The Lynx Series Boxed Set II: Books 4-6 (Iniquus Security Action Adventure Boxed Set Book 3)

by Fiona Quinn

  “Where is Christen Davidson?” The MC asked. The fabric stretched across his face obfuscating his features.

  My brain pinged back to the CIA, where I had learned about the artist’s use of DNA to create a likeness. There would be nothing to go on once these men left. Their gloved hands would leave no prints, their costume would allow for no accidentally left behind genetic material.

  They would get away with this.

  “Where is Christen Davidson?” He raised his voice.

  Kira timidly raised her hand.

  Ty’s face hardened. I had known Ty Newcomb for a while now. But he had just met Kira last week. From the looks of things, the love bug had bitten him hard. Where most people wouldn’t see the subtle shift in his demeanor, I lived amongst men who were or had been special forces operators. Ty was expanding his systems like a bull pawing at the ground, ready to lunge.

  Calm. Wait. I sent him soothing vibes, knowing they wouldn’t reach him.

  “Christen isn’t here. She went to pick up her mother-in-law and-and-and-and her sisters-in-law. They aren’t here.”

  There was a stillness amongst the green Army. This was blowing a hole in their plans.

  “Who are you?” MC snarled.

  “Me? I’m Kira.”

  Steady, Ty.

  “And what is your role here?”

  “I’m… I’m a guest.”

  “You’re Christen’s friend?”

  “I met her the other day. She’s not here,” Kira said.

  “All right. I’m going to call out names. When you hear your name, you will come forward and form a line.”

  “Lexi Sobado.”

  I was second up. That was information.

  Omega had a score to settle with me. And it had nothing to do with Spyder’s data dump. Omega had come after me two years ago, and in the fight, several of their operators had been killed.

  The guy twitched his gun at Kira.

  “No, she’s not here either.” Kira had seen the guy push me out the door. Of that, I was reasonably sure. Would she tell? Would they hunt me? I held my breath. There was nowhere for me to go. All I could possibly do here was to shadow walk and stay invisible.

  “She left. I… I think she left with Christen and Gator…I don’t know.” Kira stared down at her shoes. Her weight shifted around. I thought she might just faint.

  Ty reached out his hand and tugged her back to him. Pressed her into a seat. Pushed her head down between her knees.

  Good job, Ty.

  A shuffling and gasps pulled my attention to the left. I couldn’t see for the people standing to that side of the grate.

  A muffled, “She’s having a heart attack,” spread person to person and rounded the room.

  “Is there a doctor in the room?” a man asked.

  Striker held up his hands to show they were free of weapons. He strode toward her. Ty followed. And Kira bounced up from her seat, obviously not willing to leave Ty’s side.

  Lula edged to the right of my grate. She tapped twice.

  I tapped twice in return.

  The army men pushed everyone else to the other side of the room. They were allowing Ty and Striker to help the woman. Was this encouraging?

  The MC started in again.

  “William and London Davidson.” This time he didn’t need hands to go up. He pointed directly at the couple. They were escorted to the dais, where they were made to kneel in front of their guests.

  I turned back to the woman on the ground.

  I remembered from Dad’s car crash how that felt to press and push and pray under my breath.

  “Now everyone is to get out their phones and hold them over your heads. If you don’t produce a phone, you will be escorted to the corner, and you will be strip-searched. Your clothes will be confiscated.”

  The phones came out.

  The army men with black sharpies went person to person, writing on their phones. Manipulating them briefly. Dropping them into a bag.

  It wasn’t until they were taking Lula’s phone that I heard what they were doing. They wrote her name and the passcode. If it was a biometric code like irises or fingerprints, they were made to change to a swipe code. The batteries were removed.

  As the army man moved past, I could see Striker and Ty again.

  Kira was using her skirt to blow air the woman’s way.

  I knew from the look on their faces that they knew they had failed and hadn’t given up quite yet.

  Others tried to get down and relieve Ty, who was doing CPR, but they were pushed away by the gunmen.

  Ty was a machine. He kept going until Lula went over and stopped him. “She’s gone. Let’s move her to the side.” She pointed at the table to the right of my grate.

  Lula was trying to amass friendlies together. Maybe she had a plan.

  Lula and Kira stood on either side of the woman, tucking their hands under her back.

  Ty took her feet. Striker had the deceased woman under the arms.

  While Lula directed Striker over to the place she had been standing just to the left of my grate, I was worried that she would call attention to me. But she stood with her back to the wall, covering.

  “Lexi,” she said under her breath as she squatted to adjust the dead woman. “Man, I sure am hoping that you’re crouched there trying to figure this out. “

  “Here.”

  “Can you get out?” She arranged the woman’s clothing in a respectful way.

  “No.”

  “Phone?”

  “Yes,” I said as an exhale. “It’s one of theirs. I’m afraid to use it lest they’re monitored.”

  “Agreed. Weapons?”

  “No.”

  “Plan?”

  “No.”

  She crossed the woman’s arms over her chest. Pressed her eyelids down. Ty took a cloth from one of the tables and was covering it over the woman.

