In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel

by Landish, Lauren

  "Well, depends on what you want to use it for," I replied. "From what Mark told me, he's going to use it to make a bomb."

  "A buh...?" Tabby said.

  "Not a buh, a bomb," I said, unable to resist indulging in the classic corny joke line. Tabby also had a chuckle before I continued. "It's part of Mark's plan. To really keep the Confederation confused, each of the four eliminations we're making are going to be done in different ways. Han Faoxin was hand to hand. Illuysas Petrokias by long range shot. The next two are going to be done by bomb, and by poison."

  "Which is what we're shopping for," Tabby said. "I don't think they have this sort of stuff over at Wal-Mart."

  "You'd be surprised," I said in reply. "Actually, other than one or two things that Mark wants me to get at a medical supply place, we can get most of it at Home Depot."

  "Really? I would have thought that it would be harder to get the stuff for a bomb or a poison."

  "It is, normally. But so much of the regular world runs on chemicals nowadays, its impossible to control fully. Did you know that the difference between aspirin and LSD is really only a few molecules?" We pulled into the parking lot of the Home Depot, and got out. "And that you can, with a few interesting additions you can get from here, you can convert one into the other?"

  Tabby shook her head, and looked at me, impressed. "I guess you learn something new every day. It's going to be fun working with you guys. You ever whip something up just for fun?"

  I shook my head. After one time being slipped some Ecstasy at a dance party that had left me with a splitting headache and not much else, I didn't mess with mind altering chemicals. "Nope. You?"

  Tabby grinned at me as I shut off the engine. "Hell no, it's too much fun being me most of the time. But I gotta keep my eye on my staff, you know. After all, I already found you trying to have sex in my entertainment room."

  "Were you not entertained?" I replied, causing her to laugh and blush at the same time. Since staying with us every day other than work, Tabby had returned to her former self, although there was still an undercurrent of seriousness that hadn't been there before. In some ways it was refreshing, but still I missed the irreverent girl she'd always been.

  The inside of the home shopping center was cavernous, and I tried to think back to the last time I had been inside such a place. Finally it came to me, it had been when I had needed to get some plaster patch for Tabby and my dorm room after she and a nighttime visitor had gotten a little too enthusiastic, and had put two divots in the wall above her headboard. I'd also bought a pair of foam pads that had been taped to the headboard to prevent further incidents, which Tabby had gleefully left there for the rest of our time living together.

  Our first stop was in the car supplies, where we picked up road flares, some power steering fluid, a jug of antifreeze and a canister of refrigerant for air conditioning. After that we went over to plumbing where I got a jug of industrial strength drain cleaner, before swinging through the kitchen section for a hand mixer, and then finally picking up a five pound can of honey roasted peanuts next to the checkout. "What are the peanuts for?"

  "I'm hungry, and they are awesome in homemade peanut butter," I replied. "So I decided on the really big can. Besides, looks a little better this way, doesn't it?"

  Tabby thought for a moment before grabbing two root beers from the cooler next to the register. "No, now it looks better. Root beer goes great with peanut butter."

  The rest of our shopping went equally smooth, with at each of our stops Tabby or I added a few other items to make it look like we weren't just shopping for chemicals. Still, it took half a dozen stops to complete our errands, and it was already early afternoon by the time we got back to Mount Zion. "You have a lab here?"

  "We have a former mental hospital, remember?" I said, indicating the larger building. "It's not as clean as a chemistry lab, but we don't need it to be. Mark assures me that just a regular room will be just fine."

  "Then why use the old outbuilding?" I asked as I pulled the SUV we were driving that day in front of it. "Why not just the house?"

  "Mark said that making this stuff smells like crap," I replied. "Maybe not cooking meth bad, but still not exactly an odor you want lingering around the kitchen. This outbuilding will work just fine, as long as we're careful."

