In Too Deep (Strike Force: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 1)

by Fiona Quinn

  “I don’t know that that’s true. I mean, you were playing superman on TV.”

  “Lynx, what did you see on the screen? Did they show my face?” This was the first time Lacey had heard anything like concern in Deep’s voice.

  “No.”

  “Then how’d you know it was me?”

  “I guess I just knew,” Jane said. “I mean. Lacey was obviously in trouble from what was on the news last night. I didn’t really think you’d be able to stay away from her. And then that ‘diving into the fray’ bit is kind of your signature move.”

  Deep pulled to a stop in an alleyway. “So, your house?”

  “Okay. You can stay there. But Lacey goes dark. And any signs of interest, you get her out of there.”

  “Understood,” Deep replied.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I pulled up to your garage. I’ll put the code in so I can hide my car.”

  “I’ll let the neighbors know you’re staying there. Call me if you need me. Love you. Stay safe.”

  When Jane said ‘Love you,’ to Deep, Lacey tucked those words into her pocket to think about later. There were a lot of things from that conversation she had filed away. A lot of questions that she needed to ask once she had gotten her balance back - like why would a professional try to shoot her? And why were there questions about the police being safe?

  Deep stuck his phone into his pocket.

  “That was Jane.” Lacey thought her words were slurring a little, like a drunkard.

  “She was only Jane when we were undercover, trying to find the Iniquus art. Her name is Lexi Sobado, she’s engaged to my good friend, Striker Rheas.” Deep seemed to get that Lacey was struggling. He spoke slowly, clearly. He seemed to be reminding her of some information that she already knew but had forgotten. “Lexi and I work on the same team at Iniquus. She goes by the call name Lynx, like I go by the call name Deep.”

  “When we met, you said your mom gave you that nickname,” Lacey said. “’Still waters run deep’ is what you said.”

  “It doesn’t matter where you get a call name, only that you have one.” Deep popped his door open and went to open the garage.

  Lacey watched him move to the keypad and enter a code. Frustration gave way to anger, though she tried to wrestle those feelings down. When Deep got back in the car, Lacey was pinching her nose, considering him. “Did your mom or did your mom not give you the name ‘Deep’?”

  “She did not. I received that name on assignment, and, no, I won’t tell you how or why.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

  She had to be able to trust this man. But how could she trust him if he didn’t tell her the truth about something as simple as his name? “What else have you lied to me about?” Her voice was smooth and low but there was something in there that made her feel like she was challenging him.

  “Probably everything out of my mouth when I was undercover on the art case was a lie. And not a single thing, when I’m not on a case, has been or will be a lie. I’m not a liar, Lacey.”

  She nodded, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. “So Jane, I mean Lynx, is going to let me stay here at her house?”

  Deep pulled his door shut and rolled silently into the garage. The automatic garage door closed behind them. They sat in the dark with only pinpricks of light to show any illumination. “Lacey, you have some highly skilled people after you. I think you need to keep your head down until you’ve made some decisions. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ll offer you my professional opinion if you want it.”

  “The person who shot at me—you called him a sniper. Why?” Lacey whispered. She felt calmer here in the dark. Safer.

  Lacey heard Deep shifting beside her. “The shot was taken from a rooftop using a high-powered rifle. Not some random guy in the crowd. They had to find their way on to the rooftop, quickly and stealthily, and they used a red dot to hit a specific part of your brain.”

  “Which part?” Her eyes stretched wide in the darkness.

  “The part that makes sure you never get up or speak again.”

  The seriousness in his voice sent a tremor through Lacey’s body. “Lynx said a reporter died. But how?” People went their whole lives with no one dying near them, and now Lacey had gotten two people killed for being near her in less that twelve hours.

  “The bullet ricocheted off the building, or maybe a chunk of marble hit her.”

  A storm cloud of silence filled the car. Deep seemed to wait for Lacey to take the lead.

  “Lynx told you I had to go dark if I were to stay here. That’s operative speak. What does it mean exactly?” Lacey found herself whispering.

