Operation: Heist (Super Agent #8)

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

A new identity on a deserted beach sounded like the ideal escape to Truman at the moment.

As long as he could bring the woman slouching in the seat next to him.

He pocketed his phone and tapped a thumb on the steering wheel, the intermittent wipers clearing the windshield enough for him to keep an eye on Gani's place. The light went out upstairs, and he figured she was grabbing a few winks before their rendezvous.

Or her bag was packed and she would come down the stairs at any moment.

She didn’t, though.

As the night dragged on, Emma nodded off. The rain quit, and he cut the engine, keeping his window cracked. His unease grew with each passing moment.

He couldn’t believe what he’d read in those files. He’d assumed it had to be a mistake, a misjudgment.

Then Gani had mentioned the wheelchair and Adele. Random memories fell into a troubling puzzle. As if he’d taken a square and tried to stretch it into a rectangle. The past became distorted and inexplicable.

He’d been betrayed more times than he could count through the years, but this…

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Couldn’t get rid of the disquiet in his heart, no matter how much he rubbed at his chest. It gnawed at him with vicious teeth.

At least it kept him from dozing off.

His texts to Dolan had done nothing to ease his mind. We’d all best watch our backsides , he’d warned. I’m putting Spence on alert .

Spencer, the third man of their ‘crew.’

Him, Dolan, and Truman—the three musketeers.

When two came around, Truman left the Audi and stretched his legs. There’d been no further signs of activity in Gani's apartment. Surely, she'd set an alarm, right?

He didn't want to do the show and tell here. While she might have gone on the straight and narrow and believed she was safe, he didn't like the idea of approaching her on her turf.

He was truly surprised she hadn't run, but he feared her confidence was misplaced. If he had found her with little to go on, and the Mastermind was out there putting down anyone who could point a finger at him, Gani was no safer than any of the rest of the Red Hearts.

He’d parked in front of a used car lot that hadn’t seen action in months, if not years, fifty feet down from her building. It had an attached garage with a variety of metal signs advertising oil, brakes, and tires.

Gani’s apartment was over an abandoned nail salon and movie rental store on the first floor that butted up against railroad tracks and a barren field beyond. Could she have snuck out and left on foot?

His side burned—even with Emma’s care, it had become infected. He needed a heavy dose of antibiotics and soon. Not just a topical cream but pills. Maybe a shot or two. He was dehydrated as well, and should have grabbed some water before dashing out of the safe house.

Everything in him wanted to sneak into the apartment and confront the woman without Emma. If he did that, she would hand him his ass. Plus, she knew Gani and could potentially get more out of her.

Ambling to the passenger side, he took out his phone and looked at the photo he was going to show the thief. It gutted him. But the wheelchair and the scarf gave the man away.

They’d worked several cases together, and that was his mentor’s favorite undercover guise.

Lost in thought, he started when Emma opened the door. "I'm glad you didn't set off without me."

He tucked the phone away and helped her out. Things had dried up a bit, and so had the sidewalks. In this area of town, things were bleak, and the concrete was busted and buckled. “Now, would I do that?"

She laughed softly, and the sound made his heart feel a little less ravaged. “Why are you going in? Is something making your radar go off?”

"It's nearly time for our meeting, and she hasn't even turned on a light."

"Maybe she overslept? Do you want me to call her?"

He shook his head, staring at the structure. His radar was going off all right, and he was dead sure something was wrong.

"I wasn't going to object to you going with me, but maybe you should stay here. We might need to make a quick getaway."

"I've got my running shoes on."

It had been worth a try. He was more worried about what they were going to find or who might be waiting inside. "Okay, Florence, but if I tell you to run in the opposite direction, you do it.”

"Florence?"

"Joyner? The track star?"

“Oh, right." She smiled and rolled her injured foot and ankle around, loosening it. "I'll be ready to take off if you say the word. What if we get separated?"

"We won't, but we have our phones to contact each other now.” He gave her arm a squeeze. The thought of them getting separated sat like a piece of frozen ice in his belly. That was the one thing he had to make sure didn't happen.

Well, there was one other. “We aren't dealing with a thief anymore, we're dealing with a killer. He or she may not have wielded the weapons used on Marco, Rena, or your mum, but they ordered the hits. We don't know what they're capable of."