  Taking our bags inside, I saw that Mark already set up his materials. "Okay guys, thanks, but I'm going to need to make this stuff myself," Mark said. He was dressed in a set of coveralls and had a rebreather around his neck, and all I could think of was Walter White crossed with a fitness model. "Some of these steps are a bit nasty, and I don't want you guys to risk getting injured."

  "Are you sure?" I asked nervously. "We can't help at all?"

  Mark shook his head and smiled. "Not this time, babe. Maybe I'll teach you how at some point, but I'll take care of this."

  I nodded, worried. "Be careful, okay?"

  "I will. This one's actually easy. Plastique is pretty easy, and the poison's not that hard to control. But still, you two get inside, and I'll be in for dinner."

  Tabby and I left, leaving Mark alone. "So what should we do?" Tabby asked as we walked across the overgrown grass that separated the outbuilding from our house. "I don't suppose you're in the mood for another cheesy movie."

  "No, but I could use something to distract myself," I said, thinking. "I know. Mark and I have some workout equipment here, how about joining me in working up a sweat? I remember you used to drag me to the university fitness center all the time."

  Tabby grinned and nodded. "Okay. But I suspect that it'll be me dragging ass trying to keep up with you this time. I've heard the stories from your place downtown, you're turning heads for more than just your hair and boobs."

  "They like my ass too?" I teased, cocking a hip. I was a little surprised when Tabby reached back and slapped my butt, rather hard too. "Ouch!"

  "Sorry, couldn't resist," Tabby said while grinning wolfishly. "Now I just have to figure out what to wear. I didn't exactly pack a full wardrobe for my stay here."

  "You're still a size four, right?" I asked, knowing already that she was.

  "Yep, why, you going to loan me your stuff?" she said with a cocked eyebrow.

  "You might have to cinch the waistband some, but I think I got your hookup," I replied. "I'm a size six now, so we're pretty close."

  As it was, one of my tighter pairs of shorts fit her just fine, and we had a fun workout that left both of us sweaty, Tabby more than me. When we finally finished, I lay back on the hardwood floor of our little home gym and smiled. "Thanks. You really helped me push."

  Tabby grinned from her position leaning against the wall, shaking her head. "You were the one pushing me. I think you were sandbagging to make me not feel bad."

  I shrugged. "A little. I still got good work in though."

  "That's good to know. So when you come back, think I can start joining you and Mark for your workouts? I may not turn into a sexy ninja girl like you, but I certainly could use the push and the company.”

  "I'd love that," I said. "I was thinking, since Mark and I can't go back to the other gym where we are now once we come back, either setting up a room here with more stuff, or maybe you can invest in another place closer to here while we're gone. What do you think?"

  "Sounds good. Let's go get washed up though, unless you want Mark to walk in on two sweaty hot women lying around waiting for him."

  I laughed. "We do that, and he'll faint from lack of blood to the brain as it all goes somewhere else."

  Tabby grinned. "Don't tempt me. I may be getting my emotional needs met having you two around taking care of me, but there are some itches that aren't being scratched, if you know what I mean."

  I grew more serious and looked over at Tabby. "Are you okay with that for now?"

  Tabby's face grew contemplative, and she thought for a moment before nodding. "Actually, I am. I've been a flirt for so long, maybe a bit of forced celibacy other than what I can do for my
self is helpful. It's maybe time that I start really looking for Mister Right rather than just Right Now."

  "Sounds good," I said, coming over and helping her to her feet.

  "It's going to be a bit difficult," Tabby said as she climbed up. She looked me in the eyes, her gaze filled with meaning. "Whoever it is, they're going to have to be willing to share my heart, you know."

  I nodded and patted her on the shoulder. Acknowledging the depth of her feelings for me was a great thing. "I know. And Mark knows he's sharing my heart too. He's cool with it."

  "He's a great man like that. Think there's another man like him around?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm sure there's someone out there for you. Now, let's go get washed up."

  After my shower, I waited in the kitchen for either Tabby or Mark to come in. Mark was first, his coverall unzipped to his waist and carrying two bags. "Done," he said, his hair damp and sweaty. "You look refreshed."

