Nowhere Safe Page 18

  Squeezing blood out of a rock was easier than getting information out of Josh when he had a hard-on for someone.

  Like he has for you. What was this guy’s problem?

  The voice mail Josh listened to caused a muscle in his jaw to twitch then disappointment crossed his face briefly before he punched the off button. He turned to Ryder who shared his news first.

  “Salazar says a High Vision shipment is coming in tonight. He hasn’t heard from the mole yet, but he doesn’t expect to until very close to the exchange time.”

  A chilly silence stretched while Ryder waited on Josh to ante in on tonight’s game.

  “Trish canceled our dinner plans,” Josh said, the words coming out tight and angry.

  The cancellation didn’t surprise Ryder after what he’d learned about her possible connection to the Chessmaster, but Josh hadn’t expected it. Ryder asked, “What was her excuse?”

  “She said she had an unexpected business meeting come up for six-thirty, and she can’t get out of it.” Josh shoved his phone into the pocket of his sport coat and stepped over to the window where twilight was taking over the city.

  “But you don’t believe her?”

  “No.”

  “The timing works.”

  “I know.” Josh turned around then, his face hiding whatever had bothered him a moment ago. “Tonight’s op is a go. Let’s run over this once more.”

  Ryder started to remind Josh that this wasn’t his first rodeo, but it would be a waste of breath. “Zane won’t be back until eight so I’ll be able to grab one of the vans without him knowing until he gets back. By then, if this goes down the way we expect, my taking a van without his knowledge won’t matter.”

  “Is Salazar set?”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t know anything about us dropping a van in the steal zone. Dingo is covering the area, putting a boot on any van that matches the profile so ours is the only one available.” Turning Salazar loose in hope of drawing in this Chessmaster was a gamble, even though they could track him the whole time. “Nick will watch the van once I abandon it, then I’ll double back and team up with him. Once the van is boosted, we’ll stay with it while the team closes in on the meet location.”

  “Odd for Zane to be gone on a night with a bust.”

  “I thought so, too, but he may be doing this to have a strong alibi after Colbert was grabbed. If anything, it points toward him using his sister if he’s the Chessmaster.”

  Josh nodded. “We’ll know better after tonight. That GPS unit under Salazar’s skin still pinging?”

  “Yep. Crazy how well that little gadget works. That Dingo’s a genius.”

  “Don’t tell him unless you’re outside so there’s enough room for his ego when it inflates.”

  Had stiff-ass Josh just made a joke?

  A knock sounded at the door. Josh checked the peephole and opened up to allow Nicholas Ferrari and Dingo Paddock to enter. They had keys, but walking in unannounced with armed agents in the room could be detrimental to their health.

  Josh asked them, “What have you got?”

  Dingo moved with wiry strength that could outfight heavier muscle based on speed alone. Strange-looking dude with spiky blonde hair and skin that had been baked a toasty tan. He shed a denim jacket and answered Josh. “Nick and I been shadowing Jackson and his mates, Ben and Vance. Boring buncha bastards.”

  Nick had a mask of perpetual brooding and a reputation with the women, but Ryder didn’t see it. Dark and Mediterranean looking, and as tall as Josh, Nick stood with arms crossed, as if he waited on instructions when in truth Ryder doubted he could be instructed. Based on the rumors Ryder had heard, Nick gave new meaning to rogue on his best days.

  Time to get moving. He stood and pulled on a tan-colored utility coverall with the name “Sonny” sewn on a patch that had been stuck on with Velcro. The coverall had false seams on the side that were velcroed shut. They could be torn open easily to access his weapon. He brought Nick and Dingo up to date as he dressed. “Trish Jackson just canceled on dinner with Josh.”

  “The weasel runs toward the trap,” Nick murmured, a smile haunting his lips that Josh answered with a hard glare.

  What was the problem between those two?

  Like you give a shit? Ryder didn’t share his business with anyone and stayed out of everyone else’s. When Josh glanced over at him, Ryder said, “Where’re you headed next?”

