by Dawn Ryder
“I see—” Miranda responded.
“Shut up,” he said, interrupting her. “Save your little display of confidence and poise. I know you’re scared,” Carl growled into the phone. “You should be. I know your weakness.”
“It appears you do.”
Carl chuckled again. Inside the car, Miranda was free to smile. He didn’t realize that while he was correct about her weak spots, he was so wrong about her ability to safeguard her family.
He really should have recalled that she was the one who killed Jeb.
“This is what you’re going to do, Miranda,” Carl said, getting down to business. “I’m doing a press conference today and you are going to join me. In fact, you’re going to announce a change of heart. You’re going to declare to the masses that you are backing me for president instead of Tom Hilliard.”
Miranda was suddenly grateful for the years of training she’d been forced to endure while under her father’s roof. Today, she held her tongue with the control she’d mastered at the demand of her power-loving family.
“Is any part of that unclear?” Carl demanded when she remained silent.
“None of it,” she replied. “Do send along details of where you expect me to be and when.”
She killed the call, enjoying knowing she’d been able to choose to sever the connection. Carl’s tone had been so very smug. She did admit he was very good at playing the power game.
But she was a Delacroix.
The Delacroix family had risen to power through the spilling of blood. Her father might have believed she only learned poise and grace under his roof, but a child who was good at remaining silent was also very accomplished in listening and watching.
Jeb had never questioned why Miranda had fallen in love with a Scot. He hadn’t cared and neither had her family. To them, she had needed to be brought back to the fold. There hadn’t been any reason to tell them she just couldn’t stomach her own blood because they simply didn’t care. Their need for power was nauseating because they hid behind lies about duty and service. Her desire for a different life was something they could never, ever understand.
She smiled slowly as she considered her children. They had become good people. The sort she had always wanted them to be able to become.
Well, she was a Delacroix and she knew how to find the type of men who did dirty work. Carl was going to have to die.
And she wasn’t at all sorry about being the one to deal with it.
A mother did what a mother had to do.
* * *
Dunn’s phone was ringing.
Well, if one could call a cell-phone chime a ring. Their limbs were still tangled and she’d fallen asleep at some point. Dunn shifted and she forgot about her injured arm.
She let out a little yelp as she twisted and rolled off the bed.
“Thais?”
“I’m just stupid,” she assured him as her arm stung.
His lips rose into a half grin. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss against her lips.
“You were just completely under my spell and forgot where you were.”
And he was proud of himself. Thais offered him a flutter of his eyelashes before Dunn’s phone chimed with a message. He looked at the screen, his grin fading.
He swept his finger across the screen and punched a button. It took only a moment for whoever had called him to answer.
“What do you want?” Dunn demanded. “And it had better be good.”
* * *
Ricky Sullivan wasn’t a stranger to being disliked.
“Your tone is a bit abrasive,” Ricky informed Dunn.
“Nothing you haven’t earned.”
“Well now,” Ricky began, “that’s where you’re wrong. I’m calling you because I know you want to know who just called me.”
“I’m listening,” Dunn replied.
“Miranda Delacroix just offered to hire me,” Ricky offered. “To slip her the means to kill Carl Davis this afternoon. Seems he’s got some crazy idea about her showing up and announcing she supports him. I honestly didn’t think she had the guts.”
“What did you tell her?” Dunn demanded.
Ricky’s voice indicated a grin. “Told her I’d get her what she needed. If I hadn’t, she’d have just called someone else. Thing is, I sort of think she has earned the right to put a slug in that shit-bag. Debated calling you about it. I didn’t call Vitus Hale; he’d be duty bound to stop her and that seems like a stupid move from where I am sitting.”
“Why did you call me?” Dunn asked.
“Simple, really,” Ricky said. “I was heading out when she called. On my way to retirement. But you’d likely think twice about letting me settle into my golden years if I let your mother go up against someone like Carl Davis alone when I could have called you.”
“You can bet on it,” Dunn confirmed.
“So I called you,” Ricky said. “And I expect to be compensated for my risk.”
“Of course you do.”
“I have the money I need,” Ricky informed him.
“Get to the point,” Dunn warned him.
“Thing is, I respect anyone willing to stand up for their blood,” Ricky explained. “I think you get it. I think you also understand that if Vitus Hale heard about this, he’d have to stop her. That seems real unfair to my way of thinking. Now you? Well, you’ve got your own world to go back to and I don’t see you dismissing the fact that your mother is going to put boot to ass for her kids. I expect you to understand what I’m doing, respecting her need to protect her kin, no matter what happens.”
Dunn was silent for a long moment. Ricky felt his neck tightening up just a bit. As he’d thought back when the whole thing began, Dunn Bateson wasn’t a man to cross.
“Fair enough,” Dunn said at last. “You’ve clued me in. I won’t come looking for you.”
“One more thing.” Ricky was quick to speak up before Bateson killed the call. “I think this is going down soon, so I hope you’re close by. I’m meeting your mum in an hour.”
Dunn cursed.