  "Tabby and I grabbed a quick bit of exercise and a shower. She's still using the hot water, not surprising me in the least."

  Mark smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Are the gas bills going to go up with her living here?"

  "Most likely, but since we recycle most of our water, that won't be affected too much. She told me something really awesome after the workout, too." I opened the fridge and took out some salmon, which I thought would make a good dinner for all of us. "She's thinking it's time for her to find her one."

  "One what?" Mark asked, setting his bags on the floor near the back door. "By the way, don't use those. It's plastique and poison."

  "I won't. And as for her one, she's looking for her version of you. She knows that's going to be pretty hard to find. Perfection is pretty hard to repeat."

  "Keep talking like that, and I'm going to have a problem fitting in the door," Mark said as he headed for the back to change clothes. "My head's going to be too big."

  I messed around in the kitchen while Mark and Tabby got ready, marinating the fish and prepping some couscous and some grilled asparagus. The fish was ready to go into the broiler when Tabby came out, wearing some casual clothes that we preferred for around the house. They weren't quite pajamas, but I wouldn't go grocery shopping in them. Still, Tabby made them look like a million bucks, and it was good to see her so relaxed and happy. "Hey, Mark's getting changed, and dinner will be ready in ten."

  "Great. So is that what I think it is by the door?" she asked, pointing to Mark's bag. "The party favors?"

  "You could say that. If you want, Mark can tell you what it's for when he gets out here." I took down some plates from the cupboard, along with silverware. Without a word, Tabby set the table while I started the fish. Our timing was perfect, and Mark came out just as I was setting the fish on the table.

  "That looks amazing. And I'm not talking about the fish," he said, giving Tabby's shoulders a squeeze before coming over to kiss me on the cheek.

  "Thanks," Tabby said, sitting down. "Now Mark, after we get this dished out, I want to hear everything you have planned for what's in that bag."

  Chapter 48

  Mark

  The pre-dawn hours are one of the few times when the city's pulse was at its slowest. The city never really slept, but the time between four and five thirty in the morning or so was as close as it got. Most of the nightlife was done, and except for some newspaper deliverymen and bakers, the morning hadn't started yet. It was the best chance I had to do what I needed to do.

  Of all the spots that were slow around the city, the airport was one of the deadest at four in the morning. Other than a few cargo flights and air mail, there were few flights going in and out. Security was lax, especially where I was going.

  Taylor Broadwell was perhaps the richest member of the Confederation. If it wasn't that he didn't enjoy bloodshed, and that he was a first generation gangster, he probably could have run the whole damn thing. As it was however, he was fourth in power to Sal Giordano. Taylor's money came from the simple fact that he controlled trafficking in the city. Whether it was drugs, guns, or anything else; if it came by plane, by train, in a semi truck or buried in the trunk of a 1979 Oldsmobile, Taylor Broadwell was the man who controlled over ninety percent of it.

  The only weakness that Broadwell had, besides his hesitancy to get his hands personally dirty, was that his operation was just a bit too loud. As such, even though he was a major player in the Confederation, he was paying just as much money to Owen Lynch for his police and other people to look the other way. As such, it hurt his standing, as some of the other Confederation members didn't trust him as much as they could have.

  The plan was simple. Broadwell had a very unique schedule among the criminal element, in that he actually worked banker's hours. I got access to the airport by going through the marshes, which bordered the airport on its southern edge. The entire airport had been reclaimed marsh from the World War II era, and had in fact once been a B-17 crew training site. Afterwards, a lot of the old Quonset huts had been converted into the first generation of warehouses and privately owned buildings as runways were expanded and regular air traffic started up in the nineteen fifties.

  Taylor Broadwell had bought them, giving him a secure cargo area. The southern edge of the airport however had been mostly ignored, being deemed too wet and too difficult to finish reclaiming. It was along that edge that most of Broadwell's warehouses were, along with the one he used as his office.

