by Vanessa Skye
He gasped for air. “The safe! The safe in the floor under the rug by the desk, you . . . you . . .” He seemed to be struggling to find a bad enough word. “Cunt!”
Berg tsked at him. “Such bad language. And here I thought you loved me.” Berg quickly pulled back the beautifully woven rug and exposed the fire-resistant safe. “The combination?”
He gave it to her, and she opened the safe, fishing out another six stick drives and dumping them in the water, too.
Stepping back, she aimed her gun and shot her remaining bullets into the motherboard of the computer until her revolver clicked several times. She tucked the weapon into her back holster.
She sliced through the straps binding his wrists with her knife until there was only an inch of leather left holding down each arm. “It’ll take you at least an hour to break those, by which time your career will be over and a warrant will have been issued for your arrest,” she said, making her way back to the stairs. “See ya.”
“Alicia.” Oliver twisted his head so he could see her. “I’ve never been more sure that we are destined to be together. Your display of strength and passion today . . . if you check, you’ll feel I’m hard. You are magnificent.” His teeth flashed pink as he smiled through the blood.
Berg shook her head, walking back down the stairs to stand near his head. She crouched down so she could make eye contact with him. “Come near me again or rape another woman, and I’ll kill you.”
She walked back up the stairs and slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Berg called Arena on her way to the address Oliver had given her. “I’ve got a possible location on Jay. I have intel that he’s likely at the Telegraph Road location in Lake Forest.”
“Is the intel good? Are you going to tell me how you got it?” he asked.
“No, I’m not. Do you have the weapons?”
“Yep. But you only get them if I can bring them personally. I’m still committed to Operation Stop Berg From Doing Something Dumb.”
“No. I want you to drop them off a—”
“Hell n—”
“Forget it! I do not need—”
“You’re only getting them if I’m involved! Otherwise f—”
She scowled. “I said no! Drop ’em off, and go. You’re not getting mixed up in this any more than you are. I won’t let you!” She stabbed at the cell to end the call.
Even at these speeds, the drive to the exclusive Lake Forest area would take at least fifty minutes, and she cursed as she wove through suburban streets to I-94.
Bastard’s got Jay holed up in a residential location.
Lake Forest meant big houses with extensive, manicured grounds, and while it wasn’t your typical starter home, it was still residential. The move was deliberate on Alexander’s part, since flying bullets, tear gas and flash grenades weren’t a great idea with the wealthiest family homes in Illinois so close by. Law enforcement’s hands would be tied when it came to using deadly force.
Nearly an hour later, she found the address and drove past the palatial home fit for rock stars or politicians, not a murderous drug lord. The three-story, sandstone mansion sat behind heavy wrought iron gates approximately eight feet high and running the entire length of the front yard. Beyond them, immaculate lawns and a circular drive were arranged around a huge water fountain featuring what looked to be a copy of Michelangelo’s David.
“Seriously?” she muttered.
Despite the late hour, the many windows blazed with light and the grounds were well lit and being patrolled by guards.
She parked two blocks over and texted Arena to do the same. No doubt Alexander’s guards would know exactly which cars belonged to what homes, and she didn’t want to signal she was coming until she had to.
Too impatient to stay in the car, she got out and tried to make her way toward the home without being seen from inside. Sticking to shadows and the neighbors’ yards, she managed to get pretty close but not right up to the home, which was hidden away behind a ten-foot, cement-rendered wall.
Using a tree branch, she boosted herself up and had a quick look. The closed front door was double width and looked to be a rich, stained wood. Next to it, a huge, two-story high, semicircular bay window overlooked the grounds, meaning a surprise attack was unlikely to succeed. The guards making their rounds every few minutes also made that impossible.
While the lights were on in several rooms, Berg couldn’t see any movement, but considering the time of night, there was a chance everyone was sleeping. The house looked to have at least six bedrooms, possibly more, and every luxury available.
Eat your heart out, Scarlett O’Hara.
Risking being seen, she eased on top of the wall, careful to keep to the cover of the huge oak tree.
Like clockwork, a guard came into view wearing a black outfit similar to her own and a semiautomatic weapon slung over his shoulder.
Wonder if he’s here to keep people in or out.
She slipped back into the tree and shimmied down the trunk, quickly making her way back to her car before Arena arrived.
Thirty minutes later, she shifted her cramped back into a more comfortable position and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as she spotted Arena’s car pulling up.
“Took you fucking long eno—I told you not to bring anyone!” she blurted as she watched Cheney climb out of the passenger side of the car. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Keeping you alive,” Arena said, risking a look at her face. “You can glare at me all you want—at least you’ll be alive to do it.” Arena threw open the trunk and handed Berg a bulletproof vest. “Put this on.”
Berg, still fuming, started taking off her black, short-sleeved shirt. “Could you at least look away?”
Cheney had the decency to turn around, but Arena just smirked.
“Seen it all before, babe.”
Berg scowled and quickly put the vest on over her bra and pulled her shirt over the top. She was instantly hot in the steamy July night air, but it was necessary.
Getting shot before I can get anywhere near Alexander is not an option.
