by Alex Ander
Dahlia shook her head and laughed. “Yeah, I think you’re about twenty years too late on that style.”
“This look never goes out of style for us playboys.”
Cruz stepped around him and rolled her eyes at the other woman. “If you ask me, he’s been enjoying this op too much.”
Dahlia’s eyes popped and her jaw dropped. “Dang, girl. I’m surprised they let you on the plane. Your body itself is a weapon.” Now that Cruz was out of Hardy’s shadow, Dahlia saw the woman’s getup; a black, long-sleeved mini dress coupled with black, peep toe thigh boots that laced up the front. “You’re hot. I never knew you had those curves.” She glanced down at her own blue jeans and white t-shirt. “I wish I had your clothes,” she tipped her head to the side, “and that car. You wouldn’t see me for a week.”
Her long hair fluttering from a cool breeze, Cruz blushed, brought her feet together and hugged herself. “Believe me. I’d surrender them in a heartbeat.”
Dahlia faced Hardy. “And what do you have to say, James Diamond?” James Diamond was the name of Hardy’s character, an extravagant, play-too-hard, womanizing son of a billionaire software developer. “Do you want her to exchange them for jeans and a t-shirt?”
A wide grin spread over his face, as Hardy ogled his girlfriend. “Cruz is right. I’m enjoying this op entirely too much.”
“I’ll bet you are.” Dahlia dropped the 911’s keys into his hands. “Listen, I’ve been watching the location all day and I have to say,” she shook her head, “these people are either incredibly smart or extremely stupid.”
Hardy leaned against the Carrera and crossed arms and ankles. “What do you mean?”
“You’re meeting in the underground parking garage of a six-story building. There’s only one way in and one way out. No helicopter pad on the roof, so everything will happen on the street.” Dahlia went back and forth between him and Cruz. “You’ve studied the layout of the area, right?”
Hardy and Cruz nodded.
“I’ll be parked out front by the garage’s entrance, which is gated and staffed by two large men in dark suits. Anyone entering has to pass by, and present credentials to, the two goons.”
Hardy tapped a breast pocket. “We’ve got that covered.”
“I know, but my point is we haven’t been able to get eyes on the inside of the structure. It’s private property. That’s what’s bothering me. You’ll be going in blind.”
Hardy cupped her shoulder. “But you’ll be close by. So I’m not worried.”
“True, but I’d be more comfortable knowing what you two are heading into.” Dahlia gazed beyond Cruz’s shoulder. “I just have a bad feeling about this. Something isn’t adding up for me.”
Cruz whipped her head left and right and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Now you’ve got me worried.”
“We have deep pockets.” Hardy held a shrug for a few seconds and dropped his shoulders. “All we have to do is make sure we’re the top bidders, take possession of the software and let the SWAT team round everyone up.”
Dahlia squinted at him. “Hearing you say it like that makes this whole thing sound a little too easy.”
“Relax. We’re overdue for an easy one.” He smiled. “It sounds to me like you’re just looking for an excuse to shoot someone.”
She rotated her head and stared at him out of one eye. “Me?” She gave his outfit the onceover. “Take a look at the TV character you referenced,” —Corcoran was a ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ detective on a gritty cop from fifteen years ago— “and tell me again which one of us enjoys shooting people more.”
“Good point.” He went around the car, opened the passenger door and nodded at Cruz before coming back to Dahlia. “Let’s call it a tie.”
Holding down the dress’s hem, which stopped a few inches below her crotch, Cruz contorted her long booted legs and climbed into the front seat.
Hardy shut the door, came back to the driver side and locked eyes with Dahlia. “I realize we’re going to be naked in there.” He waited a beat. “If things go sideways, I’m not counting on the SWAT teams to pull our butts out of the fire.” He pointed. “I’m counting on you.”
Dahlia stiffened and drew in a long breath. She let out the air and nodded. “Copy that. You know I have your backs.”
