Exchange of Fire (18 page)

Grady trudged toward the seating area of his office and stretched his long frame onto the three-cushion sofa. The brown leather squeaked and groaned with each adjustment he made to get comfortable. He loved this furniture. The second he’d sat on it in the store three years ago, he’d whipped out his credit card and had it delivered the same day.

He smoothed his fingers over the butter-soft rawhide. During his overtired delirious times—like now—he imagined pulling a Stetson off his head and covering his face for a well-deserved nap. A simple cotton pillow would have to do to block out the light.

The second he placed the pillow over his eyes he was out. Unbidden, his dreams shifted to the memory of when he met Sandra.

Grady clicked on the tab that showed him last night’s receipts for the laser tag floor. The older software program was great about most things, but lacked the ability to give him details he needed to gauge sales versus expenses. He scrolled to the bottom of the screen and found the number he needed.

Three heavy raps tapped on his closed door.

“Come in,” he said, typing the total into a spreadsheet he had been forced to use to calculate the information.

“Your ten a.m. appointment is here,” Henry’s voice called from the doorway.

“Fine,” he replied, still trying to get the numbers in the other columns to add up to the total from the software. Stupid antiquated system. He
really
needed to find something better than all these manual calculations. “Send him in.”

“
She’s
delighted to make your acquaintance,” a smooth female voice answered, the sound of it purring in his ears.

He snapped his head up and his mouth promptly dried.

Striding confidently across the carpeting in red four-inch heels, the stunning woman locked gazes with him and smiled. Rich sable-brown hair fell freely at her shoulders. The small wave in the strands bounced with each step, and as she drew closer he spied a twinkle in a pair of vivid hazel eyes.

Out of nowhere, a choir in the back of his mind sang,
She’s the one I’ve been waiting for.

The black suit she wore had a conservative cut, but the way it hugged the curves on her toned body seemed sinful. She held out a piece of paper, ripping him out of his daze.

Idiot.
He jumped to his feet and held out a hand. “Sorry. My mother would have my hide for forgetting my manners. Casper Grady.”

Her laugh sent shivers down his spine and centered into his groin. Great. Starting an interview with a hard-on was not the impression he wanted to make.

“Sandra Walsh,” she said, gripping his hand and returning a perfectly firm handshake.

Nice. “Please have a seat.” He motioned to the chair while he grabbed the paper from her hand. He scanned the document and found she had come prepared with her résumé. Very efficient. This woman was on top of her game. Seemed she had more than just phenomenal looks.

“You’re a long way from Ohio,” he began, then promptly forgot what he was going to say next. She had crossed her legs. The skirt now rode higher on her thighs, and a pair of the most gorgeous calves claimed all of his attention.

She laced her hands together. “That’s true.” She smiled and he felt his world become brighter. “I’ve lived all over—”

“Grady.”

He frowned. How could such a masculine voice come from a pretty lady?

“I see you’ve worked for Entertainment Technologies. I’ll admit, that’s quite an edge you have over the other candidates.” He leaned forward, deciding to dispense with the list of questions he had prepared days ago when he’d begun interviewing. “Tell me, why should I pick you to be my Operations Manager?”

“Grady, wake up.”

Sandra faded. Wait. What?

“Grady.” His shoulder shook. “You’ve got visitors.” Gibson’s voice broke through his muddled brain.

He sat up with a start. “What?”

“They were banging on the front door, demanding to be let in,” Gibson said, his voice dripping with apology.

Grady swiped his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. “Who was banging on the door? What time is it?”

“Time for you to get a new watch,” a pompous male voice joked.

Officer Brett O’Malley. Goddamn it. He groaned and made his blurry eyes focus on his watch face: 4:47 p.m. He hung his head. He’d only been asleep for two and a half hours.

“Thanks, Gibson,” Grady said softly. “You can go back to the Security Room.”

The young man in his early twenties shut the door behind him.

“Sleeping on the job, eh?” Brett asked, dropping onto the armchair that sat across from the couch.

“Long night,” he grumbled.
Fates, why do you hate me so much?

Brett cackled, then leered, “Oh, I bet you made those hours count.”

Thwack.
“Stop it,” Officer Pamela Mead scolded. “Leave him alone. It’s none of your business.”

Brett rubbed his bicep, laughing. “So what’s with the closed doors and the herd of workers out there?”

Schooling his expression, Grady answered, “Maintenance problems. Trying to get them resolved as fast as I can, but I’ll be shut down for a few days for sure.”

“Kinda sudden,” Brett said, peering intently at Grady.

Brett liked to think of himself as a master interrogator. The officer actually thought his questions and observations were so subtle, his victims didn’t notice a thing. The guy really needed to take a page out of Sandra’s book on learning everything she could on a mark without revealing anything about herself.