“Seeing as how you clearly aren’t listening to a word I say, do you have a plan at all here?” she asked the men.
“You’ve got thirty minutes to try to extract Jay,” Cheney said. “If I don’t see you and Jay walking out of there in that time, alive, we’re coming in, and we won’t be the only ones.”
“I’ve got no idea if Jay is even in there!”
“I don’t care.” Cheney shrugged. “The FBI is twitchy and willing to act on any intel that narrows down the premises we have to search. You’ve got thirty minutes to find out if this is the right one or not.”
“With speed in mind, pick your preferred method of death,” Arena said, waving toward the trunk filled with grenades, tear gas, flashbangs, and multiple firearms.
Berg picked up a few of each and transferred them to her own trunk. “Are these guns traceable?”
Arena shook his head.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to safely use any of this. Not yet, anyway.”
“Concerned about the neighbors?” Cheney asked.
“Yep.” Berg propped her hands on her hips and faced Cheney. “Can you at least tell your raiding party to evacuate nearby houses before they come in all guns blazing?”
Cheney nodded. “Already on it.”
“You’re not going to be able to pull this off with no weapons, Berg,” Arena said, folding his muscular arms. “Just wait for the cavalry to arrive. Please?”
“I can’t. As soon as Alexander sees any kind of badge, Jay’s as good as dead. I have to try to get him out first. There is no way I’m not going in there, so stop asking.”
“So what the fuck are you gonna do?”
“A sneak attack is almost impossible. So I’m going in through the front door.” Before the guys could argue, she shoved a holstered SIG on her side, slid her knife into the sheath concealed in her bo
ot, jumped back in her car, and drove toward the mansion.
A few moments later, she pulled up at the gate and pressed the buzzer as if she had every right to be there. She was expecting everyone to be asleep, so she was surprised when her buzz was answered almost immediately.
“Yes?” the tinny, male voice asked.
“I want to see Alexander,” Berg said into the speaker.
“There is no one here by that name. Please leave the property immediately. You are trespassing.”
“Tell him it’s Alicia Alexander. I have intel for him, and I’m alone.” She leaned out the car window so the camera could get a clear look at her and the empty passenger seat.
Just as Berg started to wonder if the speaker on the other end had even heard her, he came back on the line.
“Park your car on the street and approach the gate on foot, your hands raised. Stay where the cameras can see you at all times. Come unarmed and alone.”
Berg did as she was told, locking the gun away in the glove compartment but risking the knife in the hopes that it wouldn’t be discovered. She counted on no neighborhood kids taking the opportunity to break into her car and find the veritable arsenal hidden in the trunk, but it didn’t look like the kind of neighborhood that had such problems.
The gate swung open slowly as she approached, and silently closed again after she walked though. Her boots crunched on the white quartz gravel of the long drive as she stayed where the cameras could see her, her hands up.
An armed goon met her halfway up the drive.
He’s new.
She added him to the tally of hard bodies she was keeping in her head.
A fourth guard opened the front door. “Arms out.” He patted her down, lifting her shirt to check out the vest. He scoffed but allowed her to leave it on. “The vest is pointless. The boss prefers head shots. This way.”
The house was as opulent as she’d imagined, with its marble-floored foyer, stunning crystal chandelier hanging overheard, and huge spiral wrought iron staircase leading to the upper level.
She trailed behind the large, bald man past a number of decadent living areas, through the kitchen, and into an inappropriately named breakfast nook considering the massive wooden, rectangular twelve-seat table and elaborate bench seats along each side.
At the end of the table sat her father in a chair so large it was almost a throne, with his legs crossed, reading the Trib and sipping an espresso, with yet another black-clad, heavyset, shaved-bald guard standing a few paces away.
Berg snorted. “Were they having a two-for-one sale at Goons ‘R’ Us? Banks aren’t this well guarded.”
Alexander folded his newspaper carefully before looking at her. “I was just reading about the seizure of some of my property by your task force. Do I have you to thank for that?” He spoke in a voice so conversational and soft, he sounded as if he were discussing dinner plans, not confiscated property.
Berg shrugged and he sighed.
“To what do I owe this dubious honor? I believe I requested this meeting many months ago, to which you replied, and I quote, ‘Go fuck yourself.’ ”
“That response still stands.” Unable to help herself, she looked directly at him. He was still seated, so she couldn’t tell how tall he was, but he looked fit. His dark, wavy hair, lightly scattered with gray, reminded her of her own. His olive skin diametric to her pale tone—a shade she’d inherited from her mother. It was his eyes that disturbed her most. They were her eyes—large and almond-shaped, heavily lashed, and the color of melted chocolate.
“Then I can’t imagine why you’re here,” he said, shrugging. “At considerable danger to yourself, no less. You said you had intel . . . what do you want, Alicia?”
“I’ve come to offer you a trade.”
He smiled and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms and legs and looking completely unfazed. “Really? How so?”
“A straight trade—me for Jay. Let him go and I’ll stay.”
He sniffed and checked his nails. “And why on earth would I agree to that?”
