by Katie Reus
Once he checked the elevator and found no blood, the weight on his shoulders lifted. If she hadn’t been shot, that made all this easier. It was a classic he-said, she-said situation. He had another throwaway gun he’d planned to leave next to Hugh’s body to make it look as if Hugh had shot Taylor if need be. But it didn’t look like that would be necessary.
Dragging in a deep breath, he realized he could still get away with this. He just needed to remain focused and make sure Taylor Arenas disappeared for good.
Chapter 2
Discomfort slid through Taylor’s side when she shifted slightly against the driver’s seat of Hugh’s vehicle. She thought she’d been shot a lot worse but now realized it was barely a graze. A strip of skin had been ripped away, but she was barely bleeding.
Not that she even cared. She just wanted to get the hell away from work and tell the police. She didn’t have any of her personal belongings with her, like her cell phone. No, unfortunately that was in her car. In the company parking garage. She’d been so damn terrified that Neal would catch up to her that she’d taken Hugh’s SUV since it had been right there when she’d exited the garage.
Programmed with fingerprint software, she’d been able to start it with her thumb print since he’d given her access to all his vehicles. She’d been driving for a couple minutes, but her hands were still shaky and her breathing choppy. Even though she had no control of it, she knew she was in a state of mild shock. She also knew that she had to call the police. She was only a few minutes away from the station anyway, but they needed to catch Neal before he escaped.
With a trembling hand, she pressed the OnStar call button on the rearview mirror. As soon as she told the system to call 9-1-1, some of her panic started to ebb.
She might not trust the police, but in a situation like this she knew they would help. Her mentor had been gunned down right in front of her and that bastard Neal was going to pay for what he’d done. Anger and grief battled inside her, each one wanting dominance. She let her rage take control, needing that emotion in charge because once she let herself grieve, she knew she’d be a useless wreck.
As soon as the 9-1-1 operator answered, asking what her emergency was, Taylor found her voice. “My boss has been shot. Killed. I just saw Neal Lynch murder Hugh Powers!” She didn’t mean to shout, but felt out of control, her entire body still shaking. She gave the address, her heart an erratic drumbeat in her chest. It was hard to breathe past the pain as she thought of Hugh slumping back against his desk, blood pooling everywhere.
“Take a deep breath ma’am. Who am I speaking to?”
“Taylor Arenas. I work at Powers Group.”
There was a slight pause. “What’s the name of the man you saw shot?”
“Hugh Powers. He’s in his office, on the top floor of the Powers Group building. That bastard Neal Lynch just shot him in cold blood.” Her stomach lurched as she remembered everything in vivid, Technicolor detail.
“Where are you now ma’am?”
“I’m on my way to the police station.”
“Why don’t you pull over and I’ll have an officer meet you?” The woman’s voice was calm, and she was sure the woman meant to be reassuring, but something about her tone rubbed Taylor the wrong way. She knew she was just being paranoid though. The woman only wanted to help.
“No, I’ll be there in like, two minutes. Look, who cares about an officer meeting me? Send someone to the Powers Group before Neal gets away!”
“Ma’am, we already have officers there. I need you to tell me exactly where you are.” Now her voice was forceful, demanding.
What the hell? Alarm bells dinged in Taylor’s head. She knew she was likely being paranoid but… She pressed the end button on the phone call. Why were officers already at the building? Someone would have had to call. And the building had been empty except for… Neal. Had he called? But why would he call for a crime he’d committed? Unless he was telling the cops she did it.
She shook her head. No, the evidence wouldn’t lie.
Frowning, she turned left into the parking lot of the local police station. Palm trees waved beautifully under the clear, blue sky. There should be dark, stormy clouds filling the sky, not beauty on a day like this. On a day one of the most important people in her life had died. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.