Stop.
He needed to cut that line of thought off before he reacted and gave something to Brett to pounce on.

“Yeah.” Grady slumped back on the sofa. “Pisses me off having to close, but the customers’ safety has to come first.” Truthful enough without saying a thing.

Brett scratched his chin and swished a thumb between Pam and himself. “We just had the most interesting afternoon. A pair of Feds showed up after a shooting at the supercenter that ended with a high-speed chase.”

Grady sat forward, his blood quickening in his veins. This did not sound good. Like a dope, his first thought was
Please let Sandra be okay.

“Well, that’s not entirely accurate,” Pam said, perching on the edge of the other armchair sitting across from the couch. “One of the Feds was actually in the car we were chasing.”

“True.” Brett clucked and pointed at Pam as if to emphasize his agreement. “Supposed dealer shooting.”

Air swished out of his lungs, making him realize he had been holding his breath. Not more assassins. The vise that had been squeezing his ribs loosened. “I’ve told you before, some of the kids heard that a ring was headed this way from Knoxville. Why would a couple of Feds showing up about a dealer shooting surprise you?”

Brett’s smile turned calculated. “Because it involves your girlfriend.”

His heart leapt and his stomach dropped.
Fuck!
He quickly blanked his face. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Could the officers hear the organ pounding against his rib cage? Tiny tingles spread through his fingers and moisture coated his palms.

“Whether you’ve sealed the deal or not,” Brett said snidely, “I play poker with you and know your tells. You’ve been after Sandra since the day she arrived.”

As if he needed the reminder of being a sucker.

“She’s most definitely your girlfriend,” Brett continued. “Hell, you practically whipped your Johnson out and peed a ring around her at the station last night.”

You cannot choke him or break his pretentious face.
After repeating the phrase to himself for the third time, Grady loosened his clenched fist.

“Brett,” Pam chided, obviously sensing Grady’s tightening grip on his self-control.

“Fine.” Brett pointed a finger at Grady. “Sandra’s caught up in this drug thing somehow.”

Grady waited.

Then waited some more.

After too long of a silence, he realized that was the sum total of Brett’s entire knowledge. “And you want what from me?”

“Answers.”

“I don’t have any to give you.”
None you’d believe, anyway.

The smirk dropped from Brett’s face. “Don’t you think it’s a bit coincidental that the same day you close for maintenance problems, she’s involved in a shooting and car chase through town?”

Double fuck. “When you put it that way, yes, but as you already noted when you first barged in, I’ve had crews here trying to get back up and running.”

Brett appeared unconvinced. “What exactly are they fixing? What’s wrong?”

“Too much,” Grady retorted, way past done with being on the defensive. “Hence the slew of workers and closed signs.”

“Vandals?” Brett pressed as only the jackass could do. “You were open last night.”

“Still getting to the bottom of it,” Grady replied through clenched teeth. “If or when I need the Ridge Creek Police Department involved, I’ll call you then. Are you done?”

Those brown irises flickered a little. “Did you two have a fight?”

Oh, God, what now? He wiped his face and blinked against the blurry images. He needed about eight more hours of uninterrupted sleep, not wading through this bullshit. “Who two?”

“Who do you think?” Brett snapped. “By now you would’ve been all over my ass to the point of threatening in your quest to know if Sandra’s okay. Or even know what happened to her after the Feds took over.”

Shit, that was too true. Sometimes he forgot the man could be really observant. Grady sighed for effect, though it wasn’t too hard to pretend since the angry words they traded still rang in his head. “Yeah, we had a fight.”

Brett whistled. “Must have been some row.”

Grady snorted. “You could say that.”

“She finally turn you down?”

Grady pushed off the couch and motioned toward the door. “We’re done. I’ve got to get back to work.”

Brett and Pam got to their feet.

His mind rebelled, but his heart made him ask, “
Is
she okay? You guys didn’t harass her too much, did you?”
Just call me Mr. Chump.
What the hell was he doing?

A knowing expression stole over the man’s face. “Knew it. That girl has you tied up in knots.”

You have no idea.

“She’s banged up, but fine,” Pam answered, placing a warm hand on his arm. She gave it a quick squeeze, then stepped away. “The special agents have her in their custody now. They wouldn’t let us talk to her.”

“Special agents,” Grady repeated. Brett probably figured he said the words as a derisive comment against the FBI. Hardly. Grady would bet his left nut those two “federal agents” weren’t really agents at all.

Mars slowed the Honda after his second circuit through the streets around Gradwick Adventure Center. He checked the address posted on the ornately decorated signs framing a long asphalt driveway to the one Victor texted earlier. They matched.

