Missing Lynx (9 page)

“No.” Brunette licked her lips and fluttered her lashes. “I heard the rumor that you were back in town, Daddy, and the thought of being with you made me so hot, I couldn’t bear to wear them.”

Oh, gag me. This was horrible - like watching a Grade C porn-flick, bad dialogue and all.

Richy rubbed his hands on her thighs and played with her nether regions. Brunette lay back on Richy’s desk and let him do his thing, groaning and writhing.

Richy chuckled. “Shhh,” he said and went back to the task at hand. Brunette couldn’t seem to help herself, though. She took up her moaning again.

I had to fight hard not to get sick to my stomach. I sank deeper into the shadows and planned strategies for getting into his briefcase instead of focusing on what was playing out in front of me.

Richy stopped and sat up, “I said shhh. You naughty girl. You know what happens to bad little girls.”

Brunette got off the desk. With her skirt hiked up around her waist, she leaned over Richy’s lap and got a spanking. Richy didn’t hold back, either. He left big red welts across her fanny. I was horrified. I couldn’t believe this could happen at eleven o’clock in the morning. This seemed like something that should transpire at night. After a lot of drinks. When everyone else had gone home for the day. Especially me!

Brunette knelt on the floor with red rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy, what can I do to make you happy again?”

“Get my lolly.”

And she did. She pulled his wanger right out of his pants. It was tiny and thin and nauseatingly ugly, but she went to town on it anyway. Seph’s face turned an alarming shade of purple. I became genuinely afraid that he was about to have a stroke. Then what would I do?

He pushed Brunette onto all fours and came up behind her to finish off the deed. Thankfully, they pointed away from me, and I didn’t have to watch too much more.

They cleaned up with some tissues, giggling with satisfaction, and stuffed themselves back into their clothes. I think I deserved a raise for having to witness that. That seemed above and beyond the call of duty. Honestly.

Richy pulled his briefcase out, set it on his desk, whirled the number, and popped the locks. I did a mental victory dance, and crossed my fingers that I’d get a chance to read the PIN. He pulled out a little blue Tiffany box and handed it to Brunette, who squealed and clapped her hands. She opened it to find a pair of gold and diamond earrings.

“Welcome home, Daddy.” She kissed him on the cheek, put the box in her pocket, and walked out of the office.

Richy closed his briefcase and secured the latches. My heart stopped as I waited for him to roll the tumbler on his lock — then I’d be shit-out-of-luck. Before he did, a knock sounded at his door. Richy went to open it for a short, corporate drone of a man, who stood waiting. The flunky stretched his head up and whispered something in Richy’s ear. I leaned out of my shadow, read the combination off the tumbler, and glided back to my place.

Richy whirled the tumbler, put the case back on the floor, and clunked his heels up on the desk, where Brunette had been displaying her bare rump just minutes before. He relaxed back for a little recuperative snooze. I couldn’t move. I was stuck. I was pretty sure he’d wake up if I opened his office door. Minutes dragged toward the second hour. The rendezvous time quickly approached. The light coming in through the window had shifted making my location more visible. Nerves made my skin prickle. My stomach growled; my knees ached from kneeling on the carpeting. I needed to use the bathroom, badly, and all I could do was huddle deeper into the plant’s shadow.

Finally, Richy roused himself and made some phone calls. At one o’clock on the dot, a crisp knock announced a matronly woman, who stepped in with a lunch tray, and set it on his desk. Shit. Was this man ever going to leave his office? I struggled to maintain my focus on shadow walking for so long without relief. Richy got up and headed out of the room. I guessed he was heading toward the men’s room — hopefully to wash his hands before he ate.

I jumped from my place, spun the combination lock, pulled out the contents of his case and put them in my briefcase, clipped the toggles shut, leaving the combo in place for easy access, and replaced it under Richy’s desk. I walked confidently out of Richy’s office. A man sauntered up the hall. He eyed me curiously. I flashed him my most winning smile, “Hi, Paul.” He nodded back at me. I could tell he was trying to place my face; he offered up a weak smile and moved on. I made a bee-line for the girls’ bathroom.

Holed up in the handicapped stall on the end, I sat down with my briefcase balanced on my lap. I flicked the clasps open and ran my scanner, sending the images on to Jack, positioned outside. After each page I waited for a confirmation buzz on my communicator. One buzz for good reception, the data came in legibly, continue; two for resend. It took me a long time to go through the contents.

