Cliff's Edge (12 page)

Ryan’s face remained a mask, but Cliff pressed forward. He wasn’t offering a choice, he was telling him the way it was going to be.

“I’ll take care of whatever Draco needs. My guess is he knows who did this and wants justice. I can give him that—you give me Six. When you come back…”

They stared at each other a long moment without speaking. Ryan’s face was like chiseled granite, his hazel eyes muddy, his jaw working like maybe he’d already popped in a stick of the ever-present gum. Or else there were words trying to fight their way out. Either way, the early morning bristle over the hard jaw drew Cliff’s gaze and his throat tightened at the loss for what they might have been…

“Don’t, Ry. Whatever you’re planning…please, for me, just let it go. You’ll never know how much the last two days have meant to me. This”—he gestured with his thumb and pinkie—“this friendship is the best thing in my life. I need us to keep it—but I need you to stay out of this mess.

“I fucked up, and my lack of judgment cost me—but if the mistake had been in the field, the price could have been a life. The price isn’t too high. I keep my record, my retirement. I was on my last tour anyway. But I still want one thing, Ry. I want you to try for Six. I need to know you’re still living our dreams.”

For a slow count to ten and back again, neither of them moved, then with a sharp nod of agreement, Ryan stepped forward and gave him a slap on the shoulder.

“What can I do to help you get out of here? Are you taking everything or just going for the night?”

“I think it’s best if I take it all. Draco offered an apartment on the top floor of his place and I’m gonna crash there until I figure this out. ”

“And the mystery weapons cache? Although I suspect you were bullshitting me.”

“Nope. There are actually two. One in the Jeep. The other I sorta cheated on, since you wouldn’t have had enough time to check everything. There’s a built-in safe.”

“Show me…”

“I will, but first—” He glanced over to the main house where a steady stream of men were going in through the kitchen entrance for breakfast. “Let me say good-bye to Ty and Cass. If you could grab my shit? I only have the two bags…”

Thirty minutes later, he was on his way. Cliff’s relief at Ryan’s acceptance of his decision was tempered by the sensation that he’d just ripped out his heart and left it back at the WSR.

“Be safe, Rhino…” Those were shitty last words to say to the man who owned his heart, but they’d been all he had.

Despite giving Ryan the impression that Detective Wagner might be slightly less than competent, Cliff was fairly certain the man would be expecting him to show up early and case the building. He wouldn’t have called to set up the meeting at four until he had eyes on the club. It was what Cliff would have done—and he didn’t think Kam missed much. So assuming he was walking into a trap was easy, identifying just how big a trap was harder.

There was no reason to think Cliff had anything to do with the robbery-murder, so it was probably just as he—and Rhino—figured. Word would have already been leaked that there was a witness who could identify the killers and that Wagner was meeting him at the club later this afternoon. There’d only been one guard on Draco, no second detective over a week into the investigation. The nature of the club would make it a too-hot-to-handle political hot potato, so Cliff would operate on the theory that other than the guard at the rehab, Wagner was damn likely to be working alone. There was also that weird little scene at the PD with Detective Kingston. Something not right there. A leak inside the PD? Maybe.

Whenever they were given a mission, a SEAL team trained long and hard, perfecting their plan based on all available data on the target and location. They trained harder for how to survive once everything about the plan got fucked up. Because the only easy day was yesterday—had to be, otherwise you wouldn’t be here to tackle today’s shit, right?

So yeah, Cliff would have preferred more than a few hours lead time, could have used a set of floor plans for the structure, and would have loved some backup. But that wasn’t the way today was going to go, so there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on it. He wasn’t going to get to move under the cover of night, there weren’t secret underground tunnels to infiltrate, just a decades-old brick building set in the middle of the busy San Diego historic warehouse district—practically in the shadows of Petco Park baseball stadium. It made camouflage a moot point. After a quick stop at his apartment, he’d donned the uniform of the day—boots, jeans, T-shirt, a body armor vest to carry his equipment, and the loose-fitting windbreaker to hide it all. The Padres ball cap was a bonus.