  “Any ideas?” Ty asked.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  What we needed here was magic. I ran through my skill sets, shadow walking, sleight of hand, fighting…really, the only applicable skill I had was puzzling.

  I was in limbo, neither part of the crime nor away from it.

  Trapped.

  They had finished collecting the cell phones. It looked like everyone anteed one up. No one was in the strip search corner.

  “Line up when I call your name,” the MC instructed.

  Assemblymen, one at a time, moved forward.

  I was trained by the best of the best to become an intelligence officer. Not an operator. I had little in the way of applied tactical maneuvers to protect those I loved.

  I reached into my bag of knowledge. After my team came in from a mission, they went through the hot washes, explaining what they did and why they did it. Looking for holes. Looking for ways that they could better react the next time.

  Eight men, seven women in our group. Christen and Gator were safe.

  A gun was a gun was a gun.

  I had no idea how to help. I looked over my shoulder. Mom and Dad, if you’re there, I could use some inspiration.

  Chapter Forty

  Striker, Ty, Kira, and Lula sat on the ground with their backs to the wall with the dead woman in front of them.

  I thought that was a pretty good idea. I remembered studying how some native tribes would make platforms up in the trees, away from wild animals, that served as burial sites. When other indigenous peoples passed through the area, they were careful not to disturb the sacred space. Therefore, when trappers moved through the area, they often slept under those trees, knowing that the area's indigenous people wouldn’t go to that spot.

  By placing the body there, my team had formed a barricade that, by human nature, wouldn’t be crossed or disturbed.

  I hoped so anyway.

  I had to find a way out of here.

  Before I could tell Striker where I was going, the MC walked up on stage and stood behind the Davidsons. “There seems to be some hesitancy. Some re
luctance to do as you are being told. Let me set the record straight here. You are not in charge.” He dragged a .22 caliber pocket pistol from his green uniform jacket. And without a moment’s hesitation, he aimed it at the back of London’s head and pulled the trigger.

  BANG!

  “Right? No monkey business. Just so you see the consequences.” He pressed his foot into London’s back, and she dropped from the dais to the floor.

  The back of her hair was matted with blood.

  Holy moly!

  William Davidson passed out and was ignored.

  People were vomiting and crying—the room filled with moans.

  Axel and Randy came forward, looked the man in the eye, and wiggled a finger. I supposed to ask permission to move London to what was becoming a make-do morgue.

  The MC gave them a nod.

  Axel turned to the women in our party who were seated at the table where I’d left my purse. My phone was in there.

  Helpful?

  It didn’t matter. None of the women scooped it up. It was left there next to my plate of untouched hors d’oeuvres.

  They stood and moved over to London, reaching under her as Randy instructed.

  On Randy’s count, they all lifted and walked toward us.

  Kira was curled into Ty, clinging and shaking.

  When they got to us and were laying London out, Axel whispered, “It was a .22. She’s still alive. We need to get her out of here ASAP. Hopefully, she can hang on until this is over.”

  “You think they’re going to let anyone live?” Ty spoke without moving his lips. His voice carried as wide as the circle of operators and no further.

  No one mentioned to the newcomers that I was there behind the grate.

  Good. The fewer who knew, the less chance I’d be caught.

  Vincent knew where I was. Will he rat me out to the MC?

  I didn’t see him anymore. It was possible that Vincent had done his duty and had left.

  Still a worry.

  The other men, Reaper, Jack, Deep, and Blaze, were slowly, slowly making their way in this direction. Every time an Assemblyman’s name was called, and eyes looked around to find that person, they took a sidestep.

  At this rate, it would take them a while.

  The Assemblymen were brought to a computer one after the other.

  One after the other, they sat down and tapped, sweating and gasping.

  I assumed that they were entering passcodes into the systems and moving money.

  Lots of money to someone’s offshore account, I guessed.

  Striker pulled Ty and Axel in front of him. “Chica,”

  “Here”

  “Can you get out?”

  “No. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Absolutely nothing. If you can’t get out, you need to lay low and not call attention to yourself. It’ll up the stakes. Make them twitchy on the triggers. We need weapons. All of our guns are in the vehicles. Anything you can find us.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with. So far, I’ve decided not to make a bomb with cleaning supplies.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Good call.”

  “If I find something, I need a way to give it to you. Can you get the grate off?” I asked.

  Lula pushed in behind the men, crouching beside Striker. “Stand up,” she told him. She pulled a clip from her hair. Her tiny frame was hidden behind Striker’s bulk. “It’s held with screws. I can get them out. We need weapons. Figure it out.”

  Shit.

  I searched over every inch of the outer room and saw no way to get through.

  This seemed like a bad fire design, just like Destiny’s apartment had been when there was no way out past the goons besides that side door with the rotting steps.

  The walls in the dressing room were cinderblock except behind the sink. I assumed they’d used drywall there to facilitate access to the water pipes.

  Knocking at the drywall, it sounded hollow. Well, hollow enough that I was tempted to see what was on the other side.

  Digging through the dressing table drawers, I located a pair of scissors. With the open blade, I scored down the paper, pressing hard to cut through the gypsum.

