by Dale Mayer
“Where else could he be?” Bailey asked.
“This place is massive. So in any one of the bedrooms, storage rooms, closets or offices.” Ice shrugged. “We’ll do a full-on search now.” She motioned at Katina. “You sit and watch Merk.”
Katina stepped up, held Merk’s hand and whispered, “Always.”
Ice dragged over a desk chair to the side of the bed. “Here. Make yourself comfortable, and call me when he wakes up. I’ll lock you in.” She hit a sequence of numbers on the keypad inside the room.
This time Ice led the way out. Once again her long legs ate up the distance so Bailey had to run to keep up. And so did Sienna, which made Bailey feel somewhat better.
Instead of taking the elevator, Ice took the stairs, two at a time down to the first floor. There she started in the kitchen, checking the pantry, any space big enough to hide Alfred.
When she looked in the commercial dishwasher, Bailey’s stomach sank. Was it really a viable option at this point? She hoped not. Because that would mean somebody had folded up the poor old man and stashed him away where he wouldn’t be seen. Even worse would have been if the assholes had turned on the damn thing. Thankfully it contained dishes only.
But slightly unnerved, Bailey moved a little slower as she followed the women while they went systematically through the kitchen, dining room, the extra seating area with the small tables, the massive living room, checking behind all the nooks and crannies, and then they came to a set of mirrored double doors off the main entryway on the left-hand hallway.
Ice opened them up with a cry of surprise, and she caught Alfred as he tumbled to the floor.
Bailey ran to Alfred’s side. She fell to her knees and then checked for a pulse. “He’s alive.”
Ice went into action, doing a full-body check.
Bailey stared at the space where they’d found him. It appeared to be a broom closet. Somehow Alfred must have been taken unawares. But not here. He wasn’t delivering hot coffee and muffins to the first floor. He was attacked somewhere else and stowed away here. And where was his tray? She studied Alfred closer and found blood on his left temple, although not as much as had been on Merk’s head. And Alfred had been propped up against the one door; the other door had then been shut on him. When both had been opened, he fell out.
Ice pressed something in her ear. That was the first time Bailey realized Ice had been in communication with the control room the whole time.
“We found Alfred. Also injured. Another head wound. Front closet,” Ice said.
A weird static-crackle followed as somebody answered. When she was done, she stood and walked over to the front closet and looked to see if anything was different. Ice said, “I’m the last person who would actually know if anything was missing or had been added or changed in here.” She shook her head.
Then the paneling on the opposite wall opened up, and Dakota came running through. He held a weapon in his hand, and a rifle was slung over his shoulder, hanging on his back.
Bailey straightened in surprise.
He came to a sudden halt, his gaze going to her and immediately dropping to Alfred, then back to her. “Are you hurt?” Dakota barked.
She shook her head mutely. Outside of having surprised her with his sudden appearance, she wasn’t sure what to think of his fully weaponized garb in warrior mode. Her gaze drifted to the double doorway behind him. “I didn’t even know those doors existed,” she explained. “It just looks like the hallway paneling.”
He nodded. “I was checking the tunnel again to make sure nobody had gone in after Levi brought Merk out.”
“And Levi?” Ice asked.
“He should be downstairs any moment with his prisoner.”
“Good,” Ice snapped. “I want to talk with that man.” She motioned at Alfred. “Can you?”
Dakota holstered his weapon, bent down and gently lifted Alfred, cradling him in his arms, heading to the medical clinic with Ice and Bailey and Sienna following.
As they all converged on the clinic, Katina’s gaze widened when she saw Alfred. “Oh, my God! Is he hurt too?”
Dakota carefully laid the man down on the second bed and stepped out of the way. Sounds came from around the corner. He stepped back and nodded to Ice. “That’s Levi.”
In a no-nonsense voice, she stated, “I want that gunman conscious when I get there.”
*
Thank heavens Bailey was okay.