She’d break down later. First she needed to talk to the police. The phone rang on the vehicle system, but she ignored it. Driving around the parking lot, she started to park in a spot on the front row but nearly crashed when she saw Gordon Simpson hovering near the front entrance. Wearing black pants and a long, black, dress shirt, he was smoking a cigarette and glancing around. Was he looking for her? If he was he’d probably be looking for her car. Unless he knew she’d taken Hugh’s vehicle…adrenaline punched through her as she gripped the wheel even tighter.
Simpson was part of the security team for the Powers Group and he sometimes worked closely with Neal. What was he doing here? Her heart rate kicked up a notch when he nodded at a man in a suit entering the building. The other man’s badge was clearly visible so he was a cop. Maybe a detective, given the attire. Had Neal sent Simpson here for her? That seemed so insane but she never would have imagined that Neal would shoot Hugh in cold blood, either.
Shifting against the seat, she took her pea coat off, groaning at the discomfort. There was a tear in her coat and her bloody blouse. Crimson stained the pale pink material. She ripped the side of her shirt open a little more to eye the wound fully. A strip of skin was gone, blood trickled down her side, and a dull throb pulsed from the gash. The bullet had literally skimmed her body.
She looked back up and saw Simpson still talking to the cop, laughing at something the man said. Making a split-second decision, she looked in the rearview mirror and reversed. She needed to get home, get the safe deposit key to her bank and retrieve the evidence she’d found regarding the Chemagan company. She’d show it to the police and explain everything that had happened this morning.
Her stepfather had been a cop—an asshole who’d used to shove her mother around until he’d finally killed her in a drunken rage—and Taylor knew how the system worked. Her mom had been murdered because of a department that looked the other way. Once she’d died they’d been all apologetic and talked about how no one had seen the signs, blah, blah blah. When she came to the police she needed irrefutable proof, especially since she wouldn’t put it above Neal to try and twist this whole situation, to frame her. He’d probably claim he shot her in self-defense. And it was clear he had contacts in the department. It turned her stomach.
By the time she made it to her condo complex, the adrenaline rush from earlier was fading. Her hands were clammy and her body was numb as she pulled into the parking lot. When she saw two uniformed police officers standing guard at the entrance, another spike of fear jagged through her like lightning. She kept driving as if she was looking for a parking spot and exited out another entrance.
In the five years since she’d lived here she’d never seen the police here once. No, they had to be here for her.
Which meant Neal had done something to set her up. No way was she getting arrested and railroaded. Shit, she needed to think, to clear her head and come up with a game plan. And she couldn’t do that here in Oceanside. She needed outside help. There weren’t many people she trusted, but her friend Vadim Sokolov in Vegas would be able to. And the drive wasn’t too far.
She turned onto the street and headed away from her building. As soon as she ditched Hugh’s SUV and found another vehicle, she’d be on her way. At least Hugh had a couple hundred bucks in his center console or she’d be totally screwed. It was good she didn’t have a phone though. No way to trace her.
* * *
Almost six hours later Taylor pulled up to Vadim’s house, dust from the long, dirt road behind her kicking up. He lived out in the desert, a good distance from any neighbors. The man was a loner. Or had been until recently when he’d gotten ma
rried. She’d hated that she hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding but at least she’d gotten to meet his new wife, a sweet, adorable woman aptly named Angel.
She tried calling Vadim again from one of the burner phones she’d picked up at a Podunk gas station but it went to his voicemail. Again.
Damn it.
She parked in his driveway and turned off the engine. She’d ended up stealing a beat up, pale blue Pinto. The radio had been sketchy and the passenger door had spots that were almost rusted all the way through, but the engine had been good enough to make the drive to Vegas so she had no complaints. Even if someone reported it stolen—and the owner was probably secretly thanking her for taking it—there was no way to track it electronically.
She’d almost kept Hugh’s SUV because he’d disabled his GPS tracking. The man was—had been—paranoid of too much government power and the ability of so many, not just the government, to track others’ whereabouts. He’d disabled the GPS tracking in anything, even his phone. But in her shock-filled haze she’d remembered that she could be tracked through the OnStar system regardless of what Hugh had done.