  Powdery white sulfate material sprinkled down on me. It looked so solid, but this wasn’t hard to do. I cut to the side of the outlet, knowing that I’d have a two-foot space between studs to crawl through. That was if this led anywhere at all. I could just be heading into a concrete wall, another group of domestic terrorists, or a dead end.

  Climbing onto the sink, I lifted a leg and started through the hole into what looked like a meeting room. I spent a moment jumping up and down and scraping my feet on the rug to rid myself of any dust lest I leave a trail.

  Shadow walking, I moved into the hall toward the kitchen. At least I knew there would be ultra-sharp knives in there. The staff was sitting on the ground with their backs to the walls. Green Army men kept them under gunpoint.

  Two of them.

  Two… No. Armed with only scissors, I couldn’t fight them. If they got a shot off, even with their suppressors, it would call attention.

  I took a moment to observe. Yeah, these guys were high-tech. One touched his breast bone where I was sure he was pressing a comms button. He spoke, then stilled to listen. He must have earbuds in underneath his outfit. If I had that outfit on, I could sneak into the room… to what end? How would that help anything?

  Okay, nix that.

  I had to get to the cars.

  With another breath in, adjusting to make sure I was obfuscating my presence with my shadow walking technique, I made my way to an exit. I observed the door. If I went out, could I get back in? If I went out, would it signal anyone? So far, I hadn’t seen any security cameras. But that meant little. In spaces like this private club, the cameras were often eliminated so that private conversations would stay private. Often, too, they had security cameras, but they were hidden to make their clients feel more at ease that they were in a safe space and crimes were not anticipated.

  I thought if there were to be security, it would be on the exterior, and it would focus on exits. The door wasn’t a good idea. I backtracked. Every second meant that the terrorists were getting closer to completing their tasks and would move on with next steps.

  Every second might be London’s last breath.

  The MC had been cold about shooting London. Would they care about the lives of the others in the room?

  I found a service staircase and followed it up. Here, in another hall, I made my way to the side of the mansion opposite the parking lot. Outside, there was a slope down to a pond that was just visible in the dusk.

  This was my exit, I decided.

  Chapter Forty-One

  In the upstairs office space, I dragged the curtains from the windows. Floor to ceiling silk, this was precisely what I needed. Tying four of them together end to end and pulling knots every so many feet, I quickly constructed a rope system that I could use to climb from the third-story window.

  I was so glad that I had chosen to be comfortable tonight in a black satin jumpsuit and flats.

  Using rubber bands from the desk drawer, I secured my hair out of my way.

  Filling my cheeks with air, I let it go in a rush. I can do this.

  Sure I could. This was a walk in the park, I told myself as I went butt-first out the window, testing how my shoes would do against the smooth siding.

  Not good.

  I pulled them off and stuck the shoes in my bra, letting my breasts hold them in place.

  This wasn’t my first rodeo on the side of a tall building. This was only three stories. Heck, I had climbed up a fire chute thirteen stories high when I tried to take out the Hydra. And look at Christen, when she met Gator, she leaped into his heart when she did a parkour dive off the side of a two-story building.

  It’s doable.

  I’m doing it.

  As my feet found the solidity of hard-packed dirt and grass, I left the make-do rope in place. Those
knots would help me climb back with the things that I gathered. It’s one thing to climb a rope hand over hand. It’s entirely different to climb encumbered that way.

  I am not a SEAL.

  That didn’t mean that I wouldn’t try to shapeshift into one.

  Quickly replacing my shoes, I laid down, crossing my arms over my chest as I rolled down the hill, below the horizon, and out of view if anyone was watching out of a first-story window. I raced toward the tree line. There, I stopped to assess.

  At the front gate, four army men on hover scooters stood sentry.

  On the wall, I saw others crouched, observing the street, but not the grounds.

  It was good that I went out the window on the other side of the building, or surely they would have seen and taken action.

  Needing to be sure that they weren’t monitoring the parking lot, I waited for a full five minutes to make sure my next moves would go undetected.

  Yes, it was time that I didn’t have. But getting caught now would serve no one.

  Feeling reassured and glad for the descending night, I made my way to the Iniquus vehicles.

  Per protocol, they were parked at the back of the lot facing outward.

  I snaked my way up to the first one, reaching under the bumper, feeling for the code panel. This was a security measure placed on every Iniquus vehicle. Besides the normal bullet resistance and run-flat tires, Command didn’t want to have the operator stuck on a scene if somehow the keys went missing.

  The locks were set up like a gun safe. I laid my fingers in each of the grooves then pressed in the combination: pinky, ring finger, and thumb. When I did, the system recognized an emergency was in play. The lights disengaged, the alarm—any beeps or chirrups all disabled—the back unlatched.

  Control would be notified and be listening for instructions over the intercom.

  I popped the rear hatch, lifting it halfway.

  “Control,” I whispered, knowing that the computers would augment my voice. “May Day. May Day. May Day. Lynx from Strike Force. We are involved in a hostage situation.”

  “Control. Copy.”