Her brazen courage faltered as she, too, peered at the building before turning her wide eyes on him again. "You think someone's in there? That the Mastermind got to Gani?”

It was certainly a possibility. "I've kept eyes on the place the whole night so far and haven't seen any movement. As far as I can tell, she didn't try to run, and I saw no one going in or out. Maybe she went to bed, not planning to meet us, period."

"It's been years since I've seen or talked to her, but she was always a good person. Exceptionally loyal to Mum." She bounced on the balls of her feet again, but this time out of nerves. "If the Mastermind got to her…"

He knew what she was thinking, and he took her hand and began drawing her toward the apartment. "No more speculating. Let's find out what's going on."

There wasn't much lawn, and the clay soil was dry and cracked even after the rain. Wearing the night vision goggles, Truman steered her to the outside staircase with caution. A few nocturnal animals were moving about, and the insects had started their chorus again, but he neither saw, heard, nor felt any human presence.

The abandoned downstairs shops had broken windows and bold graffiti on the exterior walls. Now that he was up close, he saw a rickety fire escape that had once met building codes but looked like it was mostly detached from the siding at this point. Unless Gani was squirreling away her money, her foray into a legit job had downgraded her lifestyle considerably.

The rusty fire escape appeared untrustworthy, but he noted the fact the bottom section had been let down as if someone leaving the apartment had used it at some point. His attention traveled up to the landing outside a window, probably her bedroom.

He mentally sighed but didn't point it out to Emma, hoping he was wrong. If Gani had run, she was a master escape artist, but he was also an idiot for not setting up surveillance closer and letting her get away.

He’d stuck the gun in his waistband, prepared for the worst. As they ascended the main staircase, he felt like a sitting duck. If anyone was watching, he and Emma were on full display the higher they climbed. He pulled out the weapon and held it ready.

On the landing, he paused and pressed Emma against the siding as he scanned the area. Still nothing out of place; no movement or noise to indicate anyone was watching. He used his sweatshirt to try the knob, not wanting to leave fingerprints.

The door was locked. If the woman was smart, she would have a deadbolt, which would make it nearly impossible for him to break it down. They could knock and hope she responded, but he wasn't about to leave the fire escape unattended in case she decided to flee.

Having Emma knock while he watched left her vulnerable. He scratched off that option and guided her back down.

"What are we doing?" she hissed. "I thought we were going in."

Flipping the goggles up, he positioned her at the corner of the former movie rental store where he could see her, and she could see the fire escape. “You're going to be the lookout. I'm going to knock, and you're going to watch that window”—he pointed—“from right here. If you see her open it, you holler, and I'll come running."

She glanced back and forth, understanding the plan but seeming to question it. “Why don't I just call her?"

Because if Gani was compromised, the phone was, too. “We try this first. I want the element of surprise. Her response will tell us a lot about her intentions.”

Picking up on his thoughts, she chewed her bottom lip. "You don't think she's working with the Mastermind, do you?"

"I don't know what to think at this point, so we're not throwing out any possibilities yet."

She gave a downward jerk of her chin, renewed determination on her face. Leaving her, he climbed the stairs, slowly, carefully, sweeping the rundown piece of property and beyond. As assured as he could be that no one was pointing a rifle at him, he kept his back to the door and knocked, pinning his gaze on Emma.

Nothing happened. He leaned his ear against the door and knocked again. There were no footsteps, no rustling around, and no indication from Emma that anyone was climbing out that window.

She could be a deep sleeper , he told himself, not believing it.

She tricked you , mate . You spooked her, and she left you high and dry .

He mentally cursed and reconsidered breaking down the door because it seemed about as solid as a dry stick of kindling, but shuffled to Emma instead. "I'm going to try the window and see if it's unlocked," he told her.

She followed him to the set of rickety stairs. They wobbled and squeaked when he gave the contraption a kick. "I'm not sure those could hold a small dog at this point,” she said.

He wasn't either. He took a tentative step onto the bottom rung and paused. It wobbled considerably under his weight.

Emma grabbed hold of his wrist. "I really don't think this is a good idea."

