Wyn Security

by Dana Volney

  Courtney shook her head, mascara streaked down her face, and her entire body shook to the frenzy reflected in her eyes.

  A man and woman in blue uniforms carrying a stretcher and medical bag bounded into the bus, and knelt on the floor beside him.

  “Gunshot to the abdomen,” was all he could say as they nudged him out of the way.

  Gunshot to the abdomen. The bastard’s bullet had gone in just under her bulletproof vest. Shit. Shit. Don’t die.

  He paced a tight line, volleying his gaze between his red-stained hands and his friend on the floor as the paramedics worked frantically, removing the outer black shirt she wore, then the vest, putting white gauze on the entrance hole, and moving her to the stretcher.

  Eddie jumped back to get out of their way. The bodyguards had managed to move the crowd out of the area. Not a hard task after a gun went off.

  “You.” He pointed to another guard. “Stay with Courtney. She should be checked out.”

  The paramedics made quick work to the ambulance, Eddie on their heels.

  “I’m coming with.” He hopped in as a woman slammed the back doors shut.

  Amelia lay inches away from him, still in the stark light of the ambulance, an oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth, and barely a spot on her that wasn’t soaked in bright red. Holy shit. This wasn’t how this night was supposed to end. Not how any night or day or minute was ever supposed to end.

  How had this night gone so wrong?

  By not thinking everyone was a threat, that’s how.

  This was all his fault. This teammate, his friend, was fighting for her life right now because he hadn’t seen the signs, hadn’t been good at his job. Hadn’t been vigilant enough.

  Everyone was a threat. No one was completely innocent. Bad things happened to good people. Fuck, all the clichés were right. It should’ve been him who’d taken the bullet. He hadn’t been quick enough to lunge, to protect Amelia.

  He squeezed her hand as the sirens wailed and the rig started rolling.

  “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. Don’t die, Amelia,” he pleaded with his friend under his breath. You’re a Viking. Be a Viking and live.

  A tear rolled down his cheek.

  • • •

  “Wait.” Hannah Malone sat forward in her black office chair, trying to calm her heartbeat now thudding in her ear. “Who’s dead?”

  “Marty.” The caller let out a heavy breath.

  “When?” She’d just spoken to her newest informant at Redburn, Inc. less than twelve hours ago. He’d been nervous, yeah, but not dead.

  This is not happening. It was as if all of her plans, the preparations, were stacked to the ceiling and started to tumble down, burying her in quicksand. She pressed one palm firmly onto her desk and white-knuckled the receiver. There was more than one way to get what she wanted, and she was talking to him right now.

  “I don’t know. That’s just what I heard when I got here. I need out. If they knew about Marty and he talked—” Her other mole’s anxiety was seeping through the phone, making her chest rise and fall quicker. He needed to keep his head on straight and not screw this up for her.

  If he was correct, then she’d already lost her leverage and the reason she was in the office so early on a Thursday. She couldn’t lose another insider on the Warren Redburn case.

  “I’ll take care of it.” She clicked on her Outlook and rapidly fired out e-mails to her boss and the district attorney who were in the very small circle that knew about her confidential task force—a team that was supposed to convene this morning for the first time to discuss strategy on taking down the Redburn organization or, more specifically, Warren Redburn. That should be a fun meeting now, considering they had squat. “Keep your phone close.”

  The line went dead, and she tapped on her phone icon and the first couple letters of the Seattle Police Department captain and hit send. If Marty was dead, she hadn’t been notified, which meant his body hadn’t been found. Yet. Quite possibly it never would. People had a way of disappearing when it came to Warren Redburn. But she wasn’t giving up.

  That morning’s turn of events were simply roadblocks, and she’d fix it. The question now was whether or not they were going to have enough to go on to gather evidence of Redburn’s corruption and less than legal dealings.

  She couldn’t let him get away.

  She wouldn’t.

  Not this time.