God, she missed him and his quirkiness. A fresh wave of pain swept through her and her throat tightened as she opened the driver’s side door, but she refused to cry. Not yet. Not until she had help and a game plan.
On the drive from Oceanside to Vegas she’d stopped twice; for gas and to get supplies which included a first aid kit, burner phones, and new clothes. Considering her current attire was from the first gas station/truck stop she’d stopped at, she looked ridiculous wearing a Golden State T-shirt snagged from the teenage boys’ section. The sweatpants with the word California down the outside of both legs were actually made for women, but they’d only had them in long sizes so she’d rolled them up at the ankles. With her zombie heels she looked as if she was doing the walk of shame.
Whatever, she was alive. The bandage she’d put on over her wound was holding and the ibuprofen she’d taken had helped with her headache and lessened the throb in her wound. Unfortunately she was exhausted and running on fumes. She’d been so eaten up with worry the last few days she hadn’t slept at all. Combined with the shock of seeing her friend killed and being shot herself, she was about to pass out.
Not to mention the freaking cops wanted her for questioning. She’d called two friends from work on the way to Vegas and each of them had said the police wanted to talk to her. One had even asked if she’d killed Hugh. Fucker. She’d used one of her burner phones to call both friends before ditching the phone. And she’d called while she’d still been in Oceanside. So if the cops somehow triangulated where she’d been calling from, they’d have no leads. She wouldn’t be taking any more chances now by calling anyone because she had a feeling they’d be ready to track her.
Besides, she already knew what she needed to. Neal had somehow set her up. She couldn’t figure out how he could have changed the evidence, but she couldn’t think very clearly about anything right now.
After knocking on the front door and ringing the bell with no answer, she had the childish urge to stomp her feet. But she’d come this far. She wasn’t turning around now. And the truth was, she felt safe here.
She tried pulling up the garage door up by hand, but it didn’t budge. No surprise. Fortunately for her, she knew how to release the safety latch. It was completely criminal but right about now she was thankful for her less than savory skills.
Returning to the Pinto, she drove it right up until it was almost touching the garage door. Then she unbent the metal hanger she’d gotten with the T-shirt she was wearing. She was just glad she hadn’t tossed the thing. Climbing onto the hood, she slid her hand through the top part of the garage, breaking a nail as she pulled the vinyl material down as much as she could. Not much, but there wasn’t a foamy seal in place so she was able to slip the thin hanger through. Later she’d yell at Vadim for this lapse in security.
Sliding the hanger around, she wiggled it until it caught on something. On her second try, she felt and heard the latch pull free.
Bingo.
Once upon a time it would have taken her exactly six seconds to do this. Now, it took her fifteen. Not bad.
After reversing the car away from the garage door, she tested it again and breathed out in relief when it slid upward. Leaving the door halfway open, she grabbed her two plastic bags from the vehicle. One held her bloody clothes and the other all the stuff she’d gotten at the two gas stations.
The lock on the interior door was decent, but she picked it. As soon as she stepped from the garage into the utility room the alarm started beeping. She wavered on her feet, but the beeping sound spurred her into action. She had fifteen to thirty seconds to disarm it.
On the third try she got it right. The code was the day, month and year Vadim had gotten his dog Charlie. Not something most people would know, but she and Vadim went way back. She’d apologize later and yell at him for the code too.
Of course he’d probably yell at her for breaking into his house but she was doing him a favor by pointing out his security flaws. She snorted at herself as she opened the utility room door into his kitchen.
Fully expecting to find Charlie bounding toward her, she frowned at the silence. That was when it hit her. When she’d been ringing the bell and knocking on the door there had been no scuffling inside from the dog. Nothing.
Charlie was almost always here unless Vadim took her to work. “Hello?” Taylor called out, her voice cracking from sheer exhaustion.