A woman banged on the other side of the stall door. Irritation and impatience colored her voice. “Are you almost done in there?”

I bent to peek under the door and saw wheels. Shit. I groaned as if I were in pain. “So sorry. I’m not feeling at all well. Please try another floor.”

The woman went into a tirade about handicapped bathrooms being reserved for handicapped people for a reason. She continued on and on as she wheeled herself out of the bathroom. She had a point. I’d make an effort not to hide in the big stalls anymore. I finished up and got the okay from Jack.

The hands on my watch seemed to spiral forward. Gah! I hurriedly tucked the files into the waist band of the back of my skirt for easy access. I wasn’t quite sure how to replace these documents in Richy’s briefcase. I didn’t even know Richy’s location. I came out of the women’s room and headed back toward his office when I spied him, briefcase and all, heading for the elevator bank. Finally, some luck. I rushed over to stick my foot into the closing door and pressed myself sardine-like into the crush. People around me grumbled and sent me nasty looks
. Sorry!

Even with my sleight of hand skills, I couldn’t get the papers transferred, squished up the way we were. The doors opened two floors down and the rest of the people got off, leaving just me and Richy. I set my briefcase on the floor next to Richy’s feet and turned to him.

“Seph?”

As he focused on me, his mind scrambled for a connection.

“Seph, I can’t believe it. It’s so good to run into you. Hey, you’ve got some lipstick on your cheek.” I rubbed his jowl with my thumb. “Can’t let you go home like that, or you’d get in trouble with the Mrs.” Richy set his briefcase down and let me rub him. “Are you going to be in town for long?” I asked.

“Just through the weekend,” he said.

“Maybe we could…get together, do something fun?” I gave him a friendly smile.

Richy obviously thought this was an invitation; he started pressing up against me.
Whoa stud-muffin. You’d think Brunette would have worn you out for the day.
She had clearly made him delusional about his appeal. If Richy got any closer, he wouldn’t be feeling smooth curves though; he would be brushing up against my gun.

The doors opened and a man in a pin-striped suit stepped on.

“This is my floor.” I bent over to pick up his briefcase, smiled, and blew him a kiss. Dashing off the elevator, I ran for the stairwell, popped open the case and transferred his papers back in, trying to make them look like I had found them. I clicked the toggles, rolled the lock, and ran back to the elevator bank. The ride to the ground floor was excruciatingly slow. As I jumped off the elevator, I searched for Richy through the plate glass windows and found him walking toward his limo.

“Seph! Seph!” I hurried after him. He turned to search for the person calling his name, saw me waving, and stopped.

“Whew!” I panted, as came to a stop next to him. “Seph, this isn’t my case.” I held up his briefcase, and he glanced down at the one in his hand.

“And this one isn’t mine.” He chuckled and exchanged the two. “Thanks.”

Waving, I walked back toward the building, using the reflection on the glass wall to monitor Richy. He didn’t seem to think anything odd was happening; he simply climbed into the backseat of his car before it motored away.

I pushed the button on my communicator. “Lynx. Over.” I was still getting used to using a call name in the field. It was weird.

Jack’s voice crackled over my wire. “We have what we need from you. Striker and Deep are still in the office. Deep is having some trouble. Find him and run interference.”

“Roger Wilco. Do you have a location?”

“He’s in Neaman’s office.”

“I’m heading there now.”

I walked back into the office building and up the elevators to the top floor. As I got off the elevator, the receptionist glanced up at me. I gave her a nod and headed on back. I went to Neaman’s office and found Deep busily tapping away at the keyboard. He looked suave and intelligent in his fake horn-rimmed glasses. Deep glanced up, as I walked in.

“This office is Grand Central.” He plugged a new flash drive into the computer.

“Are you finding what you need?”

“Some of it. They have security on top of security.”

I sat in a chair in front of Deep to give him a break from the interruptions. A knock sounded at the door. As it swung open, I grabbed a file and peeked around at the man standing in the door frame.

“Where’s Neaman?” He squinted at us.

“Not sure. We expected him fifteen minutes ago.” I scribbled an agitated pen across the papers. The man backed out. Deep tapped furiously on the key board.