  The biggest danger of penetrating the airport perimeter from the south was the snakes. Ten workers had died in the nineteen thirties in the initial construction of the airfield from copperhead bites, a subspecies that had adapted to the marshy land and stagnant water. They were smaller than your average copperhead, but because of the fact that the marshes contained a lot of other large predators, they were especially venomous. I don't mean yellow bellied sea snake venomous, but not something you wanted to mess with. I wore high hip waders and thick clothing making my way through the marshes, along with night vision goggles that helped.

  I started my trek through the swamps at midnight, going slow. Broadwell knew that the southern edge of his warehouses were undefended, so in addition to normal airport security, he had his own security patrols that went around all of his warehouses. Still, I had good training, and slipped out of the water at just after three in the morning. The narrow blacktop road was quiet, and I ditched the heavy waders and outer heavy waterproof jacket for what I carried in my backpack, a pair of wrestling shoes that gave me both grip and flexibility.

  I got into Broadwell's office through a window in the back of the building, picking the lock. Slipping inside just fifteen seconds before a searchlight from a security patrol bathed the back of the building, I took a moment to calm my nerves and slow my breathing. While I doubted that he had any men inside the building, I couldn't be sure.

  Broadwell's office was cluttered, the man hated using computers. He had an overwhelming paranoia of storing anything on computers, even those that weren't networked, convinced that someone could hack into them at any time. I may have played a part in that, actually, considering some of the things I'd told him during the times I had done contracts for him. It was ironic, then, that I was going to use a network connection in order to kill the man.

  Looking over his desk, it took me a few minutes to find Broadwell's day planner. I looked up that day's schedule, and saw that he had a lunch appointment at one in the afternoon. The morning however was clear, and I knew he would be in his office, overseeing his men loading and unloading his illicit packages. I had noticed the crates already in the warehouse, and wondered how many contained cocaine, heroin, or meth, and how many contained other materials. Thankfully he didn't have any human cargo in at the time. With Petrokias' death, those shipments were at least temporarily suspended.

  I got down on my knees and slipped my package underneath his antique desk, which filled half the damn office it was so large. I had once joked to Broadwell that he could keep a midget under his
desk and not find him for a week, to which he had replied to me, "Snowman, I've found that after a hard day at work, nothing beats getting a blowjob while I fill out my paperwork. With this desk, I can do both very easily."

  Like I said, my former associates were not good people. In any case, I put the shaped charges in the lower corners of the desk, angled in such a manner that when they went off, they would scatter a rain of shrapnel into Broadwell's legs and lower torso, kind of like a miniature Claymore mine.

  The final touch was the trigger. In my old life, it would have been far too easy to just put in a simple timer, one that would go off at about ten thirty. But I wanted to make sure, and I also wanted to make sure that Broadwell was the person taken out. My message wouldn't be anywhere near as effective if my bomb killed a secretary who just happened to be using the boss's desk to answer the phone when it went off. So, I connected the trigger to a WiFi capable video camera. Piggybacking off the signal that the airport used, I could monitor it from anywhere I wanted, and with just a click of a mouse, trigger the bomb to go off.

  I checked the connection on a prepaid smartphone and made my way out. The exit was more difficult than getting in, because I couldn't go through the marshes again. With daylight coming in soon I instead made my way building to building, over two miles to a FedEx processing center. At seven, the shifts changed, and I walked out the front gate towards the employee parking lot, flashing a fake ID badge to the security guard as I went.

  Two rows from the back of the lot, Tabby was waiting for me behind the wheel of a used Ford that was another one of my small fleet. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and track pants, and looked like a normal working class girl. "Wow, you've got camouflage skills," I said, plopping down into the passenger seat. "No offense, but you look like a regular girl."

  Tabby laughed and rubbed her head. "None taken, it was what I was going for. Besides, if you're saying that, you also mean you think I look pretty when I'm doing my normal thing. So everything is set?"