Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International (21 page)

“I use it all the time. I would have seen anything unusual.”

“Hmm.” Beatrice spoke to Coldplay. “When you get there, check the linings and all the hardware on the bag like grommets and buckles. Could be something hidden in them.”

“Roger that,” he said.

Emit headed for the door, Poison following. “I’ll bring the car around. Meet you downstairs.”

As they walked out, Connor, the receptionist stuck his head in. Like the news studio, everyone here seemed to work around the clock. “Ms. Jeffries’ coat is cleaned and pressed. It’s at my desk when she’s ready.”

“Perfect timing.” Beatrice rose and motioned at Savanna. “Connor will help you with the coat. I need to speak with Coldplay alone for a minute.”

Savanna was getting tired of being left out of these conversations, but it made sense that Coldplay’s boss occasionally needed to discuss topics with him that were none of Savanna’s business.

Excited at the prospect of seeing Parker, she hoped the meeting would be quick. “Of course. I’ll meet you outside,” she said to Coldplay.

He nodded, looking for the world like he’d rather follow her than discuss anything with Beatrice.

Thirty minutes later

“T
HERE,”
T
RACE SAID
to Emit, pointing at the service door in the alley behind Savanna’s apartment building.

“I thought you talked to the manager about increasing security back here,” Savanna said. “How will we get in?”

Emit had dropped Poison off at a building across the street where he would set up surveillance on the roof. Callan Reese had joined the party and was watching the front of the building from his own vehicle. Trace didn’t want to go in the front door and alert the staff of their presence, so the service door was the best option. “The manager agreed to up the security, but he hasn’t done anything yet. We’ll go in here and take the stairs to the penthouse.”

Emit wheeled the Escalade up to the service door where a single light bulb cast a pale circle on the ground. “I’ll keep an eye on things back here.”

They all had comm units, even Savanna. Beatrice had Connor insert a tracking device in Savanna’s coat after it was cleaned. She’d told Trace of the precaution during their meeting. Between the tracking devices in her earrings, bra, coat, and phone, they had a good chance of finding her in the event she was kidnapped.

Beatrice told Trace she didn’t believe the janitor had been sent to kill Savanna, only to create a near miss in order to keep the heat on her. Killing her over the Westmeyer investigation, when all she had was intel on the illegal campaign funding that would go public in a few days anyway when the Justice Department announced their formal investigation, seemed too reckless for the president to employ. Linc Norman was cocky, clever, and shrewd, but he wasn’t reckless, according to Beatrice.

Trace knew better, but his arguing would bring up how he knew, and he wasn’t ready to share that little gem with anyone.

He touched the comm unit in his ear. “How’s it looking, Rory?”

“Penthouse is clear,” came the man’s reply from HQ where he was watching the apartment on giant security screens. “No one has been in or out since the two of you left. I backtracked the past week since we installed the upgrade, but no sign of Parker or anyone else entering the penthouse. I knew I hadn’t missed anyone, but I wanted to double check. The building’s previous security cameras never caught anyone either, but it was inefficient, so Parker could have been sneaking into the penthouse and was never caught on tape.”

“Roger that.”

Beatrice had told Trace about a female caller who’d asked for Coldplay earlier that evening. The woman had said she was interested in hiring him and wanted to know if he was available. When Beatrice didn’t confirm his employment status and started asking questions, the woman had hung up.

It could have been anyone here at the apartment building or at the studio who knew his bodyguard name, but Beatrice believed it had been Parker. Trace thought she was probably correct. Rory traced all incoming calls but all he could tell them was that it had been made from a disposable phone a few blocks from where the limo had been found.

If Parker
had
been driving the limo, she’d been trying to make contact. He’d missed her once again.

Why hadn’t she left a message with Beatrice? Why plant the photo of Savanna’s purse in the limo? Why not pick up the phone and call her sister?

She was taking chances while covering her backside extremely well at the same time.

Linc Norman may have met his match
.

Even though Trace hadn’t met Parker, he liked her more and more. Something about her determination reminded him of Savanna. “Wait for my signal,” he said to his charge.

Savanna’s hands were clasped in her lap and she was nervously rubbing her thumbs back and forth. “Be careful.”

Careful wasn’t in his nature. Cautious, watchful, vigilant? Yes. Careful, no.

He’d already been scanning the area, but as he emerged from the SUV, he did it again, logging details from the snow-covered concrete pad to the dumpsters fifty feet away. There were no tracks in the alley except from the Escalade’s tires; no footprints anywhere near the door. Traffic noises from the street filtered down the narrow lane, and a church bell rang in the distance, signaling the ten o’clock hour. A few lights glowed from behind curtains in the nearby buildings but no one was looking out. Rooflines were clear.

A piece of brick, lying in the alley and mostly covered by snow, helped him take care of dousing the single light, the sound of breaking glass muffled by the falling snow as he plunged the service door area into darkness.

All it took to unlock the door was his Rock Star credit card, courtesy of Beatrice, and a flick of his wrist. The door automatically locked from the inside when closed, so he used the broken brick again, jamming the door open.

The snow was coming down good now, the wind sharp and cold on his skin. He didn’t mind—it helped with their cover. Back at the car, he pulled Savanna close to his body, hustling her into the building and toward the first flight of stairs. He stopped for a second and listened, making sure they were alone.

She brushed snow from her hair, her cheeks pink from the frosty air. Her eyes tracked his every move, the blue orbs lit with excitement.

He understood her anticipation at seeing her sister. He just hoped this wasn’t going to backfire on him.

Because Parker obviously knew who he was. If she showed up and told Savanna, he was dead in the water.