  “To follow Trish. If your bust falls apart then it’s very possible that she’ll be going to meet with the Chessmaster or to meet with the person she’ll send to Salazar with Colbert out of the picture.”

  “What if she does neither?”

  “I talked to Sabrina on the way here. No matter what, she wants Trish brought in tonight and handed over to DEA interrogators.”

  Dingo asked, “What about her brother?”

  Josh’s hard gaze swept all three of them. “He’s to think she’s disappeared, gone off the wagon. We’re to feed him enough doctored information to make him believe it. With no idea what Rikker is up to and an attack imminent, we need Zane out of step to make a mistake. His sister wouldn’t be this deep in this mess if he wasn’t as well.”

  Ryder checked the magazine on his HK USP Compact .45 and shoved it into the holster at his hip. Two extra mags went into wristbands inside his coverall sleeves, one on each wrist. He inserted his ear bud next, and clipped the radio mic to the inside of his collar and ran the wires to his compact radio unit. Then he tested it with Dingo and Nick. Once that was done, he left first.

  The other three would depart separately.

  On the way to Zane’s cargo office at Sunshine Airfield, he returned the call he’d been putting off for as long as he could.

  “Thanks for calling me back,” Terrence Van Dyke said as soon as he answered.

  Ryder felt a moment of guilt at putting off the call to his brother. Half-brother actually, but even that wasn’t accurate. Terrence’s father was Ryder’s uncle, who’d adopted Ryder when his mom died in childbirth as an unwed mother. Ryder simplified by calling Terrence his little brother since he’d been born a week later.

  Ryder explained his tardiness in replying with, “Didn’t have time until now and I only have about ten minutes.”

  “I understand and–” Terrence covered the phone while he coughed.

  Hearing the sound dumped another load of loser-brother guilt on Ryder’s shoulders. Terrence had been sickly Terrence since their teens. Terrence’s mother had sent her only blood child to specialist after specialist and doted on him, which only caused Hubrecht Van Dyke to criticize what he saw as a weakling even more. Hubrecht ruled with a mighty fist that crushed foolish dreams and anyone he perceived as weak.

  Ryder had intervened on Terrence’s behalf time and again with the Van Dyke patriarch. Someone had to.

  When Terrence recovered from his coughing fit, he said, “Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes, I hate to impose on you since I know you’re busy and you have such a difficult job and–”

  Ryder kept from snapping at him, but his brother rambled when he was nervous. “What do you need, Terrence?”

  “Right, right. Get to the point. I need some help with one of father’s competitors.”

  Growling at this moment would only send Terrence into a fit of rambling or coughing again. Ryder had sworn off ever setting foot in the Van Dyke compound in Atlanta or joining the Van Dyke empire again. He’d done his time in his father’s company during school, escaping when he joined the Army. He and his father differed on many points. Pretty much all points. Let the money-hungry bastard solve his own problems.

  But this was Terrence asking. Ryder maneuvered around slow traffic, closing in on Sunshine Airfield. “What do you need?” he asked, emphasizing you so Terrence would know who Ryder was willing to help.

  “To convince J. K. Kearn to return to negotiations with father. I tried, but Kearn won’t even take my calls.”

  J. K. Kearn manufactured a small line of unusual close-comba
t weapons and had one he was in the process of bringing to market that was rumored to replace one of Van Dyke’s more popular, and highly profitable, products. Ryder silently cheered the man for one-upping the arrogant Hubrecht Van Dyke.

  He sighed, realizing that was not helping Terrence. “Kearn won’t be happy to hear from me. Not after I turned down his generous offer before I went into the Army. How do you think I can help?”

  “You said last week you were going to Miami. Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kearn is at his winter home in Belle Glade this week. I know it’s over an hour north of you, but I thought maybe with your skills that you could...get to him.”

  “You want me to break into his home?” Ryder had only told his brother he was in security work, but Terrence knew about Ryder’s Special Forces training and that he’d been a sniper. A job he’d embraced until...