From a parking structure down the block, Cliff spotted security cameras located on the north and east side of the structure. Draco was a former SEAL and not stupid, so with little wiggle room in his schedule, Cliff made the logical assumption the camera coverage would be consistent around the perimeter. From this distance, the windows looked very much like the windows of the surrounding converted warehouses: large, showroom-sized that would let in plenty of light.

In reality, due to the nature of the business, the first floor windows were actually boarded over and painted on the interior of the building, then draped with fabric to give the impression of curtained windows where none existed. The space between the reinforced glass and the interior wood gave Hard Labour the opportunity to blend in with their more…refined neighbors. From the sidewalk level, pedestrians were treated to museum-quality artifacts from the early days of San Diego, the California Gold Rush, and the Mexican-American War. Even though Draco purchased the club a decade before the ballpark had led the way to revitalizing the old warehouse district, it paid to blend in. After all, he’d need to remain on the right side of city hall if he wanted to renew his business and liquor licenses.

He trained his field glasses on the second floor, identifying the office where the shootings had occurred, plus what appeared to be several other empty rooms. He remembered his brief glimpse down the short hallway from the other night. At a guess he’d say most of the space was either vacant or storage. The third floor was unexplored territory that had undergone some initial transformation since the last time Cliff had been to the club with Ryan more than a year previously. The windows were new, as were several balconies. The exterior brick had been cleaned and there was spots of darker clay where repair work had been completed. He studied each of the windows carefully, looking for any sign of occupation. Draco’s invitation to stay in an apartment within the building introduced concerns of tenants as innocent bystanders if today went TU.

From his vantage point, the apartments appeared vacant, with only the corner unit above the office showing signs of furniture. Probably where Draco lived. Maybe this conversion to individual units was why Draco was getting out of the club scene.

After identifying all the areas of egress on this side of the building, Cliff selected his entrance, removed a small length of detonation cord from one of the many pockets on his vest, then zipped his jacket. Now that he’d made his choice, the plan was to get inside as quickly as possible. If Kam Wagner was already inside, he’d remain hidden, giving Cliff plenty of rope to hang himself, because the detective would be interested to see how Cliff was involved with Draco. Too bad for Kam, because all he’d catch Cliff at this afternoon was walking through the building to get a feel for the place. Until he had a chance to talk with Draco privately, he was unlikely to discover anything significant. Certainly not the motive behind the shooting.

One thing Cliff would stake his life on—those men were there for the disk, not a previously undisclosed amount of cash. They’d been not much more than hired thugs, and if they’d found a hundred grand in the safe, one of them would have said something.

With a casual gait that was deceptively quick, he made his way down the emergency stairs of the garage, then wound his way through a narrow alley between two commercial structures. He passed through one unlocked gate, a sharp kick opened another, until he was at a partially concealed steel door on the back side of Hard Labour. There were two empty parking slots, which most likely made it the private entrance for the owner. With no time to worry if someone was watching, he wrapped the det cord around the lock, stepped back, then said a silent prayer for no audible alarms.

With a sound not much louder than a pat of butter hitting a skillet, the charge did its job. Cliff opened the door and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind him. He blinked into the dim interior, and wished he could have brought his night-vision goggles. Two steps later air brushed against his neck, and Cliff ducked and whirled.

A familiar bark of laughter rolled across his skin. “About fucking time you got here.”

*

“God, I love to make an entrance,” Rhino said, his laughter spilling out. Cliff’s jaw flopped open and his eyes grew wide as his gaze met Ryan’s.

“You are a certifiable ass. Didn’t you hear a thing I said back at the WSR?”

“Eh? What’s that? Can’t hear you…” Ryan cupped his ear, leaning forward like an old man. He knew he was being an ass, but Cliff had pissed him the fuck off when he’d told him to butt out, like he had an exclusive right to make decisions regarding the two of them.