“Keep her thinking you’re handling it,” Dunn growled.
Ricky let out a little whistle as the line disconnected. Family squabbles always were the most entertaining.
This time though, he was tickled by the way everyone involved was trying to shield the other. In the past, they’d come to him when they wanted to clear the path of other heirs and so on. Money had always motivated them.
Today, however, he was cheerful as he ducked into a pawn shop and looked at the guns. The owner eyed him from where he was sitting at a desk while his staff dealt with the customers. Ricky flashed the guy a grin before tapping the case and flashing him a roll of cash. The old man didn’t give any hint as to what he thought about it.
“Can I help you?” a burly staff member asked.
“Changed my mind,” Ricky declared before he sent the old man another look and turned around to leave the shop.
Outside, the weather had people hurrying to get out of it. Fall gripped the city with rain that was washing the dirt off the roofs and making the pavement muddy. The wind was blowing dried leaves around, adding a rattle to the scene.
It felt like death.
Winter would show up soon enough to lock the city in snow and ice and they’d all do their best to make it to spring.
“Two grand.” The owner of the shop had shown up. He didn’t stop but walked by Ricky with a slow shuffle on his way into a donut shop.
Ricky reached into his pocket and counted off the bills without looking. He had the hundreds sorted out with their corners folded down so he didn’t have to flash his wad.
The old man came shuffling back. “Looks like you could use a cup of coffee, pal.”
Ricky took the cup and offered to shake the man’s hand. “Kind of you.”
The money disappeared inside the man’s pocket after they finished shaking hands.
“Hal makes the best donuts in town,” the man said as he off
ered Ricky a plain brown paper bag.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Ricky replied. “Thanks for the coffee.”
The man shuffled off as Ricky tucked the paper bag into his coat. He felt the familiar weight of a handgun and grinned.
Part of him was really enjoying knowing Miranda had enough fire in her belly to stop taking Carl Davis’s crap. Ricky understood about taking care of your own.
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. It was a prepaid one. He dialed a number and let it ring twice before he hung up. He repeated the double ring a second time before closing the phone and shoving it back into his pocket.
He started walking, his hood pulled up as he waited. The little phone vibrated and he pulled it out to read the text message. It was harder than ever to move around the city without being spotted by cameras. The address was on the other side of town, so he made his way toward a large shopping center. Scanning the cars, he singled out one with a Lyft sticker. A trio of teens was getting out, giggling as they anticipated an afternoon of shopping and chatting.
Ricky walked up beside the driver and flashed him a hundred. “Let’s keep it between us, mate? Deal?”
The guy flipped him a thumbs-up. Ricky offered the address before he climbed into the backseat.
One last job.
He’d certainly sleep a lot better with Carl Davis dead. The guy knew stuff Ricky didn’t need being repeated.
* * *
Sometimes, Thais wished she wasn’t as good at her job as she was. Dunn’s plane came with every high-tech goodie she could ask for, so it didn’t take her very long to find the trending Twitter bursts about the press conference Carl Davis was having with Miranda Delacroix.
“How far out are we, Kent?” Dunn demanded as he read over Thais’s shoulder.
“Twenty-two minutes to landing, sir,” Kent replied through the open cockpit door. “Car is waiting.”
Dunn cussed and Thais shook her head as she looked at the time the press conference was set to begin.
“See if you can get a motorcycle,” Thais advised.
Kent hit a button on the control panel of the plane and started trying to get her request handled.
“Miranda’s not answering.” Dunn hit the redial button again.
Thais grabbed her phone as it vibrated. Dunn was watching her as he paced with the phone to his ear.
“Vitus is en route but he’s still forty-five minutes out,” she informed him.
It would be too late. They both knew it.
Thais turned back to her computer, desperately seeking something she’d overlooked. Helplessness sunk its claws into her, frustrating her almost beyond endurance.
But she clamped her control down, digging for her composure.
This was what she was. An agent.
* * *
“I’m looking forward to this.” Carl was giddy. He rubbed his hands together before he fastened the top button on his shirt and selected a tie.
“Miranda should have known I’d win in the end,” Carl continued as he tied his tie.
In another penthouse suite, Carl was at the top of the city. There was a room-service cart with selections from the kitchen sent up to tempt him while the bar was fully stocked and ready for him.
He flashed a look at Eric. “She’s made it such a chore though, I think a lesson is in order.”
Eric remained silent as his boss decided on what he wanted done.
“Dunn Bateson will be running to his mommy’s side, no doubt,” Carl said. “Check the incoming flights.”
Eric pulled a tablet from his jacket pocket and tapped in a few lines of code while Carl lifted a polished domed lid sitting over some of the food to investigate what had been sent up. He plucked a deviled egg from the plate and shoved it in his mouth while Eric finished getting the information he wanted.
“One of Bateson’s planes is coming in to land in a few minutes,” Eric confirmed.