Putting on his sunglasses, Hardy sat on the door, swung his legs over and dropped into the seat. He brought the engine to life and grinned at the women. “I saw that in a movie and just had to do it.” The woman outside the car scoffed and the one inside shook her head. He shifted, let out the clutch and the transmission gears made a grinding noise, while the hundred thousand dollar sports car lurched backward before stopping.
Cruz’s head jerked forward and backward before she faced him. “Did you learn how to drive a stick from that movie too?”
Laughter bellowing from his lungs, he worked the shifter, searching for the reverse gear. “Oh, I can’t say it enough times, Cruz. I do love you.” He quickly followed up before she could comment. “Excuse me…Elisa Adams,” — Cruz’s character name — “socialite, heiress to the family fortune,” he spun the wheel, found first gear and punched the gas pedal, “and James Diamond’s main squeeze.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 6: Shell Game
5:57 p.m.
Hardy shifted the Porsche into neutral and gunned the engine, while the vehicle slowed to a halt. Two men in dark suits approached. He caught a glimpse of shiny metal at the waistline when the man’s suit coat flared. “Hello there, my good man.” Hardy displayed an invitation. “We’re here for the auction.”
The big man examined the invitation, casting crooked glances at the 911’s occupants, his gaze lingering at the female passenger’s legs. He removed a black device and thumbed the screen. “What’s your name, sir?”
“James Diamond and,” Hardy tipped his head right, “Elisa Adams.”
A few moments and glimpses later, the man squinted at Hardy. “What’s your password, sir?”
“BROS BEFORE HOS.” Hardy looked over at Cruz. “Not you, babe….you’re my number one.” He went back to the man and raised a hand. “Am I right? Up top.”
The gatekeeper turned away and nodded at his partner, who activated the gate’s release. “All the way to the back, sir…you’ll see several black limousines. Park your vehicle behind them.”
Hardy shifted into first gear and drove past the gate. “Wow, tough crowd.” Once they were beyond the guards, he leaned right and grabbed Cruz’s hand. “Before you say anything, Cherry came up with the password. She wanted it to reflect my character’s less than charming persona.”
“I know. She told me. Didn’t want me caught off guard.” Cruz curled up one side of her mouth. “Said something about being afraid for your physical well-being.”
Hardy chuckled and bobbed his head. Navigating the Carrera around a couple steel columns, he came across five black limos in a straight line and parked to the side of them. “What do you think the stretches are for?”
Cruz slowly shook her head. “Players with deep pockets of their own I would guess.”
He jumped out, opened Cruz’s door and closed it when she was mobile. The two met a small man with a communication device in one ear.
“Mr. Diamond, Miss Adams, I’m glad you could join us.” He swung an arm. “Please follow my associate. He’ll show you to your car.”
“Whoa, dude,” said Hardy, “I thought the auction was going to be held here. Where are we going?” He half turned and gestured at the Porsche. “That’s a hundred G’s that I don’t want to leave my sight.”
The man shrugged and pivoted. “Suit yourself, but if you want to be part of the auction,” he motioned toward another big man in a dark suit, “you’ll follow him.” He tapped his earpiece and walked away. “Everyone is present and accounted for. We move out in one minute.”
Hardy and Cruz exchanged glances, each knowing the answer to their iden
tical question. He clasped her hand and the two fell in behind Big Man, who led them to a limo, the back door already open.
Big Man whirled around, produced a wand and pointed his chin at Hardy. “Arms out to the sides.” Hardy complied and the man ran the device over every square inch of Hardy’s body. “You’re clean.” He eyed Cruz. “Arms out.”
Stretching out her limbs, Cruz pivoted her head toward Hardy.
Big Man performed the same procedure, slowing the motion when he came to the space between Cruz’s legs.
Hardy squared his shoulders with the man and took a step.
Cruz leaned and pushed on her protector’s chest. Getting his attention, she barely shook her head.
A moment later, Big Man shut off the sensor and stood by the limousine’s door. “You’re both clean. Please enjoy the ride.”
Cruz climbed in first.