  Terrence laughed. “Heavens no. I meant that you’re clever enough to figure out how to get past his watchdog assistant and talk to Kearn. I’m betting he still wants to hire you and would be willing to talk to you.”

  That didn’t mean Ryder wanted to meet in person, regardless of whether Kearn was in the area, so to speak. Much as Ryder hated to do anything to help his father, he couldn’t say no to Terrence. “I’ll give it a try.”

  “Thank you so much. Are you coming home any time soon?”

  The hopeful note in Terrence’s voice dug a claw into Ryder’s chest. He sucked at being family. He sucked at any relationship. “Not right now.”

  “Alright.” One word loaded with sadness.

  Turning into Sunshine Airfield, Ryder tried to think of what he could say, but he’d never been good at fixing hurt. Seeing a red Dodge truck at the airfield saved him from having to try. “Hate to go, bro, but I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back if I get in touch with Kearn.”

  “That’s fine.” Terrence hung up.

  Ryder parked next to Zane’s truck and reached for his door handle when he saw Zane’s Titan aircraft parked outside the hangar. Fuck a duck. Zane was back early. Way early.

  That turned a simple plan into FUBAR. How was he going to get a van out of here with Zane present? And why had Zane come back earlier than expected?

  Ryder could think of one reason. Tonight’s shipment.

  Chapter 20

  “Trish, glad I caught you. You’re still going to the retail convention in Atlanta this weekend, right?”

  “Yes, but I can’t talk long, Gunter.” Trish grimaced at the familiar voice and grabbed the stack of mail she’d been ignoring for two days. If she had to waste time on the phone with Gunter, she could at least accomplish something, even if it was only opening envelopes. “I’m leaving soon for an appointment.” She searched her desk for her letter opener, but it was nowhere in sight. Heidi would have a fit if Bunko had it again. Watching those two circling each other was becoming entertaining. She checked the clock over her desk, abandoned the mail and picking up her purse, she headed toward the front of ReSolution. “I’m late,” she said.

  Speaking of leaving, would the stalker know if she left town?

  Gunter would not take the hint and hang up. “I’m finishing up paperwork. Let’s meet after your appointment.”

  No, no, no. Dealing with Big Charlie would push the limits of her patience for today. Should she ask what Gunter had discussed with Charlie? If she opened that discussion, she’d never get off the phone and still have to talk to Gunter tomorrow about tonight’s meeting. “I’m too beat to meet tonight. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

  “Sounds serious. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Nosy man. Trish stretched her neck for some relief. Gunter meant well, but sometimes he was a headache. She might as well tell him who she was meeting since Big Charlie had already bragged, she had no doubt, after he hung up from their phone call.

  She said, “I’m meeting with Big Charlie.”

  Gunter was quiet for several seconds. “Are you going to sell to him?”

  She did not want to get into this right now. “We’re just talking and I’ll fill you in tomorrow, okay?” Time was dwindling. “I really have to go.”

  “Very well. Olivia needs an escort tonight to some function. I suppose I’ll take her after all. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  For once, Olivia was actually helping Trish.

  Trish set the alarm and locked up. Twilight gave way to full dark by the time she arrived at Big Charlie’s warehouse. Plenty of security lights illuminated the rear loading area. Everything looked safe enough.

  But she felt like a glowing target in her pastel yellow blouse.

  Her imagination would be the death of her.

  The walk-in door at the top of the steps next to the loading dock was unlocked, as promised. She gave the steel door a yank and peered inside the dimly lit building. Took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the single string of lights left on when the warehouse had shut down for the day.

  She didn’t expect Charlie to greet her, but called out in a half-hearted voice just in case he was within earshot. “Charlie?”

  Stepping further inside, she eased past a tall, chain-link enclosure and found a wide walkway stretching down the center of the warehouse. To the right were offices with wide glass windows covered on the inside by blinds.

  Light leaked through the closed slats.

  Now that the time had come to confront Charlie, her nerves threatened to send her running.