  She dialed Winter at Wyn Security. She knew exactly who she wanted assigned to her task force.

  Warren Redburn would ruin another family over her dead body.

  Chapter Two

  Eddie pushed on the glass door to the conference room he’d been directed to by an older, stern man with wire-rimmed glasses. The FBI was so predictable.

  His stomach rumbled as he swung the strap of his black bag over his head and grabbed the closest seat, the one farthest from the front. It was ridiculously early, he hadn’t had time to grab breakfast, and now he had to participate in some ill-conceived FBI task force. He glanced as his watch—not even seven yet. He could’ve stopped for a jelly donut after all.

  Since his partner had been shot two days ago, his foreseeable future, and possibly the rest of his life, was turning into a real heaping pile of shit.

  His only saving grace was that half-cocked shot hadn’t done any major damage, so Amelia was going to pull through. Not that she was going to want him for a partner again. He didn’t even want himself as a partner right now. His jaw tightened. He needed to make it right, prove he was good at his job. His real job. Not whatever today’s FBI adventure would bring.

  A woman with long legs and hair pulled back tight in a no-nonsense ponytail was clearly giving orders to a short, skinny man-boy as he nodded profusely. Probably a new agent.

  Eddie set his laptop on his thighs and leaned back in the plain black office chair. Once he got the gist of whatever they were supposed to be tracking down, he’d collect the information using his techniques, give it to the agent in charge, and be done with this punishment so he could get back to the self-inflicted penance of guilt, more guilt, and self-loathing.

  “Mr. Dever. Glad you could join us.” The dark blonde shuffled some papers on the oblong, twenty-seat oak table, and a female agent who looked to be ten took a seat to her right. Counting him, there were only four people in the room. He wasn’t used to the way the government conducted business any more, but he’d expected a room full of people to justify the word task force.

  Maybe if you’d done your last job right, you wouldn’t be here.

  “Thank you for coming today. I’m Special Agent Hannah Malone. This task force has been put together to investigate Warren Redburn and his company. He’s been suspected of illegal activity for a long time now, but nothing has ever been proven in court.” She picked up a stack of blue folders that were filled to the bursting point. “Here’s his history and the one case where we tried to make a charge stick, a decade ago. I suggest you familiarize yourself with him and all of his associates.”

  Yeah, Winter, you had no idea what you were doing when you sent me here.

  He’d known his boss for years now, meeting her in the army and then, after their unit disbanded by way of terrorist shoot-out, going to work for her at Wyn Security, providing personal protection to clients. She was sly as a fox, and the decision to loan him out to the FBI through Wyn Security was no different. He wasn’t here only because he’d screwed up and gotten his partner shot; he was here because of his brother.

  Special Agent Malone pushed a blue file toward him, and it skimmed across the polished desk, stopping in front of his arm. “Care to join us at this end of the room, Mr. Dever?”

  “Call me Eddie.” He opened the file to see where the FBI had been focusing their efforts. “I’m good here.”

  Hmmm, no evidence for an accusation of embezzlement; numbers add up here, so nothing fishy. He flipped to the known associates section.

  “Eddie ...” She paused for a beat, and he
shifted his gaze from the papers, the dark blue of her stare pinning him from across the room. Whoa, she was not going to like his decision to phone in his time. There was something more to her gaze as it moved slowly down his arms, causing a wake of prickles on his skin. He refused to squirm under the silent judgment. Instead, he turned up the tips of his lips into that carefree smile that had gotten him out of so many jams in the past.

  When their gazes finally met again, he expected her edges to soften. Nothing. Except ice. Guess being friendly wasn’t going to get him zip.

  “Is from Wyn Security,” she continued. “They specialize in personal protection and aid local law enforcement from time to time. I asked Eddie here today because his background in technology will be of great use.” She glanced at the two other agents, and he took a breath he didn’t realize he needed.