Hardy stuck one foot inside and hesitated, glaring at Big Man. Enjoy the ride. Any other time and you’d be enjoying my foot so far, a hand pulled his leg, up your, and he half sat, half fell into the vehicle. The door slammed.
Cruz came closer. “You’re,” she spoke under her breath, “supposed to be a playboy. Playboys don’t challenge other men.”
Scowling, Hardy looked at her.
She flashed a smile and, “I’m fine,” squeezed his knee. “No harm done.”
… … … … …
Sitting in the driver seat of a generic four-door sedan, Dahlia gaped at the dashboard clock for the tenth time in the last two minutes—6:01. “Anything yet, Cherry?” She was in communication with Charity through an earpiece.
“It’s only been a minute. I doubt anyone has even placed a bid yet. The process is going to take some time. You need to be—”
“Or not,” said Dahlia, sitting up in the seat. “I’ve got a black limo—wait a minute—two limos rolling out of the garage.”
Charity: “What do you mean?”
“A third one just left. Talk to me, Cherry.” Dahlia watched a fourth drive by her position. “A fourth just passed me. The windows are blacked out. I couldn’t see if Hardy and Cruz, or anyone, was inside. What the hell’s going on, Cherry?”
Charity: “I don’t know. We have no idea if they’re in one of them or if they’re still on site.”
“Five limos have pulled out.” She paused, staring through the windshield and stealing glances at the side view mirror. “They’ve split up. Each one appears to be heading in a different direction.” Dahlia slammed her palm onto the steering wheel. “Damn it. It’s a shell game. I need orders. Do we go in hot?”
… … … … …
Jameson jumped out of his chair in the OR and gawked at a monitor, the one linked to a camera mounted on Dahlia’s clothing, showing everything she was seeing. He planted hands on hips and quickly studied the other screens, which displayed the body cams from two SWAT team members stationed at different points. One of their cams showed a black limo driving by the SWAT vehicle.
Dahlia: “Damn it. It’s a shell game. I need orders. Do we go in hot?”
Jameson folded his arms and covered his mouth.
Dahlia: “Command, do you copy? What are your orders? We’re losing the limos.”
“Negative,” said Jameson. “Do not enter the structure. You’ll blow their cover for sure. Leave one team on site, and split up the other—two and two. Each one takes an SUV and follows a limo. Dahlia, you do the same. Choose well, people. Go! Go! Go!”
… … … … …
Dahlia turned the key in the ignition. They were last to arrive, so… “All teams, this is Alpha One.”
SWAT team leaders: “Go ahead, Alpha One.”
Dahlia squinted and puckered her lips, her gaze going back and forth—windshield, side mirror, windshield, side mirror. “We take the last three out. I’ve got limo five.” She pulled down on the gear selector and peeled away from the curb, tires squealing. A car horn honked, and she resisted the urge to make a gesture.
Team Leaders: “Copy that, Alpha One. We are in pursuit—over.”
… … … … …
6:24 p.m.
Dahlia followed her limousine, until it drove through the gates of a small airstrip south of Miami. She parked across the street, pulling in between two other cars, and had a good view of the front of the main building, the one that had swallowed the limo. Yanking a tiny pair of binoculars from a bag in the back seat, she dialed in the large structure and panned left and right.
“Command, this is Dahlia. I’m at a private airport south of the city. My target is on the premises, but I don’t have a visual.” She took away the field glasses, squinted and looked through them again. “The main gate appears to be guarded.”
Charity: “I’ve got a fix on your location. A team is being sent your way. They’ll be on-site in fifteen minutes.”
Dahlia peered through the binoculars. “Copy that.”
A minute later, she tilted the glasses up, her middle finger working the focus dial. “Command, I’ve got a helicopter lifting off. I have no way of knowing if our people are on board.”
Jameson: “Which way is it heading?”
Dahlia waited for the chopper to bank left. “It’s heading southwest.”
Jameson: “Copy that. Watch it as long as you can, and give us updates. I’m getting a bird in the air.”
