Sanctuary Breached WITSEC Town Series Book 3

by Lisa Phillips

  She knew Beth was telling the truth. That much was clear from her face. But she lifted her chin as defiance flashed in her eyes. “Shadrach isn’t going to let this get out. He’s protecting me.”

  “And you’re not using him to do it? My parents are dead, Sam’s career has been destroyed, and now Shadrach’s partner is dead, and Shadrach has been declared MIA. When they find out he’s alive and here, they’re going to charge him with desertion.”

  “The president reassigned him!”

  “Shadrach has to be able to prove that. Do you think my dad wrote him a note?” Beth swallowed against the lump in her throat. “This is all because of you. You think you’re protecting the rest of us, when all you’re actually doing is protecting yourself.” When she didn’t say anything, Beth continued. “It is, isn’t it? This will ruin your reputation forever, being associated with something like this. You were part of it—”

  “Only because he made me do it!”

  “And now you’ve destroyed the very people you say you’re protecting. All so you can hide here and live a normal life, while the rest of us pick up the pieces of what you’ve left us with. You’re without a doubt the most selfish person I know.” Beth took a step back. “I won’t let you kill anyone else.”

  **

  Ben Mason climbed from the nondescript van parked downtown in the capital city of a flyover state. He’d been all over the world. At this point, American cities all looked pretty much the same. Wall-to-wall coffee shop franchises, restaurants, and people climbing over each other to get to the big office at the end of the hall with the secretary who wore her skirt too short and her heels too high.

  Give Ben a hut on an empty beach and he was happy. Maybe someday.

  Daire—his number one guy—got out of the other side. His employee, who was really more of a cousin since Ben had enough brothers as it was, strode around the car. Ben had told him to wear a suit, but he’d shown up in jeans, a leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. As usual. Maybe he was more like the cousin who borrowed your car, never returned it, and then showed up to Thanksgiving dinner with the ex-girlfriend you were still in love with on his arm.

  “Go time.” Daire grinned. The possibility of being able to lawfully shoot someone was likely the only reason he’d gotten out of bed.

  “I’ll see you inside.” Ben had reconfigured the plan, given Daire’s attire wouldn’t work with the cover he’d established. But life was nothing if not Plan B, anyway, so what was the point in arguing? Daire knew what he was doing, and that was why he was the man Ben counted on more than anyone else in situations like this.

  “Yes, captain.” Daire saluted. His non-descript accent had slipped back into soft British inflections. “But if you tell me to ‘make it so, number one’ again, I’ll shoot you in the face.”

  Ben motioned with two fingers. “Engage.”

  “Next Generation nerd.” Daire broke off. “And to think, your brothers don’t even know.” He strode away, toward the back of the building.

  There was a whole lot about Ben his brothers didn’t know, although he figured they could guess. Especially given the types of things Grant routinely punted to him.

  Ben reached in the backseat and retrieved the empty briefcase he’d stowed there. His Sig was under his arm, concealed by the sport coat.

  He rounded the corner to the front and didn’t knock on the warehouse door—he just flung it open and strode in, the plastic ID badge swinging from the clip on his breast pocket.

  The two suited men spun in his direction, then shifted rifles behind their backs. One said, “Can we help you?”

  Ben pointed to the ID. “Building inspector.” He sighed, already disappointed this inspection was going to prove difficult. His best Midwest accent was a little rusty, but he could conceivably have moved around the country.

  “I’ll need to see the contract that states you have the right to be here. And I’ll have to inspect the fire suppressant system as well as all of the security measures you’ve taken.” He looked back over his shoulder at the pitiful lock on the door he’d just entered and sighed…then shot them a look. He tutted and shook his head.

  The two men exchanged a glance, ready to take care of the bozo who’d walked in on their business.

  “You’d be advised to leave now, sir,” the first said. “Run along. Tell whoever you answer to whatever you want. We don’t care. But you’re not looking around here.”

  If Ben was holding someone hostage, he wouldn’t want anyone finding them, either. But then, no one would.