  She’d asked for him specifically? Okay, SA Hannah Malone, now you have my attention. She wanted his computer skills all right, and probably his family ties didn’t hurt either. His cheap bar tricks had fallen flat because she was a professional on a mission. A very calculated mission in which he was a pawn. Queens didn’t play with pawns. He glanced back down to the file, breaking the moment so they could both forget about it.

  “The new development in our case, however, is cause for concern.” She shifted her weight onto her right leg. “Marty Roberts was found dead in his apartment this morning. He’d recently agreed to help us build a case against Warren Redburn. Marty worked in the accounting department at Redburn, Inc. and noticed inconsistencies. We are treating it as a suspicious death. Agents are combing through his apartment now for anything that can help us.”

  This was no good. The task force didn’t have a task if their key witness was dead and couldn’t provide information. He closed his laptop and packed it away in its pouch. He was going to get that breakfast after all. “That was a good run then. See you later.” He stood.

  “Excuse me?” The command in her voice stopped him from bolting.

  “You have no case if all of this was built on the information some dead guy was going to give you. That’s game, folks.”

  “We have other options.”

  “Such as?” He raised his brows. He was being a dick, and Winter was going to have yet another item on the list to be pissed about. But his week hadn’t been exactly stellar and he was low on sleep, so giving two shits was last on his to-do list. He enjoyed living life in a happy-go-lucky state because otherwise merely waking up every morning could beat a person down, but today he was neither happy nor feeling all that lucky.

  She blinked twice and said nothing.

  Exactly. “Yeah, like I said, it was fun while it lasted. I’ll show myself out.”

  He walked briskly through the door and headed straight for the elevator. He’d call Winter and tell her the task force fell through. Right now he wanted to get back to the hospital and check on Amelia. He’d do Hannah a solid later, maybe see what his hacking skills could dig up on the bastard and send it over to her anonymously so she could use it in court.

  “Mr. Dever,” her stern voice called out behind him, and he slowed his stride but still didn’t turn around.

  Quick footsteps gained on him. Great. She just wasn’t going away.

  Hannah hurried in front of him, blocked his path, and crossed her arms; close enough to him for her sweet scent to invade his space. “This might not be where you want to be, and if I could have it any other way, I would. But you’ve been assigned to my task force, and we’re not done.” Her chin jutted out, and he could sense every muscle in her body tense underneath her black pantsuit with its white button-down shirt and red-bead necklace that lay perfectly over her exposed collarbone.

  A pang of defeat rattled around in his gut. She was holding something back. Something more to the story of the task force and the career aspirations he’d assumed made her so intense in the conference room. And he was a helper. Dammit, he was a helper.

  “You gotta know when to fold ’em. And that moment is now,” he said. “All forms of law enforcement have been going after this guy for years. He’s smart and never associates himself directly with illegal activity, and when the police or feds or whoever starts sniffing around, he has a fall guy for the rap, bribes his way out of it, or plainly makes any liabilities disappear. Like your Marty.” Just because he knew he’d eventually give in and stay didn’t mean he had to make it easy on her. Today he felt like poking the bear and seeing just how fast he could run.

  Eddie knew Redburn’s history. He’d taken an active look on and off over the years, ever since Leo began aspiring to be Warren. None of Eddie’s findings were ever good. He hadn’t looked in a while though, so maybe the old man had gotten complacent in his invincibility.

  “We have one more person in the organization who may be of service. He works on the grayer areas of Mr. Redburn’s transactions.” She had moxie, all right. Just look at that perfect posture and steady gaze. She wasn’t going to stop. Under different circumstances, he’d admire the hell out of that trait.

  “And how long have you had that guy on the payroll?”

  “More than a year.”

  Eddie nodded and clasped his palms around the strap across his brown polo. “So a priceless informant then?” His sarcasm was not wasted on her. Hannah squinted, and she took a step toward him. Before she could open her lips, his phone beeped with an alert. He grabbed it from his front pocket and swiped his thumb across the screen. He’d made a lot of upgrades to his phone—his own programs to hack anything on the fly—recordings and monitoring for the ear communication system he’d set up for the Wyn Security team, and some other handy-dandy apps for when his laptop couldn’t be with him.