It was hard to explain the sense of relief that washed through Dakota when he realized Bailey was safe. He had had so many close calls in his life that he knew, one of these days, somebody wouldn’t make it. When he’d lifted Alfred, Dakota had had a second shock. The man was lightweight, nothing to him, despite his commanding air. Dakota didn’t even know how old Alfred was. He’d always seemed so fit and capable, but he was slight of build, and, right now, with a head injury, he looked impossibly weak and old.
Dakota stepped back another few steps, leaving Alfred in Ice’s capable hands, and followed the noise to where Levi had taken his prisoner.
The men, when not working paying jobs, were in the process of setting up a makeshift jail down here, not wanting to go through the structural work required to put in a full set of bars and a gate. But Dakota wasn’t sure any other option would work. Honestly, they could probably do the work themselves because no way in hell would they get a permit for this, and they didn’t want anybody to know they had something like that down here anyway.
The Internet made everything accessible for anyone who knew where to look.
Dakota walked over as Levi pulled off the man’s shoe. The gunman was awake but secured, his legs clipped to the chair legs with special bindings; his hand-cuffed wrists duct-taped to the chairback. For added measure his neck had been duct-taped to the chairback as well.
Dakota stepped up behind Levi. “His face isn’t familiar to me. I don’t know who he is.”
“Neither do we,” Levi said. He quickly picked up a cell phone, took a picture and said, “Let’s see if Detective Mannford does.”
“It’s not one of the usual henchmen, so I would presume he’s hired muscle.” Dakota studied the man, watching for a reaction. But all he got was a stone-cold glare. “Although he’s a little too well weaponized for a henchman or hired muscle. He also had seen the blueprints for the property. Sounds like a pro.”
“Isn’t that the same thing the rest of you do?” Bailey asked.
Dakota glanced up and over at her and shook his head. “No. Not at all. We protect, serve and save. Mercenaries and assassins will do all kinds of things, from kidnapping to taking out powerful leaders. They often have a specific target as the job. They take them out and leave—and for a preset fee.”
She shrugged. “Sounds the same to me.”
“Not quite.” But he had watched the intruder’s face at her words. The man hadn’t liked her comment at all.
“Yeah, he’s a pro. Or he wants us to think he’s a pro. He didn’t like the idea of being called the same thing as a mercenary.”
“Pros have professional pride,” the intruder snapped. “Mercenaries just have a price tag.”
“They are the same shits,” Levi said, his voice hard.
“Not even close. One has ethics. The one takes on anything. There is a hierarchy in all professions.”
Bailey snickered. “I’m pretty damn sure any pro’s pride is a malleable thing, based on the paycheck.”
In a move that surprised all of them, she walked up to the intruder, swung back and open-handedly slapped him across the face.
He glared at her.
“That’s for hitting Alfred,” she said. “You aren’t a pro if you have to hurt an old man.”
Although her actions had surprised him, Dakota was in full agreement, though he was pretty sure Alfred wouldn’t like to be referred to as an old man.
Levi spoke to Bailey. “You may want to return to the medical clinic.”
She faced him. “Are you going to kill him
?”
Levi’s eyebrows shot up, and he stared at her. “Do you care?”
She thought about it for a long moment and then said, “Can’t say I really want that to happen, but, if he attacks anyone else, I’m okay with it. After what he did to Alfred and Merk, he certainly deserves the same back, but I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”
Levi’s lips quirked. “Okay, then I won’t kill him unless he attacks me.”
“And, if he attacks Dakota, I’ll kill him myself.” She shot a warning look at the intruder, noting the surprised glint in his eyes. And she turned and left the room.
Dakota shook his head, a big grin on his face. “Wow, is it this place, this intruder or has Bailey always been like that?”
Chapter 12
Bailey didn’t want to return to the medical clinic. She figured, now that some of the excitement was over, everyone would need food. She checked her watch—six o’clock—and it was, indeed, breakfast time or least time for more coffee. Anything other than coffee would probably take an hour.