Before Ryan could continue his antics, Cliff grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. Leaning in, he put his mouth close enough that his breath tickled Ryan’s ear. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ryan jerked back but Cliff’s fingers tightened, and a flush crawled up his neck. It was as angry as Ryan had ever seen his friend…and after twenty years, that was saying something.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? We have no idea who’s in here—I’ve never known you to be so goddam careless on a mission,” Cliff whispered.

“No, actually you haven’t ever known me to be careless, which if you were thinking with your brain instead of your emotions would tell you something. Drop your mission mentality for half a minute and think. Would I be standing here talking to you if I thought either of us could possibly be in danger? Draco has state of the art security installed and I checked the monitors. I’m pretty sure no one’s been here since yesterday when a man I assume is your Detective Wagner reset the alarms. How come you didn’t mention he was hot?”

Although Ryan had done a cursory run-through of the building, he still kept his voice low—there hadn’t been time to check every closet or other potential hiding place.

Cliff’s brows lowered and nearly met in the middle as he frowned at Ryan. Then his hands dropped to his sides, his fingers curling into fists, and Ryan debated stepping out of arm’s reach until he cooled down. “How did you get here before me?”

Ryan shrugged. “I paced you all the way back. As soon as I confirmed you took the turnoff to your apartment, I came here and let myself in with a key…”

“You have a key and decided not to mention it because…”

“Because you were being a stubborn ass and making decisions on my behalf. This isn’t the time or place, but we
are
going to talk. You don’t get to decide what I do next, Cliff. I might love you—even though I don’t have a goddamn clue what that means—but you’re not the one who gives orders here. Now did you have something in particular you wanted to look at while we’re here—before the cute detective arrives?”

Cliff’s jaw snapped shut and Ryan had a hard time not laughing at the stubborn press of lips.

“All right, you’re pissed…so noted for the record. I’ve walked through the first floor and haven’t seen anything unusual on the premises. I’ve also checked the security feed from the cameras. There’re only three saved files since the shooting by the way, the police took everything else. Your detective is the one who’s showing up at seventeen hundred each day to change out the tape. Seems he believes the killers might return and he wants to know what they look like. Good plan as far as it goes. Follow me.”

Without waiting for a response, Ryan turned and led the way to a door carved underneath the staircase and tapped in a code on the keypad. At the quiet tick of the lock mechanism, he pushed his way inside and waited for Cliff to follow.

Cliff’s head swiveled left and right as he took in the impressive array of video monitors displaying the exterior of the building. “Good setup. Okay, so this is the control center that feeds the security monitors I saw in Draco’s office. Are there any shots from the interior? Did they capture the shooters on screen?”

“The interior cameras are only in the play areas of the club and camouflaged to maintain the illusion of privacy. Draco would’ve had a revolt by most of his customers if they thought he taped their games, but he’d said it was necessary to protect his assets. There aren’t any cameras in place in the staff areas. The exterior is locked up by the angles—no way in or out without getting seen. Makes you wonder why the PD had you looking through the photos, doesn’t it? They damn sure should’ve had a perfect shot of the shooters coming and going.”

Moving to the control board, Ryan pulled up the view from the camera at the owner’s entrance. With a few keystrokes, he rolled back the time setting to the few minutes before he arrived on scene, then digitally spliced an empty shot to remove any evidence of either of them arriving.

“Nice…I wonder if we can get a copy of the confiscated video from the night of the shooting?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a digital recovery on this system. I might be able to retrieve the files once the cop leaves. I’ll try if you want?”

“Yeah—thanks…” Cliff moved toward the door, then stopped with his hand resting on the frame. “Ryan…”

Ducking underneath Cliff’s arm, Ryan trotted up the stairs then waited on the landing. When Cliff trudged up behind him, Ryan bit back his smile. Still keeping his voice low, he gestured down the hall. “This staircase only leads to Draco’s office and a few storerooms. Access to the rest of the second and third floor is from staircases external to the club area to maintain privacy. Except for the owner’s elevator, which you can access behind the bookcase inside the office.”