Carl snapped his fingers. “I knew it. Now…”—he grabbed a napkin and wiped his fingers before dropping it on top of the cart without a care—“Thais will be with Dunn. According to the media, she’s still dead. Send someone to meet that plane and drop her. I want Miranda to know how important it is for her to stay in the place I put her. Dunn needs that lesson as well.”
“She’s already coming to the press conference,” Eric argued. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks, only what she does. You don’t need Bateson pissed at you.”
Carl turned on him, his expression furious. “Don’t start thinking, Geyer. You’re my dog. When I tell you to kill, you bare your teeth and do it!”
Carl stomped into the bathroom and flipped on the faucet.
He really shouldn’t have left Eric alone with his thoughts. The large mirror on the wall offered Eric a reflection of himself and today, it made him sick to his stomach.
“You’re my dog!”
He was. It was a bargain Eric had made willingly, even defended.
Now? He looked his reflection. He was everything he’d trained to be. Hard body, sharp instincts. He had the suit and the permit to carry a gun and a top-secret clearance. All of those things had been goals he’d applied himself to in his quest to be one of the best.
There was something else he saw in his reflection. A look of misgiving. Carl was out of control. If it had been the need to win, Eric could have dealt with it.
But they’d gone too far.
“Did you get it done?” Carl popped his face back into the hallway. “I can get someone else if you don’t have the balls.”
“I’m handling the details,” Eric replied smoothly.
He turned and ducked into the other side of the suite where his room was. There was also another dining area that was used to store equipment. Eric looked over the table, finding the medical kits that belonged to the trauma doctor who traveled with them.
The shower was running, telling Eric where the doctor was. He looked behind him but heard a whistle from the bar area as Carl made himself a drink.
He was celebrating.
Celebrating a needless murder.
It chafed.
Eric opened the medical kit, looking through it until he found something he recognized from his own emergency preparedness classes.
Rocuronium.
It was a drug used to paralyze the body of a patient so they could be intubated. Once injected, the patient had to have a tube inserted into their lungs so their breathing could be taken over by a machine or a hand-squeezed bag in the field. If no one did that, the patient would die from lack of oxygen. Three minutes was all it would take for brain damage to start. Carl would pass out before the first sixty seconds. Merciful, really, considering how cold-blooded he was with others.
Eric slipped the syringe into his pocket.
An hour ago, he would have sworn he’d never get to such a point, but he admitted Carl’s growing level of animosity had been pushing him toward the limit line.
He admitted he was relieved to discover he had a limit.
But he had the feeling Carl wasn’t going to feel the same way about it.
The shower shut off. Eric turned and went back into the central area of the suite. Timing was going to be everything. The doctor would just intubate Carl if Eric dropped him there in the suite.
So he’d have to find a better opportunity.
And soon.
* * *
“Sure about this?” There were firsts in everyone’s life. Ricky found himself feeling like he needed to ask Miranda the question before he handed the gun to her.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Very sure.”
Her gaze was steady and sure. Damn, Ricky was impressed. Inside her was a woman of remarkable strength. Her escort was watching him as he handed over the paper bag.
Someone knocked on the outer restroom door. “Everything alright, Madam Delacroix?”
Ricky hopped up onto one of the toilets to keep his feet from being seen by the guy as he opened the door to look inside the restroom
.
“I was just practicing my speech,” Miranda said to explain why her security escort had heard her talking after they’d cleared the restroom for her. “Sorry to worry you.”
He nodded and closed the door but not before he made a quick sweep of the area. Miranda came around to where Ricky could see her. She pointed to the ceiling panel that Ricky had come down through to meet her.
He used the top of the stalls to lever himself up and through the ceiling panel. Restrooms always had a vent in them. Ricky crawled into the tube connecting the forced air system to the vent. It was secure enough to take a man’s weight but he had to crawl on his belly.
And it was tight.
His shoulders were making contact with either side of it. Still, it had been the perfect way to slip a gun to Miranda, and the surprising part was she’d been the one to tell him exactly how to do it.
Sure, he’d known already. That didn’t change how impressed he was with her knowledge of how to get weapons transferred without anyone knowing.
Ricky moved slowly. The vent tubing was made of metal and made tons of noise if he wasn’t careful with how much pressure he put on one spot. The trick was to use his feet as well as his hands and apply plenty of patience so he didn’t let his mind start playing tricks on him.
He wasn’t trapped.
In fact, he was at the end of a long road. On the other side of the vent tubing was the life he hadn’t realized he wanted so badly.
His golden years.
The last few feet were the longest. Ricky was sweating when he popped up in the crawl space behind the elevators. He took a moment to roll his shoulders and stretch his neck until it popped before he used a hand screwdriver to replace the screws that held the cover on.
A drill would have been faster but he wasn’t going to risk the noise.
“What are you doing?”
Ricky froze.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Ricky complied, turning to flash the security man a smile. “Just checking on a clunking noise.”
The security man looked Ricky over. His uniform jumpsuit was the hotel’s and his identification card was clipped to his collar.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” the security man said as he held his gun steady. With VIPs in town, the normal civilian security had been replaced. “Move that ID card so I can see the picture.”