He scrutinized the steps, noting they were still wet from the rain. Halfway up was the small, square landing. As a security measure, the bottom steps were supposed to be rolled up and could only be let down by someone coming from the apartment. On the landing, a pattern caught his eye—not that of the diamond-shaped metal, but from a muddy boot print.

Gani's? He darted a glance at the window, willing her to peer outside at the squeaking. She didn't.

He’d performed enough surveillance in his line of work over the years to get a feel for when people were in a building. It was a sixth sense, even if there was no noise or visual confirmation. Fixing his attention on the muddy tread again, he eased himself up to the small square so he could place his foot next to it.

"How tall is your aunt?” he asked.

She raised a hand to indicate a few inches taller than she was. “Five seven, five eight? Why?"

"Do you know what size shoe she wears?"

Emma placed a tentative foot on the bottom step, causing the fire escape to tremble, but it didn't give, and she moved to the next so she could peer closer at the comparison between his foot and the print. "I don't know, but that looks pretty big."

He wore a thirteen. The print was smaller, but not by much. Maybe an eleven. “Appears she's had a visitor, and recently."

"You're not going to send me back to the car, are you?"

The intruder had been leaving, but he was afraid of what they were going to find. "I'm not going to lie, it could be ugly.”

While her face was in shadow, he saw the whites of her eyes as she met his. "Is she…dead?"

His gut told him yes. "I would send you back to the car because I don't want you to see whatever we're going to find, but I don't want you there alone. Let me continue to the top and check if the window is unlocked. If it is, I'll crawl in, and you can come up once my weight is off this.”

"Okay.”

One word, but from her tone, he knew she was steeling herself for what was waiting inside.

He wished he could shelter her from all of this, take her to another place, and give her a better life.

Some day. If they survived this, he was going to do exactly that.

He climbed the rest of the way, one shaky step at a time. There were more prints, most of them dissolving in the pools of water that hadn’t yet evaporated.

The window was cracked open. Barely, but enough to show him it wasn’t locked. Again, using his sweatshirt to forgo leaving prints, he wrestled the lower pane up. A light breeze billowed the sheer curtains in and out as if the room were breathing.

The coppery tang of blood hit his nose. He didn’t need his goggles to see the mass sprawled on the floor was a body.

The shoe prints—it wasn’t mud that had formed those patterns.

It was blood.

Gun in hand, he slid into the room, automatically scanning the space for any unwanted visitors. Whoever had left Gani to die in a pool of her own blood was long gone, but he wasn’t taking chances.

Avoiding the blood, he leaned down to check for a pulse. The woman’s face had been smashed in, and there was a significant gash at her temple. As he shone the light on her face, he caught sight of something in her mouth.

A gasp came from the window. Emma.

She was in the room and falling to her knees next to the dead woman before he could stop her. She cried Gani’s name and shook her shoulders while he crossed over the body to grab her by the arms and pull her away.

He held her while she cried into his chest, stroking her hair and back. For this alone, he wanted to kill the Mastermind.

Once her sobs slacked off, he got her a towel from the bathroom to wipe her face and a box of Kleenex. Returning to the body, he eyed the gemstones stuffed in Gani's mouth, the irony not lost on him. His fingers felt for a pulse—an old, ingrained habit.

Something fluttered under his touch.

He pressed a bit harder, and…there. A slow, weak twitch. “She’s alive,” he told Emma.

“What?” She flew to Gani's side, grabbing a lifeless hand. “Are you sure?”

In the light, the ring on Gani’s finger caught his eye.

Using the towel, he began flicking the uncut stones out of the woman’s mouth. “We need to call nine-one-one.”

She got to her feet, yanking out her cell. He slipped the ring off, putting it in his pocket before he stopped her. “I’ll do it.”

There was a landline on the nightstand. Grabbing the handset, he dialed, and when the operator answered, he changed the timbre of his voice, “A woman needs help.” He rattled off the address. “She’s dying. Hurry.” He hung up.

Wiping off the receiver, he replaced it, finished removing the stones from Gani's mouth so she could breathe through it—her nose was a mess—and hustled Emma out the window.

“We can’t just leave her,” she protested.

“We have to.”

He took a chance that the fire escape would hold the two of them together as he forced her down the steps.

It gave a threatening groan, tipped sideways, and they went freefalling.