  “You have to understand that Lynx’s neighbors are family to her. She’s worried that by giving you a safe place to stay, your presence would attract the people who are after you. You might put her family at risk. There are lots of little kids who live around here. We absolutely can’t let the people who are after you find their way here. So there can be no sign you’re around. You can’t use the phone. You can’t use the Internet. You can’t even stand in a window and look out. If you go anywhere, you’ll be in disguise, and you’ll move out the back door to the garage and away from the area. No contact. Period. If you feel like that’s too much, then I’ll think of something else. Maybe get you into a motel room in Maryland. Or maybe you’d prefer that I talk to some of my contacts and get you into a protection program until everything is straightened out?”

  Deep stopped talking, thank goodness. He had handed her a whole headful of information. It felt like all of the decisions that needed to be made were pushing against the inside of her skull, crowding outward until the seams and cells strained with the pressure. But even in her confusion and feelings of overwhelm, Lacey was grateful that Deep was trying to make sure that what happened to her next was her own decision.

  “I’m so tired.” Lacey’s voice was barely audible. “I haven’t slept since Wednesday. I don’t think I can hold a rational thought right now. Perhaps I could take a nap, and then I might think clearer.”

  “Sounds like a plan. First your disguise, then we’ll go inside.”

  Deep got out and flicked on an overhead light before moving around to Lacey’s side of the car. He reached in the back seat where he had thrown his coat. As Lacey clambered out to stand beside him, she saw Deep take in her stockinged feet. She curled her toes on the cold cement.

  “Let’s get you covered up and inside where you’ll be warm.”

  Lacey shrugged out of the chartreuse-colored coat that Reynolds had brought to her that morning. To be frank, it was a hideous color that screamed for attention. Attention was not welcome. Now that she had been seen wearing it on the news, anyone who might spot her as she made her way to the house would instantly recognize her. Lacey replaced the monstrosity with Deep’s hat and hoodie. As she zipped up, she blanched and groped the bottom of her left breast, feeling for the flash drive, then quickly pulled the zipper the rest of the way up, hopping from foot to foot. Deep grabbed a pair of rain boots from beside the door, handing them off to Lacey. He found the spare key hanging behind the oil collection pan, and walked her to the house.

  “Lynx bought this duplex and renovated it while her husband, Angel, was deployed to Afghanistan. It was supposed to be a surprise for him when he returned home,” he said as he stuck the key in the lock and turned the knob. “Unfortunately, his return trip was in a casket, and Angel never saw what a beautiful job she did.” Deep pushed the door wide, letting Lacey walk in in front of him. “Are you hungry?” he asked as they moved into the kitchen.

  Lacey shook her head.

  She moved through the neat-as-a-pin kitchen, and into the dining room. From the architectural detailing, Lacey could tell that Lynx’s home had been built at the turn of the century in the shotgun style, the bottom floor lined up — kitchen, dining room, and living room. Deep put his hand on her back, steered Lacey to the stairs, and showed her to the guest bedroom.

&nb
sp; The rooms upstairs were lined up just like downstairs, the front guest room, a bathroom, the second guest room, and then the master suite. Deep directed Lacey to the center bedroom. “This one doesn’t have any windows, and from a security point of view, is the least likely to draw attention.”

  Lacey took in the butter yellow room with bright-colored quilt smoothed across the double bed. She stepped forward and ran her hand over its surface, remarking that it had been handstitched.

  Deep leaned against the door jamb, but didn’t follow her into the room. “Lynx’s Kitchen Grandmother, Nana Kate, made that quilt for Lynx when she was recovering from an accident,” Deep said. “You want to wait here for a second? I’ll grab a pair of Lynx’s sweats and socks.”

  “You don’t think she’d mind?”

  From the hall, Deep called back toward her, “Lynx spent her own share of time holed up in a safehouse. I’m sure she’d want you comfortable.”

  Lacey nodded her acknowledgement at her own reflection in the mirror, too tired to call anything back to Deep. She looked like a stranger, disheveled and thoroughly overwhelmed; her shoulders drooped like they bore a tremendous weight.