No response. She tried calling Vadim again on her burner phone as she stepped farther into the kitchen. She slipped her heels off and froze when she saw a pile of about a dozen gifts on the small table by one of the windows.
Holy shit, Vadim and Angel were still on their honeymoon. No wonder he wasn’t answering his phone. Taylor vaguely remembered him telling her they’d be going away for three weeks. Bora Bora or somewhere.
Iciness flooded her as the last of her energy faded from her body. She’d been banking on Vadim’s help. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the new wave of exhaustion and despair threatening to pull her under, the invisible sandbags weighing her eyelids down, making her want to fall asleep right on the kitchen floor.
Bags in hand, she stumbled toward the nearest guest bathroom. She needed to change her bandage and maybe close her eyes for a few minutes. And…she grabbed a bottle of vodka from the pantry on the way. She didn’t know what kind of first aid stuff he had and vodka would kill anything.
And she really wanted a swig because right about now, she knew she was in deep shit.
Chapter 3
Roman scanned Vadim’s property as he pulled up behind an unfamiliar Pinto with a California plate. Frowning, he snapped a picture of the license plate before getting out of his truck. Vadim lived on the outskirts of town with no neighbors for miles. That car had definitely seen better days. Other than the unfamiliar vehicle, everything else looked normal. Just wide-open desert for miles around greeted him. There was no way in hell someone had accidentally stumbled on his place.
No one was supposed to be here. Hell, he hadn’t even planned on coming by. He’d just wanted to get one of Charlie’s favorite chew toys he’d forgotten the other day. He’d brought her by Vadim and Angel’s place a couple days ago because ‘Angel’ was worried about Charlie getting homesick while she and Vadim were on their honeymoon. In reality, Roman knew it was Vadim worried about the mutt. For such a hard ass, V had two soft spots: Angel and Charlie the German shepherd.
Withdrawing his weapon, Roman felt the hood of the Pinto with his free hand. The engine was cool. He ducked down and glanced under the partially open garage door to look inside.
No one was there and Vadim’s Mercedes S-Class sat untouched. Roman crawled under, not disturbing the position of the door before heading to the interior door. If someone had broken in, he’d have them arrested.
Weapon out, he slowly turned the handle then nudged it open with his foo
t. The door chime dinged, announcing that someone was entering the house, but the alarm didn’t go off, making him tense. Disabling Vadim’s system would take skill unless someone had the security code. The utility room was also empty. Moving on silent feet, he swept through the kitchen.
A pair of high heels with…zombies on them sat haphazardly next to one of the island chairs in the otherwise pristine kitchen. A woman had broken in? Some gifts from the recent wedding were still unopened too. Vadim and Angel had left so quickly after their ceremony they hadn’t been able to open the gifts people had brought to the wedding.
Pausing, Roman listened intently. It sounded like running water coming from one of the bathrooms. He’d been in Vadim’s home on multiple occasions, especially back when he’d been giving Angel self-defense lessons. There were three bedrooms on the east side with the living room connecting the kitchen, dining room and library. Vadim’s office was connected off the living room, more or less a separate entity from the rest of the house.
The water had to be coming from one of the bathrooms. Since Vadim had good insulation in this place, Roman guessed it was the nearest one. Moving quickly but quietly, he made his way through the kitchen, then the living room, wondering how the hell someone got past Vadim’s security system.
As he neared the closest bedroom the sound grew louder. Bypassing it, he swept the rest of the house to find it clear before returning to the first guestroom.
The door was ajar so he slipped inside without having to move it. Empty.
His breathing and heart rate were steady. If an intruder thought they could fuck with his friends’ home while they were gone, they were in for a surprise. For a brief moment he contemplated calling the cops, but he was a former Marine and now personal security for one of the wealthiest men in the world. If he couldn’t handle one intruder, he needed a new fucking job.