  He could only think of one reason they would hold Sam’s mother alive. The alternative was killing her the same day the other Abigail had taken her place, and then destroying the body so no one knew Abigail Myerson had been replaced. They had to be after leverage. Their own backup plan; a way to force Sam and Beth to give up the location to the syndicate under threat they’d kill Abigail.

  Ben’s people had hacked every database there was, looking for a connection between the scientist and his daughter and Beth Myerson—or her parents. Whoever had hidden the young woman had successfully erased every piece of evidence that she’d ever existed. They were pros.

  Ben stuck his hand in his pant pocket and walked closer to them as though he had all day. “No can do, sir. I gotta look around. Take pictures, document everything. They got a tracker on my car, so it has to be outside here for at least an hour, or I’ll get fired. One more strike and I’m out, you know? So help a brother out.”

  One smirked. The other glanced at his friend. “I don’t think so. Brother.”

  Ben gave them his best worried look. The phone in his breast pocket vibrated once.

  Daire was inside.

  Right now his partner would be making his way from room to room, searching for Abigail Myerson. Hopefully she wouldn’t need a hospital. This was best kept quiet, and the police would ask too many questions. When the cops realized there was a link between Abigail and the murder of the president and first lady, federal agents would get involved. That meant even more questions.

  Ones Ben had no intention of answering.

  They reached behind their backs in a synchronized maneuver that brought their guns out front. Ben timed his squeal perfectly with dropping the briefcase. “Don’t shoot me.”

  “Get out.” The gunman motioned to the door with his weapon.

  His phone buzzed. Daire had found Abigail.

  Ben was almost within touching distance of the two guys now.

  Ben stepped forward and swiped the first gun aside with the flat of his palm in one beat. The gun whipped around. Twisted. Broke a few fingers. The man cried out. Gunshot. Ben punched the second in his side, under his elbow, then came back around and jabbed the first in the throat, cutting off his scream. He dropped. Gunshot. That one was close.

  Ben pivoted back and punched the other so hard his head snapped back and he fell, too.

  The thud echoed through the foyer. Ben stepped over their bodies. He’d be gone before they woke, anyway.

  Ben cracked the door and stepped into a hallway at the same time Daire exited the room and glanced around. “Problem.”

  “What?”

  When Daire stepped aside, he went in.

  Abigail Myerson, a fit, fifty-seven year old career JAG officer, sat ramrod straight, duct taped to chair. Strapped to her chest was a—

  “Bomb.”

  Abigail’s eyes were wide and bright. Her gaze darted between Daire and Ben.

  He should say something helpful, like, “There’s nothing to worry about” or “You’re safe, we’re here to help.” But Ben didn’t like any of this. And from the look of it, Abigail knew exactly how bad it was.

  He strode over and pulled the tape from her mouth. She winced. When Ben was done, her cheeks were raw. “There’s a phone strapped to the bottom of the chair that they can call and detonate at any minute. If I get moved at all, it’ll blow.”

  Ben sat on the floor and peered underneath. “It’s counting down
.”

  “No, it’s a motion sensor. That’s what they said.”

  He looked at Daire and mouthed “Fifty-three.” Abigail couldn’t see his face. Then aloud he said, “Wire clippers.”

  “No, no. With all due respect to you two, I’d prefer the FBI’s bomb squad take a look at it. I won’t move; it’ll be fine.”

  Ben pulled the multi-tool from the pouch on his belt and laid down again, eyeing all sides of the device. Crudely made, though the technology was expensive. Not military. It was functional, but there was no beauty to it. Clearly the manufacturer considered the flames, debris, and screaming to be where the beauty was.

  “Hello.” Her calf tensed. Abigail’s feet were bare and dirt was smudged on her knees. “I said I didn’t want you working on it. Why are neither of you calling the police?”

  Ben traced a green wire from one side to the other with two fingers as he mapped out the internal circuit in his head. Daire was probably grinning at her.

  “This is not funny by any means.”