But Alfred shouldn’t be cooking at all today. Possibly not for several days. She didn’t want to step into his domain without permission, but it was the one thing she could do to help. Not knowing what she should cook, she walked upstairs to the kitchen and put on coffee.
She processed the kitchen contents to see if Alfred had plans for breakfast. An ample amount of sausages and bacon were in the small freezer, but she couldn’t find anything thawed out. She’d only been here one morning, so she didn’t know if he put on a feast like that all the time or if it was just because of the extra people. The walk-in cooler was downstairs, but she wasn’t sure she’d be up to taking food out and bringing it up.
Then she spied a second fridge. She opened it and, to her delight, found it full of fresh vegetables, fruits and several large briskets, waiting to be cooked. That she could handle, although that was probably for dinner.
As she slowly turned around in the kitchen, she struggled with what to prepare for breakfast. Sure, she could do fried eggs, but she didn’t know how many people here liked them that way. She wished there was a simpler answer.
She frowned. Alfred wouldn’t be short on the basics. In which case, she could make up a huge batch of cinnamon buns. She checked her watch again and calculated the time, realizing it would be tight. The dough had to rise at least once, although she’d learned a few tricks of the trade that would make the process faster. She searched the cupboards, wondering if she had all the ingredients available.
Very quickly she found what she needed. With the largest bowl she could find, and the island completely cleared off, she went to work. Rhodes arrived first, looking for coffee. He poured several cups and stared at her with curiosity but never said a word. He filled a tray with the coffee cups and disappeared.
She realized he’d almost emptied the coffee pot. She put on a second pot and continued with breakfast. She hadn’t said anything to him, just gave him a small smile. She wasn’t exactly sure if tripping into Alfred’s domain was a big no-no or not. She worked as fast as she could, wanting to get the buns done before anybody else showed up.
It had been a while since she’d had to work at that pace, but she picked it up quickly again. Her hands easily fell into the same rhythm she needed to make massive loaves of dough.
As she worked, she hummed gently. She’d forgotten the joy of cooking. Somewhere along the line she’d forgotten the happiness of just being alive. If she learned one thing from all this mess, it was that she had to enjoy every day, not just the special days. There had been few—very few—special days in her world in a long time.
With the buns in the oven a short while later, she cleaned up and wiped off the counter and washed her dishes when she heard a sound behind her.
Alfred, leaning on Ice’s arm, stood with stubborn pride in the kitchen doorway.
She rushed over. “How are you feeling? Are you sure you should be up?”
He patted her hand and gave her a small smile. “Of course I should be up. It was only a knock on the head.”
She snorted. “A knock that can be very serious.”
Ice led him to the small table in the kitchen and sat him down. Bailey picked up a coffee cup, filled it and brought it to him.
Ice spoke to Alfred, with a nod toward Bailey. “As far as I’m concerned, you have found your partner for the next few days. If need be, everyone here can wrestle food for themselves. I can cook in a pinch as well. I’ve done it before.”
Alfred gave her a smile. “Go. Bailey and I have things to take care of. We’ll figure it out.”
Ice grabbed a cup of coffee and disappeared. He leaned over the tabletop and in a low voice asked, “All right, what kind of cinnamon buns did you make?”
She grinned. “Is it okay? I felt terrible, thinking I might be stepping on your toes.”
He settled back with a weary sigh. “It’s a damn relief, that’s what it is.”
“But they’re all used to things like sausages and hash browns and pancakes. I just wasn’t sure if this would be welcomed or not. It has sugar.”
“It’ll be refreshing. Every one of them has a damn sweet tooth. They will survive. If you made enough.” He rolled his head toward her, a question in his eyes.
She winced. “I quadrupled what I would normally make. Honestly, some of the men here are big.”
That startled a chuckle out of them both. “This bunch is definitely full of healthy eaters, and half of them aren’t even here, off doing missions.”
