy assignment and you find a way to turn it into something dangerous.” Jack slammed the door closed to his office and pointed for Vega to take the chair in front of his desk. It was just a few minutes after nine o’clock, not nearly enough time for Jack to have chugged down enough coffee that morning to make him this edgy.

  She crossed her arms and curled her lips into that wry grin she knew Jack loathed. “You’re lucky you sent me and not some wet-behind-the-ears hunter to pick up that Brian Wright fellow.”

  Jack grunted. He could grump all he wanted at her; Vega knew she was right. Whenever a fugitive was injured and there was a bounty hunter nearby, lawsuits followed. Skip Tracers got sued, the bonding company that hired Skip Tracers got sued, and the surety company underwriting the bonding company raised its rates. All and all, it was bad for business. By stopping Brian from blowing himself into several sticky pieces, Vega saved Jack from one whopper of a headache.

  “Damn it, stop looking so smug,” Jack snapped.

  “Can’t. It’s how I feel. Give me another assignment and I’ll get out of here. You won’t be able to see my smug face.”

  Jack dropped into his desk chair. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy, healing,” he grumbled.

  She frowned as she considered that. “I didn’t get blown up last night. I consider that taking it easy.”

  He laughed, apparently unable to help himself. “You’re one of a kind, Vega. Special.” He shook away his smile. “You getting shot, seeing you at the hospital, damn, you shouldn’t be involved with such rough work.”

  “Oh, please don’t you start giving me that ‘get married’ spiel too.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got it memorized. Mom’s version is quite thorough.”

  “Maybe you should listen to her. You could’ve been killed out there.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  He didn’t seem to listen. “Your father would never forgive me if something were to happen to you.”

  “Dad’s dead.”

&nbs
p; “And that’s more reason for me to say this. I will honor his memory, Vega, and that includes watching out for his daughters.” His eyes took a vacant look as if he were lost in some long ago memory.

  “He was always too tough on you girls. Just like your grandfather, your dad could be one helluva a mean bastard. But that was just his way. It wasn’t just his legacy he was worried about, he was worried about you.”

  Her father worried about her? Wouldn’t that mean he actually did care—if only a little? It took a moment for the words to sink into her head.

  “He never asked you to play the part of his son. Never wanted you to follow in his footsteps. He was old-fashioned. Women were to be protected. Period. There was no changing his mind on that point. Every day you hit the streets with that gun strapped to your belt and a police badge pinned to your chest, he nearly died from fear for your safety. Can you image how lowering it must have been for a man as proud as your father to send his own precious daughter into potentially deadly situations? I couldn’t understand his fear until the night I found you lying in that hospital bed. Daughters are to be coddled, pampered. You wouldn’t let him—”

  “He never wanted a daughter.” Jack was wrong. He didn’t know her father like she did. She’d just needed to prove herself. She’d just needed to show him that she was every bit as good as a son. That’s why she’d become a cop. But that hadn’t been enough. Besides, she hadn’t been happy as a cop. And he hadn’t been happy with her, either. She’d just needed to do something spectacularly brave with her life. Then he would have loved her. Then he would have been the caring father she always longed to have. “He didn’t want me...”

  Jack shot her a sharp look. “Vega, I have to be blunt. Your getting shot scared the hell out of me. Yes, you’re good. You’ve made me a lot of money. You’re unquestionably my best hunter. But still, I can’t get that image of you hurt because of me out of my head. I’m beginning to think your father wasn’t such a bastard after all. In fact, I’m beginning to worry that I might have made a mistake letting you work here.”

  No. He wasn’t going to do this to her.