  Yep, he was grinning.

  “I want professionals working on this.”

  Thirty-nine.

  “What makes you think we aren’t professionals?” Daire’s voice held a glimmer of humor.

  Abigail made a “pfft” noise with her lips, and Ben smiled. Not the green one. The red? Unless there was a secondary trigger in the circuit itself. He’d have to gamble today. It’d always paid off before, but one day it wouldn’t and he’d wind up giving an account for his life. That’s not going to go well. Judgment day wasn’t something Ben Mason particularly looked forward to.

  He grimaced at the wires. “You could at least cut her out of the tape instead of just standing there.”

  Daire stomped over in his boots.

  “What are you—”

  He tugged on the tape, and Ben heard Daire’s knife slice through it. Abigail shifted on the chair, but Daire crouched in front of her. “I got you.” His accent was Kansas, though he usually didn’t show real fear until after the danger had passed. Why was he so worried this time?

  Ben frowned. Daire needed a distraction. “Count to three.”

  Daire started counting down, and Ben sent up a little prayer. A plea for help he hoped wouldn’t be ignored today. He braced the tiny scissors against the wire and clamped down on the thin metal of the handle. Snip. The numbers froze.

  Ben scooted from the chair and got up. He held out a hand to Abigail. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t move. “Are you sure? Maybe you didn’t do it right.”

  Daire laughed. He glanced at Ben. “Is it wrong that I think I’ve fallen in love?”

  Ben slipped his hand under her elbow, ignoring Daire’s grin. “She’s old enough to be your mother.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Daire strode to the door and glanced out. “It’s clear.”

  Abigail stood. Ben slid out the knife from his multi-tool, ready to cut the bomb all the way off. He’d seen plenty of suicide bombs in his years of work, but it was still nerve-wracking to be this close.

  Not that he’d admit it to anyone.

  He reached for the bomb, and saw her back—a separate display flicked to life.

  Five.

  Four.

  He ripped at the tape. Frantic. Abigail made a noise and turned, but he shuffled her with his body to the door. Daire went through and he followed, ripping the bomb from her front and back. He threw it, slammed the door, and they ran.

  He shut the next door, a fire door. God, please.

  He saw the display in his mind.

  Two.

  One.

  There wasn’t enough time.

  A shudder rocked the walls. The explosion tore through the building from the inside out. A hot wall of air and flames pushed them outward with the drywall, along with everything else not bolted down. They were flung as if by the force of a tornado that ripped lose everything in its path.

  The boom was so loud it felt like his eardrums were being torn out.

  Ben hit Daire’s shoulder. His eyes stung with dirt. Daire was wrapped around Abigail, his long limbs enfolding her in his grasp.

  Daire hit the wall, and Ben rolled off him. The whole surface inverted, and they were flung, head over feet. The fire door exploded.

  Fire stung his face; Ben covered it with his arm.

  He glanced up and saw sky. It turned in a complete rotation.

  He rolled and deposited his breakfast on the concrete beside him. They weren’t outside. Half the roof had caved in, but they were still in the building. Technically.

  Ben rolled back the other way. Blood dripped down Daire’s face. Abigail was out. Ben wasn’t sure he could move, let alone carry his friend and Abigail to the car. But what other choice did they have.

  Neither of them could afford to be ID’d by the police.

  Daire’s back pocket was under his hip, so Ben hooked one finger in his friend’s pocket and shifted his whole body, praying he didn’t injure Daire further. He pulled the wallet out and leafed through it. Wrong hair. Daire should have switched out his ID for a different one if he was going to wear his hair like that today. It wasn’t like him to be so lax, like he was asking for attention. Or he simply didn’t believe he’d get caught.

  Ben despaired over his friend’s death-wish sometimes. The man was going to get in serious trouble one day. The wrong people would find him, and then his life would be over. Unless he figured it was already over. Who cared and all that.

  Ben pulled out the driver’s license Daire couldn’t even pretend resembled him. He flicked it into the flames and watched the edges curl as it melted. Secure. He wasn’t going to let his friend go out in blaze of glory. Not today. Not as long as he could help it.