The aroma caught her nose. She lifted her nose and sniffed the air, got up and walked to the oven. Finding oven mitts hanging on the hook above the stove, she opened the first of three counter-height ovens and rotated each of the baking sheets containing the cinnamon buns.
When that was done, she sat back down again and said, “Maybe ten minutes.”
“Perfect. You’re on top of everything.”
“I can make icing.”
“Oh, lovely. I do that myself.”
Then they embarked on a discussion of cinnamon bun bread and fast-rising yeast and other tricks of the trade.
A few minutes later she said with a happy sigh, “I forgot how much fun it is to cook.”
He shook his head. “Now that is sad, because you’re obviously very talented.”
She snorted. “Hmm. You haven’t tasted anything I’ve made yet.”
He chuckled. “You stepped into a foreign kitchen, picked up the slack when needed, found ingredients you wanted and created something. That takes talent. It also takes a can-do attitude. And even better the kitchen is clean. So you also know how to function and clean up behind yourself and leave a place the way you found it.”
Just then Dakota walked in. His nose wrinkled as if sniffing the air. His gaze zeroed in on Alfred. “I’m glad to hear you weren’t badly injured, Alfred.”
“He took a knock on the head and was unconscious. He should be in his apartment resting,” Bailey said with a touch of exasperation. “But he won’t listen.”
Dakota nodded. “Like the rest of us, he has too much stubbornness for his own good.” He cocked his head to the side, raised an eyebrow and said to Bailey, “You should easily relate.”
Smiling, Alfred settled back. “We’ll see how you feel when there’s no food.”
“I can scramble up seven dozen eggs, if need be,” Dakota said. “I can’t guarantee how they’ll taste though.”
Alfred smiled. “I’m sure they will all be fine.”
Dakota studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been here?”
Alfred told him, “Just a few minutes.”
Dakota’s gaze zeroed in on Bailey. “Did you make whatever’s in the oven then?”
She slunk a little lower in her chair. “Maybe.”
He waggled an eyebrow. “What is it?”
She watched as he turned into a little boy right in front of her eyes. “What do you care? You can scramble seven dozen eggs,” she teased.<
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“If that’s something sweet,” he said, almost dancing with hope, “every one of us will go down on our knees and thank you.”
She shook her head. “I doubt it.”
Alfred patted her hand. “Time’s up.”
She hopped to her feet, grabbed the oven mitts and opened the first over door. She took out the first of four trays of golden brown cinnamon buns that had risen well over top of the pan, the brown sugar bubbling atop each bun.
Dakota’s whistle swept through the kitchen. Right behind him Rhodes and Levi stepped into the room. Their gazes were on the cinnamon buns in her hand.
She put the hot pan on one of the wire racks on the counter, pulling out the second tray and the third also. She retrieved the fourth cookie sheet and quickly flipped it upside down on a sheet of parchment paper. They looked at her in outrage.
“Why would you do that?”
She smiled and said, “You’ll see.” With the men watching, she wiped a wet dishcloth over the bottom of the pan. When she lifted the pan, it came off easily. As they watched, she took a spatula, scraped out the syrup the buns had been sitting in so it all flowed over the buns. “These are different.”
She put the pan in the sink to soak. Turning to Alfred, she and said, “Do you have any cream cheese?”
He motioned to the fridge closest to him. “In the bottom drawer.”
She opened the big door, pulled out the drawer, found a huge block of cream cheese. Frowning, she grabbed a knife and hacked the cream cheese block in half. She tossed it into a mixer, added the rest of the icing ingredients while the men salivated beside her, impatiently waiting. She quickly slathered the top of the cinnamon buns with the cream cheese icing. When the icing melted and ran in front of them, their anticipation was palpable.
She didn’t put any on the upside-down pastries.
Dakota pointed to them and asked, “What’s with those?”
She just raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “What about those?”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “I want one of each.” He quickly added, “Please.”
She dished up three plates for the three men. She gave Dakota one of each, an iced cinnamon bun and a sticky bun, yet put just one cinnamon bun on each of the other two plates.