  When he came back, Deep carried towels along with the borrowed clothes. “You’ll find toiletries under the sink, so help yourself. Lynx keeps things stocked for guests, so you should be set. Here’s a change of clothes. We’ll figure out how to get some more things in for you if you decide you want to stay here. Why don’t you take a nice long soak? I bet it’ll make you feel better.”

  Lacey reached out her hands to accept his pile as she moved passed him into the hall. Just before she turned to shut the bathroom door, Deep propped himself in the doorframe.

  “Oh, and Lacey, while you’re in there, you might want to decide whether you trust me enough to tell me what you’ve got hidden in your bra.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lacey

  Friday Afternoon

  Lacey woke slowly, stretching out and letting her eyes blink open. It took her a moment to remember where she was. With no windows in the room to add light, she was depending on the ambient glow from the hallway to create outlines of the chest of drawers and lamp. She glanced over at the digital clock on the side table. It said three o’clock. Lacey hoped that meant in the afternoon. Feeling like she had rolled down a mountainside, Lacey’s muscles stiffened and protested as she shifted her weight. She heard voices talking quietly downstairs, but she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

  The aroma of something savory cooking wafted up from the kitchen, and Lacey’s stomach growled. She realized that the last time she had had anything to eat was her spinach salad snack on Thursday, twenty-four hours ago.

  Steve never made it to the bar to meet her for dinner. Lacey was still mad at him for that. Still blamed him for leaving her alone while all hell broke loose. Though, he’s probably out of his mind with worry, she thought. People were probably flooding his social media accounts with questions and copies of video since yesterday evening. He’d know that that guy Bardman had died from his stab wound, and the reporter had died from the ricochet. Lacey squeezed her lids tight. This simply wasn’t something she knew how to navigate.

  Everything she had tried to create for so long and with such determination seemed to be falling to pieces.

  Who found themselves in crazy messes like this? Drug dealers. Bad people doing overtly bad things. But that didn’t describe her. She was as vanilla as ice cream - as straight and narrow as they come. The worst she’d ever done was run a stop sign. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Lacey reminded herself. She chewed on her thumbnail.

  She should call Steve and let him know that she was safe. Was she safe? Well, at least she should let him know she was alive. No, wait. Deep said she couldn’t use the phone.

  Lacey’s stomach wouldn’t let her stand there contemplating. It insisted she go find something to eat. She pulled on the fuzzy house socks that Deep had provided, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and headed for the stairs.

  The voices she had heard speaking in a low back and forth stopped as she walked through the dining room. Lacey found Deep standing in the doorway. “There she is, fresh from a wrestling match with a mountain lion,” he said with a grin.

  Lacey ran her fingers through her hair, and adjusted the sweatshirt down around her hips.

  “Stop teasing her.” Lynx came into view. She was taller than Lacey by a good four or five inches, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes. Lynx flashed her a friendly smile, but Lacey read deep worry in her eyes. “Welcome to my home. Come on in and sit down. I’ve got some food in the oven. It’ll be ready in a few minutes. How about something to drink in the meantime?” Lynx asked as she moved to open the fridge. “I haven’t been staying here lately, so I brought in some groceries. Let’s see — milk, orange juice, some different kinds of soda?” She peeked from behind the door. “Or maybe you’d prefer some tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, thank you.” Lacey said on an exhale. By the back door, Lacey spotted a grey camo duffel bag that hadn’t been there before.

  Deep followed her gaze. “Lynx brought my go-bag, so now I can brush my teeth.”

  “You can brush your teeth, too.” Lynx moved to the coffee maker, while Deep held a chair for Lacey, and Lacey gratefully sank onto the seat. “You’ll find what you need under the guest bathroom sink.”

  “Yes, thank you kindly. Deep showed me.”

  Lacey wasn’t sure that her Emily Post’s Etiquette for the Modern Age covered this kind of situation. What do you say to someone who puts you up in their home while you’re on the run from the police, the FBI, and maybe even the Secret Service?