  The badge ID Ben had been wearing was gone from his jacket. He’d also lost one of his shoes. He sat up and the first of the emergency services sirens penetrated his ringing ears. Ben spied the ID on the ground four feet away. He rolled to it, swiped it up, and stuck it in his pocket. His wallet he sent flying into the flames.

  Secure.

  Everything went black.

  **

  Sam leaned against the outside wall of the library, one foot braced against the bricks and his arms folded. It was a little dramatic, but this was a showdown.

  The back door swung open, and she stepped out—glanced around.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  The door shut, and Remy scowled at him. “What’s the point in staying? Beth has it in her head you’re going to save everyone when the reality is, you’ll kill us all.”

  “Because there’s no opinion in this world valid except yours?”

  “It’s not invalid. It’s wrong.”

  Sam pushed off the wall. “Tell me where it is.”

  She shook her head.

  “What is it? What did you do?”

  Tears filled her eyes, but she shook her head again. “I won’t tell you.”

  “Because you’re ashamed. Probably rightly so.” He walked to her. “I can’t imagine what your life was like.”

  She’d always been awkward. When he’d found out Beth’s cousin Remy’s father was a famous fanatical scientist, it’d explained a few things about her social skills. And the way she clung to Beth—the only person she called a friend. They’d met once, at the summer camp where Sam first saw Beth. He hadn’t seen Remy much after that, but Beth had kept him updated.

  “You know nothing about me.” Her eyes flashed, and she stepped back.

  Sam stepped close to her. If a reminder of his physical abilities was enough to intimidate her into telling him, he’d do it. It was a low blow, but he wasn’t going to actually hurt her. “Tell me where you hid it, tell me who these people are, and this is all over. We walk away clean, and you can live your life.”

  “I am living my life.”

  The bricks beside his head exploded. The rapport of sniper fire echoed from the mountains as it clicked in Sam’s head that he was under fire.

/>   “Down!”

  He tackled her, and they both hit the ground.

  Chapter 12

  Sam pushed Remy ahead of him into the sheriff’s office, stepped aside to admit Beth, and then shut the door behind him. John looked up, eyes wide. The sheriff clicked his mouse and sat back in his chair. “What happened?”

  Sam took Remy’s elbow and deposited her in the deputy sheriff’s chair. “This sniper of y’all’s tried to kill me.” Beth didn’t say anything, but Sam saw John glance once in her direction. Sam wasn’t letting Remy out of his sight.

  “I keep telling you. He wasn’t trying to kill you.”

  John strode over to stand beside Sam. “All this is because of you?”

  His attention was on Remy, but it was Sam who said, “Beth told me last night.” He looked back at Remy. “No wonder you’ve been sneaking around town. Didn’t want me to see you because you knew if I got one look at you—nutso disguise or not—I’d figure out this whole thing is about you.”

  Remy blew hair out of her face and folded her arms. “It’s none of your business, Samuel.”

  He snorted. “You sound like your dad.”

  Her eyes flashed. If she’d been able to, they’d have fired daggers at him. “Don’t you dare compare me to that monster.”

  Sam sat on the edge of the desk. “Okay, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You’ve gotta give me something, Rem.” Her gaze flicked to Beth, but Sam still didn’t turn. “Beth’s been holding onto this for you for what, years?”

  John folded his arms. “Remy’s been here years. Since way before I came. I was told you were a hacker, a genius. Working government contracts that bring revenue into Sanctuary.”

  “It’s not a lie.”

  Sam glanced aside to John. “It’s not. She’s good at everything, always was. Off the charts IQ, but she’s not only a hacker.”

  “I know about the medical degree,” John said.

  “That’s kind of an aside from being a geneticist. And a biologist. And a bunch of other stuff I can’t even follow.” He looked back at Remy. “Let me guess. You erased every photo of yourself from any database anywhere and then created a whole new identity for yourself that suited your purpose.”