Berg felt her hopes surge.
Jay’s alive.
“Because my information is up to date. I can give you codes, locations, and security protocols. As you said, you just lost half your stash. I can help you get it back, and a good deal more. Jay’s info is more than six months old, and after his codes were used to raid the secure evidence storage facility, protocols were changed. Let him go now, and I’ll give them to you as soon as he’s safely away.”
“Let’s say I even believe you,” Alexander said, smirking. “What’s to stop me from keeping you and killing Jay?”
Berg shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. But if you let him go on your word that he will remain unharmed, I’ll give you what you want willingly. Don’t, and you won’t get a goddamned thing out of me.”
“Is that so?” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Barry, why don’t you ask our new guest to join us?”
Goon number four nodded and walked out, leaving her with Alexander and goon number five.
Alexander smiled at Berg. “I think you’ll find I have ways to make you cooperate . . . whether you want to or not.”
Less than two minutes had passed before they were joined again by goon four, who was dragging a struggling man behind him.
Berg couldn’t stop her eyes from widening when she saw Dylan Bryant. “But . . . you’re in prison,” she blurted, confused.
“Was in prison, my dear.” Alexander stood and moved around the edge of the table. “I arranged his bail. It’s handy having a judge on the payroll.”
Berg snorted. “Oliver? I think you’ll find he’s no longer helpful. He lost his job today.”
Alexander glared as he walked slowly toward Bryant but remained silent.
The minion Berg had interviewed was literally shaking in his boots as his boss approached, his light brown eyes wide and terrified, his thinning blond hair twitching with his trembling.
Alexander pulled a beautifully designed switchblade out of a leather pouch attached to his expensive-looking belt and flicked it open. “I am very disappointed with your performance, Dylan,” he said quietly as he placed the tip of his finger against the gleaming point of the four-inch double blade. “When I’ve spent so much time bringing you into the fold.” He held the knife in front of Bryant’s face.
“No!” Dylan shot a desperate glance at Berg. “You told me you’d make him understand that it wasn’t me—”
“Shut up!” Alexander roared.
Bryant wasn’t the only one who jumped. Berg was also startled by the sudden change in Alexander’s temperament and resisted the urge to step back.
“You spoke to a cop and cost me millions in lost guns and drugs, you imbecile.” Like a switch being flipped, he was quiet once more.
“B-but . . . she’s your—”
“She’s not with us, you moron,” Alexander growled, raising the knife.
“Leave him alone!” Berg stepped forward. “I tricked him, and you put him in an impossible situ—”
Alexander didn’t even let Berg finish before punching the blade through Bryant’s cheek and carving out the flesh like he was butchering a cow.
It fell to the floor with a sickly splat.
Bryant screamed, and Berg flinched at the image of his teeth and tongue showing on the left side of his jaw.
He made a gurgling noise through his partially lipless mouth that sounded like I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“Very, very disappointed,” Alexander muttered as he punched the knife through Bryant’s eye and into his brain.
The body twitched, still standing, before crumpling to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and a pool of blood formed around the head.
Alexander wiped his knife on the body’s clothes and put it carefully away. “A faster death than he deserved, but I don’t have time to give him the full special tonight. Not like I did the others.”
Berg grimaced. “I take it that’s the kni
fe you used to cut out the tongues and eyes of the dealers who refused to join you?”
Alexander smiled. “Of course. I like to provide the lessons personally.” He motioned to goon number four, who had stepped away from the still bleeding body. “Get this out of my sight.” He waved at the body.
The thug grabbed the feet and pulled the dead man out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood spread across the cream-colored marble tiling.
Alexander turned back to Berg. “So you see, my dear, you’ll help me, whether you want to or not, or you’ll end up nothing more than a smear of blood on my expensive tile.”
“Me for Jay. Take it or leave it. That’s the deal,” she said flatly. “The codes can be yours within ten minutes.”
Alexander smiled. “An excellent proposal. Let’s ask the man in question whether he agrees or not.” He turned to goon five. “Please ask Jay to join us.”
Berg’s heart raced as the refrigerator-sized man ambled out of the room.
Alexander moved back to his seat while Berg remained standing, both silent. She considered rushing him while they were alone but almost immediately discounted it. Without knowing where Jay was, or in what condition, she couldn’t risk it, and there were at least five guards still roaming the property.
Berg heard two sets of footsteps returning and resisted the urge to cry at the thought that, after close to nine long months, she would finally lay eyes on Jay again.
“Most of the merchandise has been moved, and I’ve spoken to the couriers. The rest will be—” Jay stopped in the doorway and stared at her, his blue eyes tinged with red and bordered by deep, black circles. “Berg?”
He had lost weight, his usually healthy vitality replaced with the sad-looking, hollow man who stood before her. He’d lost so much muscle he almost looked gangly.
Berg took a step toward him. “Jay, I—”
Jay dragged his eyes away from her and whirled on Alexander. “The one fucking thing I asked for—we had an agreement!”
Alexander held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it. She came of her own volition, it seems. She’s quite industrious. She must get that from me.” Alexander actually had the gall to smile.