He held up a pair of binoculars and surveyed the property again. The front consisted of acres of fresh green grass, free of trees and other obstructions. A blacktopped parking lot ran the width of the building and was four rows deep, with angled slots so each row had a set of cars facing one another. The massive multistory building was painted a sunny yellow with blue trim around all the doors and windows. On the right side of the building, trees, small huts, and other obstacles clustered throughout a cordoned section. The words
PAINTBALL ARENA
—EXIT ONLY
were posted on a sign beside a path leading from the parking lot. On the left side of the building were two open go-kart tracks intertwined with each other. In the back, another parking lot ran the width of the building, but wasn’t as deep as the front lot. Mars could only guess it was there for the employees to use, or possibly as overflow.

Wraith had worked here? Doing what? Giving shooting lessons on the arcade games?

And why weren’t any cars in the lot? Labor Day weekend, a business geared toward kids and teens? This place should be crawling with people. The myriad of maintenance vans and trucks told Mars that not all was well in Gradwick. Had the place been vandalized?

The police cruiser parked haphazardly in front by the glass double doors made Mars pause. Were the cops inside part of the contingent that made him fail in his attempt to take out Wraith? That made him break off and flee like a coward?

Do I need to replace you with someone more capable?
His knuckles popped at Victor’s question and he forced himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. He couldn’t linger at the entrance any longer without attracting attention. He made a U-turn and headed to the spot where the Delta Squad member had remained stationary. After a couple of quick turns he had memorized from the bus stop map, he found himself in a neighborhood overlooking the plateau below. The same flat stretch that housed the entertainment center. Interesting.

Mars parked beside a large, dense section of trees that gave the neighboring houses a sense of privacy from one another. This had to be where the operative had made the phone call. Not surprisingly, no one but the squirrels was now there to greet him.

He got out of the car and studied the land. The only thing of note was the clear view of Gradwick Adventure Center. Why would a member of Delta Squad hang out here? What was so important about this place that an operative would spend time talking on the phone while Mars tried to kill one of their members?

More of Victor’s words filtered through his mind.
Get creative and draw that bitch out. With her looks, she probably became romantically involved with someone. Use him if you have to.

Of course.
He practically smacked his forehead. Not a what, but a
who
was so important about this place.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until one second too late. A thick wire bit into his neck and he fell backward into a muscled body.

“The only reason you don’t already have a bullet in your brain is to answer a question for me,” a guttural voice hissed in his ear.

Spots danced before Mars’s eyes. He couldn’t breathe.

“When do you check back in with Victor?”

Mars wheezed and jerked to the side, hoping to loosen the attacker’s hold. The man rolled with him, obviously skilled in the art of garroting.

Another operator.
Sweat poured down his face. He stumbled back, driving his opponent to move with him until he rammed the guy into a tree. The operative grunted, and the rope loosened a hair. He sucked in a lungful of air and jammed his elbow into the guy’s gut while shoving his other hand between his neck and the wire.

“Go. To. Hell,” he gasped, pushing against the steel choking him. The wire now bit into his palm, but he refused to let this bastard win.

“You first,” the guy uttered, then kneed Mars in the kidney. “You meeting Victor?”

Pain ripped through Mars but he ignored it, instead rearing back to slam the operative into the tree trunk again.

“You’re not that dumb,” he rasped, attempting to elbow the guy again. Maybe he could catch the man off guard if he answered the question. The operative’s grip was too strong for him to muscle his way out. He needed a diversion. Barely a gulp of air filtered into his lungs, and the black spots were growing larger. “Victor’s. Gone.”

The garrote didn’t tighten more. Success.

“What do you mean gone?” the operative whispered.

“Gone.” Mars pushed against the steel again but didn’t budge the wire. He only managed to rip into his skin more, but a little bit more air filled his lungs. “Wraith’s a Shade.” He blinked at the bright speckles crowding his vision. “He always goes to ground when a new Shade’s discovered. Thinks he’ll be the next target.”

“When’s your next check-in?”

Whoop. Whoop.
Red and blue twirling lights danced through the trees.

“Both of you,” a male voice said over a loudspeaker, “break it up. Put your hands where I can see them.”

Mars jammed his elbow into the operative’s guts twice in succession and ripped out of the man’s hold, finally getting a look at his assailant for the first time.
Cappy.
The brute strength now made perfect sense.

“I said freeze,” the police officer shouted.

Blood and teeth flew through the air as pain radiated from his jaw. Delta Squad’s leader had managed to sneak in a punch while Mars had been distracted by Barney Fife.
Rookie mistake.
He attempted to counter, but the operative was ready for him and easily blocked.

A shotgun ratcheted a bullet in the chamber. The unmistakable sound of promised death echoed in the trees.

As if choreographed, he and Cappy broke apart and tore off in opposite directions.