The door opened again; a woman stuck her head in. “Where’s Neaman?”

“Wish I knew.” I glanced at my watch. “He’s late, again.”

She blew out an exasperated sigh and shut the door.

Another knock at the door. “Come in,” I called. Mail delivery. I accepted the envelopes, with a vague “thank you,” and focused back at the file. As soon as the door shut, I rifled through the pile. Nothing seemed helpful, so I laid it on the desk out of Deep’s way. 

“Holy Cazolli.” Deep thrust a victory fist in the air. I went around to see what got him so excited. Numbers flashed across the screen. Deep sat back with his hands behind his head, watching data fly onto the flash drive. The door opened; I caught my breath. A man stood with his hand on the knob; he called to someone down the hall. Shit. Milton, Vice President of Accounting. Deep and I both recognized him from his picture. This was bad.

I pitched myself into Deep’s lap. Covering the sides of his face with my hands, I pulled him into a passionate kiss. He bent over me acting the full part — one hand supporting my body the other caressing over my fanny.

I heard, “Whoops! Sorry, Neaman.” And the door clicked shut.

I jumped from Deep’s lap, cleared my throat, and straightened my skirt, then slid back on to my chair. “Sorry, Deep.” 

“All in the line of duty, Lynx.” He focused back on the computer with a shit-eating grin.             

Deep’s communicator buzzed. “Deep you’ve got to get out of their pronto. Board meeting’s concluded. They’re heading to the elevator,” Striker said.

Deep pressed his button. “Roger. Wilco.” 

I snuck out while Deep finished his download and headed toward the elevators. As my hand reached for the down button, a gunshot concussion ripped the air. I balanced on the balls of my feet, hands wide, like a tennis player waiting for a serve, then I had the good sense to duck behind a marble column. My heart beat wildly. Holy cow.
Where is Striker? Why would someone shoot at him?
I couldn’t think of another possible reason for a gunshot here. I waited for someone to come on the wire and tell me how to help.

Worker bees flew out of their offices, trying to figure out what was going on. Striker’s voice, thank God, came over my communicator. “Lynx?”

“Here.”

“You and Deep okay?”

“Fine, you?” My lips vibrated from the adrenaline surge.

“The shot came from downstairs. I’m going to investigate. You two sit tight.”

“Roger.” I slunk back to Neaman’s office. “Striker said to sit tight.”

“Yeah, but not in here. Let’s head closer to an exit and find cover.”

People milled around, their cell phones in their hands, making 911 calls for information, not sure what to do. Deep and I stood behind a column. I ran my sweat dampened hands down the back of my skirt; I still needed to pee. Why didn’t I do that when I was holed up in the handicapped stall?

Striker burst out of the stairwell, sharply focused. His whole Captain America persona told me this was bad. He was in hero-mode.

He scanned the room, then moved over to us. “There’s a robbery in progress at the bank on the ground floor. I counted four tangoes. They’re grabbing hostages. Flak jackets and semi-s. Their tactics are professional and rehearsed. We need to get people out of here. Lynx, I need you to disengage the alarm on the fire exit.”

“Do you know where the electrical box is?”

“Jack checked the schematics; he says there should be one in the utility room on the third floor. Three taps on the communicator will tell us you’ve succeeded, and we can get people out quietly. Be cautious with communication. People won’t know we’re the good guys, and we don’t want anyone playing linebacker.”

“What do you need me to do?” Deep pulled off his fake glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

“I’ll send people down with their shoes in their hands. Deep you take the next floor, and we’ll clear everyone out. Jack’s communicating with SWAT. He’ll run us from the outside.”

“And after I have the alarm off?” I worked to hide the quiver in my voice.

“Go to the ground-floor exit and make sure everyone leaves silently, and they don’t put on their shoes until they clear the building.”

In my mind I was back playing one of Spyder’s computer games during training. Hard to believe this was reality. I ran down the stairwell on my toes to avoid the clatter. When I reached the third floor, it took me a minute to get my bearings. The hall stood empty, all the doors shut. I skated into the utility room, over to the large electrical panel on the wall, and found the circuit breaker label that identified the stairwell and rear exit. Time for a contingency plan. I couldn’t throw this breaker. A group of terrified people going downstairs in pitch black created a recipe for disaster.