  A text flashed on the screen, and what he meant to be a glance turned into a double take, then a flat out stare. His brother had been arrested. Shit. Leo hadn’t been thrown in jail in years; he’d gotten smarter as his crimes had become less petty. Whatever that moron had gotten himself into now was bound to be one hell of a story.

  Sadly, one that might also help the task force.

  He slipped his phone back in his front pocket. “Until next time.” He winked. Ah, the special agent wasn’t so good at holding her emotions in check after all. She was pissed. Sidestepping her, he headed for the stairwell. The downtown police department was below the FBI office and also happened to be where Alex Dreyer’s office was located. Alex was a solid law enforcement connection who helped Wyn Security personnel out in tough situations. He was a real stickler for the rules, though.

  He took the stairs two at a time until he was on the third floor. Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets; only then did he make a fist and release it repeatedly to calm himself. The cavalier attitude he chose to go through life with was not natural; he’d learned it. Dangerous and professional situations alike were better when you didn’t take yourself so seriously or get too emotionally wrapped up in a scenario and forgot to think it through. There was a time and place for action, and likewise for rationality. It was a crapshoot which one he’d go with today.

  “Got a sec?” Eddie leaned in Alex’s doorway as the brown-haired man swiveled in his chair and hung up his phone.

  “This can’t be good.” Alex was ever a pessimist who hated messes but loved the law. And climbing the police-issued ladder quickly.

  “So this is what the chief of detectives’ office looks like.” Eddie bobbed his head in approval and a poor attempt to butter up his friend. If they weren’t on such a time constraint, he’d have brought him coffee or a donut or beer. The man loved his specialty beers.

  “Sure is.” His proud smile was wide as he glanced around the big corner office with its chestnut bookshelves, desk, and row of fancy beer steins Alex had collected from around the world.

  “I’m here to discuss someone you arrested today.” Eddie ventured farther into the office but opted not to sit down. He wouldn’t be long. He’d bet his dumbass little brother had gotten himself caught stealing a car or was in possessio
n of a controlled substance.

  “I haven’t checked the pile yet.” Alex sat up, eyeing him, then slid the stack of manila folders across his desk to center with his chair. “What’s the name?”

  “Leo. Ah, Leonard. Dever.”

  Alex, still hunched over the stack, glanced at him, his forehead wrinkling.

  “Brother,” Eddie let out his word with a swoosh of air.

  “Seriously? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “Yeah.” That was the point.

  Alex pulled the third folder and opened it. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Murder?” He shifted in his seat, his happy tone gone.

  “What?” Eddie’s mouth fell open. “That can’t be right.”

  “I’m looking at a pending murder charge, and it’s not good.”

  “I need to see him.” Leo better be keeping his trap shut. “Can you make that happen?” Damn, he hadn’t pleaded with this much passion since he’d wanted to get Jennifer naked behind the stadium bleachers. Leo had done it this time. But murder? That really didn’t sound right. His brother was really good about keeping himself just under legal.

  Were there signs he should’ve picked up on? He hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time with his brother lately. Leo quite possibly could’ve gone down a murderous path right under his nose.

  Shit, he was getting really bad at protecting people.

  Alex didn’t say anything but reached for his black office phone, punched in a code, and asked for someone named Sanger. Eddie crossed his arms and stood with his feet shoulder-length apart in the middle of Alex’s office, listening to one side of the conversation and trying to read the face of a man he’d known less than a year.

  “Where do they have him?” Eddie wasn’t proud of his impatience, but he’d work on the skill a different day. His heart was beating faster and he was trying to put a plan together, but everything in his mind was jumbled. He didn’t have enough information to come up with a reason his brother wasn’t a killer or to figure how to get the charge knocked down.