  Jittery, she dug deep to find the anger that had sent her on this mission. She mentally ran through the threatening notes and menacing phone calls.

  That did little good. Fear still clutched at her throat.

  The liquid demon beckoned her to leave, go to the closest bar and relax for just one night, drown her worries.

  One drink would make all of this go away for a while.

  She swallowed against her dry throat. Alcohol is poison to you, Heidi’s voice argued in her head. Facing Heidi and Bunko’s disappointment when she showed up hungover tomorrow would be worse than facing her own fears tonight without a drink.

  Trish lifted a fingernail to nibble on and then snatched it back.

  Put this meeting with Charlie off and the same problems would be here tomorrow. She would end this today if Charlie turned out to be the stalker. He didn’t scare her physically. He’d never had a history of being dangerous, as far as she knew. She drew on the confidence she’d gained from training with Arnie, plus she had pepper spray. She’d changed her mind about bringing her knife. No way would she let Charlie get that close.

  She marched toward the office then knocked lightly.

  No answer.

  Charlie expected her. He was probably on a phone call.

  One twist of the knob and the door opened to soft lamp lighting.

  Big Charlie had his arms folded on the desk and his head down, looking as if he rested.

  She stepped all the way into his office. “Charlie?”

  The smell struck her hard.

  She froze. Bile rose inside her, a scream stuck in her paralyzed throat.

  Blood ran across the desk and trickled down the side where it pooled on the floor.

  The room started spinning.

  Chapter 21

  Trish and Colbert?

  Okay, fine.

  But Trish and Big Charlie?

  No way.

  Josh had called the Atlanta office with the coordinates on the warehouse, and immediately gotten the owner’s name from Amanda, who was manning her souped-up laptop for the duration of tonight’s op. Amanda had mad skills, could find out anything on anybody, and Sabrina had snaked her from MI6 four months ago. Thank God.

  Josh had run background checks on everybody he–or Ryder–had seen Trish speak with at the TV banquet, but hadn’t gotten half the dirt on Big Charlie that Amanda had found on Trish’s business competitor in a ninety-second data search.

  Still, no links to drugs, the underworld, or terrorism. Hell,
no links to anything other than an expensive 900-number porn habit. No obvious connection that would finger Big Charlie as The Chessmaster.

  At this point, Josh had a headache from trying to make the puzzle pieces fit and fight off the gut feeling that he was missing something critical–that Trish didn’t fit the role he kept trying to cast her in. He parked the sedate gray sedan–a rental kept at the hotel headquarters for his team–a block away from Big Charlie’s warehouse. He loved his retro Porsche, but knew better than to drive an easily identifiable vehicle while tailing a target.

  He’d watched at a discrete distance after Trish had driven down the access to the rear of the building, tapping nervous fingers on the steering wheel as he’d waited on intel.

  He had to know what he might be walking into, and whether he might need backup.

  Was Trish a recovering alcoholic, struggling to regain her life?

  Or was she a professional agent working Josh like a skilled con artist by portraying the vulnerable but untouchable female? There were holes in Trish’s past, and according to her file, she’d associated with some shady characters.

  And the most telling part?

  She had no significant assets to match her family’s name and wealth.

  Of course, as Josh knew better than most, that could mean something entirely different than it appeared on the surface.

  But it could mean that she was exactly what Sabrina insinuated. A skilled operative.

  He shut the car door, shoved his keys in his pocket and followed on foot. The office hours displayed on the front door of Big Charlie’s warehouse indicated it closed at six.

  What was Trish doing here? From what he’d been able to discern, she couldn’t stand the man.

  Josh had spent a chunk of his investigative time playing devil’s advocate. These operations called for cold, objective thinking. He excelled at it. Or had at one time.

  He’d been trained since he was ten to think of everyone he didn’t know as an enemy.

  His parents–the only ones he knew anyway–had lost their only birth child to a kidnapping. When they’d adopted Josh, they were determined that no one would ever harm another child of theirs because of their money.