Dahlia twisted in her seat to follow the aircraft. “Copy that.” Once the aircraft passed, she heard the sound of a second one. “I don’t believe this.” She zeroed-in on the building. “Command, a second helo is airborne. I repeat…I’ve got,” she panned right. “Son-of-a—”
Jameson: “Say again.”
“Two more helicopters are in the air and flying in different directions. One is heading out to sea. The other is moving inland, north by northwest.” She leaned back. “I’m in no position to pursue. What are your orders, Command?”
After a full minute of silence, Jameson: “Provide visual feedback on their flight paths for as long as possible. A SWAT team will arrive to monitor the airport. When they get there, come on home.” Whether he knew it or not, Jameson’s voice gave away his temperament.
Dahlia being his daughter, she picked up the subtle tone, anger. “Copy that, Command…over and out.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 7: Accommodations
7:49 p.m.
Hardy took Cruz’s hand and the two, hunched over, fast walked away from the helicopter and its blades. From a safe distance, they stopped and stood erect. A moment later, the aircraft lifted off and banked left for the return flight to the mainland. They watched the lights of their ride slowly get smaller in the night sky.
“Well,” said Hardy, staring at the tiny blips, “I guess we’re here for the long haul.”
“Welcome, Mr. Diamond.”
The couple turned to see a sharply dressed man approaching; gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, red bow tie. He was taller than Hardy’s five-eleven frame, but nowhere near Hardy’s one eighty-five muscular build.
“My name is Isaac Wells.” The men shook hands, and Wells faced Cruz and extended a hand. “Miss Adams,” he bowed slightly and pecked the back of her hand, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Cruz smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Wells.”
“Please call me Isaac. I will be your host for the duration of this visit.” He pivoted and swung an arm. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your room.” He took a few steps and cranked his head around. “I apologize for the unexpected journey, but one can never be too careful when dealing with the sensitive nature for which you are here.”
“Yeah,” said Hardy, “the rad new program.”
Isaac lost a step and his body bristled before he regained his gait, “Yes,” his tone not as friendly, “rad indeed.”
… … … … …
Isaac pushed open double doors and walked into a spacious bedroom ahead of his guests. He lifted both arms, making a show of the interior. “I believe you wil
l find your accommodations quite satisfactory.”
Straight ahead, against the far wall, was a king size canopy bed. On either side, white sheer drapes fell to ivory carpeting. The drapery at the foot of the bed was parted in the middle, each half held with tiebacks at a corner post. Large royal blue-trimmed white satin pillows lay on royal blue bedcovering. A wide bay window took up most of the right wall. Two straight back chairs flanked the window. To the immediate right was a dark-stained antique wooden dresser with Queen Anne legs.
Taking in two portraits of stone medieval castles hanging on the wall, Cruz strolled toward the window. Cream-colored wispy curtains were drawn shut. She spread them and peered out the window at a darkened view of the water, waves crashing against the shore. “What a beautiful view.”
Hardy went left, passing a second identical dresser. Above the furniture were similar pictures of castles from the Middle Ages. He ducked into the bathroom. Considering the lavishness of the bedroom, the small bath featured a somewhat modest décor—wooden vanity with porcelain sink, toilet and shower. Muted rose-colored walls complemented pristine white towels and a white rug in front of the toilet.
Isaac followed Hardy. “You’ll have to excuse the condition of the restroom. We had plans to update the entire area, but unfortunately the timetable for this gathering was moved up.”
Hardy flicked off the light and walked out. “Works for me, dude.” He half grinned, jabbed an elbow into Isaac’s arm and lifted eyebrows toward Cruz. “Not sure the princess will say the same though. You know what I mean?”
Hands clasped behind his back and standing at his full six-foot-three height, the man glared at Hardy for a split-second before his face muscles relaxed. “If you require anything further, sir, please don’t hesitate to ask. I, or one of my people, will be glad to assist you.” Isaac went to the door and grabbed both doorknobs. Facing his guests, arms spread wide, he smiled and nodded. “Dinner will be at nine in the Great Room. At that time, you will be asked to submit your initial bid. Until then, please make yourselves at home.”