Should have told her myself
.

He still had time, but first, they needed to get to her penthouse and find that purse.

He automatically held out a hand. “Come on.”

She slipped her hand inside his and together they started up the stairs at a quick pace.

As per normal, the stairs were empty. Savanna, for all her workouts, was winded by the fourth floor. She laughed softly, the sound warming his chest as she sprinted beside him, grabbing onto the railing with her free hand and trying to keep up with his longer legs.

Her security card got them onto the penthouse floor, and a minute later, Savanna was inside her apartment, calling her sister’s name.

The place was dark and Trace flipped on the lights, going from room to room to make sure there were no visitors, regardless of Rory’s assurances. He reset the security system, and assured no one was there, marched Savanna to her walk-in closet.

The purse was on the third shelf, east side, exactly like it had been a few hours earlier. It had a conglomerate of studs and spikes, zippers and hardware. She grabbed it and one hand dived in, unzipping zippers and searching the pockets. A second later, she looked up, empty-handed. “Nothing.”

Trace took it to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the butcher block. He raised the blade to start slicing when she stayed his hand in midair.

“This is a two-thousand dollar Gucci. Do we really have to cut it open?”

“In order to check the lining we do.”

“Maybe Parker didn’t hide anything. Maybe she just wanted me to meet her here and she isn’t here yet.”

“Why the picture of the purse then? Why not a note that said ‘meet me at your place?’ Or a general picture of the apartment?”

“Parker would never destroy a work of art like this, so if she didn’t cut it open to hide something, we don’t need to cut it open to find it, right? Beatrice said to check the studs and stuff.”

“That still requires I damage the purse.”

She bit her bottom lip and snatched the ugly purple thing away from him. “My bag. I’ll do it.”

The clang of metal tripped something in his brain. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to finger the double metal hearts hanging on a tassel attached to the strap. “What are these?”

“Adornments, most of the handbag designers have a little leather tag or a metal one with the designer’s name and logo on them.”

“No, hooked in the tassel loop. Is that a cuff link?”

“A cuff link?” Savanna turned the tassel over, eyeing the flat gold-plated metal with a scrolling monogram. “That’s weird. I don’t recognize those initials.”

“Not your boyfriend’s?”

A slight sigh left her lips. “Ex-boyfriend’s, you mean? No. His initials were BG.”

Trace suspected she didn’t have a boyfriend, yet was annoyingly relieved when she confirmed it.

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked them in while seeming deep in thought. “I don’t know anyone with those initials off the top of my head. Maybe it was someone I did a story on and Parker’s trying to point me in that direction.”

“Or maybe it’s not about the initials.” Trace removed the cuff link from the tassel loop and held it up to the light. Turning it over to the smooth side, he saw the slim line he was looking for dissecting the gold rectangle about a third of the way down. He gave a gentle tug and the top half disengaged, revealing a flat metal end. “Bingo.”

Savanna leaned in. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Where’s your laptop?”

Setting down the purse, she went to her desk, grabbed the laptop and brought it back to the breakfast bar.

The cuff link’s USB fit snugly and sent the laptop whirring in an attempt to open it. No dice. The thumb drive was encrypted. Heavily. “This may take a while,” Trace said.

Savanna opened the fridge. “I’ll break out some wine.”

“Not here. We need to go to the safe house.”

Holding the bottle, Savanna paused. “Fine. I’ll bring the wine with us. Just let me get a change of clothes and my—”

“Incoming,”
Rory said in Trace’s ear.
“Doorman coming up in the elevator.”

Savanna, of course, heard the same warning. “Randy? What does he want?”

Trace unplugged the USB. Even after the day she’d had, Savanna still wasn’t thinking like a hunted person. He knew he should have locked down the elevator and stair door, but he’d wanted to make it easy for Parker if she tried to make contact. “We’re not sticking around to find out.” He touched his comm and said to the crew, “Exiting south side via fire escape.”

“Copy that,”
came the replies from Reese and Petit. Petit added,
“Car’s running and in place.”

“It’s only Randy,” Savanna said, looking at him with an incredulous air. “You said he wasn’t dangerous.”

“Elevator is there. Doors are opening,”
Rory said.

“We have to go, Savanna. Now.”

“But I need clothes. Underwear. My toothbrush.”

Her doorbell rang and Trace placed a finger to his lips. He moved in close, looking down at her, and whispered, “There are clothes and hygiene products at the safe house.”

“Miss Jeffries?” Randy knocked on the door. “Are you okay? Cori just told me there was a shooting at the studio. She said some other gal was on air doing your show.”

Savanna frowned, her fingers turning white as she squeezed the wine bottle. Trace moved her toward the patio doors.

“Miss Jeffries?” Randy called again. “Are you in there?”

Why did the doorman think Savanna was home? He’d seen her and Trace leave earlier for the studio and hadn’t seen them return.

Or had he?

At the glass doors, Trace stuck the USB in his pocket and tried to take the wine bottle from Savanna. She held tight, hugging it to her and giving him a look that suggested taking it from her would cost him something.

He’d seen the way she was staring at his crotch at the office. The open appraisal had made his dick instantly hard and he’d had to force himself back to the task at hand.

For some insane reason in this moment of subterfuge, he wanted to kiss that look off her face instead of getting her out the door and down the snow-covered metal steps.

The lure of an undercover op. It always heated his blood, made him hyperaware of everything, including a sexy woman a few inches from him.

Randy knocked again and rang the doorbell. Trace heard the distinct sound of a lock picker scratching against metal.

At this moment, what he and his overcharged libido wanted didn’t matter. Keeping Savanna safe was his first job.