  Lynx brought over a pile of dinner dishes to set the table. “You know they have the word ‘brunch’ for a meal served between breakfast and lunch. We really should have a better American word for something between lunch and dinner. ‘Tea’ seems wrong, since I don’t have finger sandwiches.”

  Lacey didn’t answer. She was staring vacantly out the kitchen window at the grey sky spitting ice at the panes.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Deep asked.

  “Overwhelmed.” Lacey blinked long eyelashes at him. “But physically I’m fine.”

  “The news showed Deep landing on you, then tossing you over his shoulder.” Lynx grinned at Deep. “If you need a chiropractor, I’ve got the name of a good one.”

  “That was on the news, then?” Lacey’s eyes rounded with dismay.

  “Since the newscaster was killed, they’ve been looping it all day long,” Lynx said.

  Lacey nodded, then brushed the tears from her eyelashes. That bullet had been meant for her. It seemed anywhere she stood was a disaster area. She didn’t want to put Lynx or Deep in danger. She didn’t want Lynx’s neighborhood kids in harm’s way. She needed to decide. She either trusted these people, and she was truthful with them, or she didn’t trust them, and she needed to leave.

  Lynx put some cream and sugar on the table, then poured coffee in a mug and brought it over. “You want some, Deep?”

  “Thanks,” he said, leaning forward. “You know, Lacey, sometimes it’s good to think out loud. You can hear the holes in your arguments.”

  Lacey reached under the sweatshirt to find the flash drive nestled against the underwire of her bra. She dropped it on the table as if it were too hot for her to keep ahold of. “When the man in the bar, Leo Bardman, was stabbed, he grabbed me and shoved this into my bra.”

  Deep canted his head. “I saw him putting something in your blouse on one of the videos. Did you know this guy?”

  Lynx pulled open a drawer then walked over with a pair of nitrile gloves for Deep. She pulled a pair on her own hands.

  “I’d never seen him before.” Lacey shook her head for emphasis.

  “So you were in the bar,” Lynx said, picking up the flash drive and turning it over. “A guy approaches you. He’s been stabbed in the back, and he gives you this?”

  “And he said, ‘Tr
ust no one. Run.’” Lacey added.

  “Sounds like good advice,” Deep said. “Have you looked at what’s on here?”

  “Art,” Lacey said. “I only opened the first file, and it was full of pictures of art.”

  “Art, like paintings?” Deep asked.

  “Yes, and oddly, they’re all paintings I know. I was supposed to be curating a show in the gallery this month. But, as you both know, my uncle pulled that scam on Iniquus, and while people don’t know that there was a kerfuffle specifically with your company – well, sometimes the rumors are worse than the actuality. I can’t clear anything up since I signed papers with Iniquus to never disclose what happened.” Lacey blushed hotly. “Not a kerfuffle a crime. But since that time, all of the artists’ agents snatched their clients back out. No artists. No show.”

  “When did you work on the show?” Lynx asked.

  “I never actually made any headway. Last September, I learned we were to host a show. Then Uncle Bartholomew put it on hold. In November, when he moved to Bali, he said the January show was cancelled. But during the interim, I researched the artists. And like I said, I recognize all of the pieces from my list.”

  “So this wasn’t some random guy who happened to be standing near you in the bar. You were actually the person that he had tracked. And his last act was giving you this?” Lynx asked.

  “That seems to be so.” Lacey’s mouth tugged down at the corners. She dipped her head to sip at the coffee, hoping to warm herself up. Fear hung icicles from her ribs. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  Silence filled the kitchen. When Lacey looked up, Lynx and Deep seemed to be having a whole conversation with their eyes. Lynx caught Lacey’s gaze on her, raised her brows at Deep, and stood up to pull a lasagna from the oven.

  “It’s not Thursday,” Lynx said cryptically. “But Deep likes to eat Italian every night.” She set the lasagna on top of the stove, then reached in to pull out the loaf of garlic bread that made Lacey’s mouth water.