Exit Strategy (15 page)

She crawled out of the floorboard and slid across the seat to the driver’s side. Aiming her Sig out the open door, she hopped out and headed toward the nearest stalks of corn that hadn’t been obliterated by their wild ride through the field. Suddenly her gun was snatched out of her hand. She whirled around, kicking her legs in a circle to take out her attacker’s knees.

Mason jumped to the side just in time to avoid a direct hit and glowered at her. “I told you to wait.”

“And I told
you
to wait. I want to help you find Ace.”

He let out what she could only think of as a growl and grabbed her around the waist, lifting and dumping her onto the bench seat. She barely had time to slide over to the passenger side before he was plopping down beside her. After slamming the door shut, he floored the gas, aiming the truck back toward where they’d come from.

“What happened? Where’s Ace?” She held her pistol, watching out the back window.

Mason grabbed her and shoved her down onto the seat with her head in his lap. “Are you
trying
to get yourself killed?”

“Did you forget that I bite?” she snapped.

His eyes widened and he wisely let her go.

“What happened?” she repeated, shoving away from him but staying low in the seat this time. “I heard what sounded like a crash.”

“I used Ace’s temper against him. I lured him to the edge of the field and got him to chase us right into a tree. But when I checked the car, he was gone. I tracked him a short ways but he got into the woods. I couldn’t risk him getting off a lucky potshot at me from there so I ran back.”

“Then he could be anywhere.”

“Pretty much.” The cornfield ended and the truck raced across the backyard around to the side of the house. Mason pulled up beside the porch. “I’ll be right back.” He hopped out and ran up the steps, kicking the door open and disappearing inside.

A moment later he reappeared with both of their bags, although one appeared to be much fuller than it had been before, and tossed them in the back of the truck. Go-­bags she remembered now. That’s what he called them. Had he grabbed more guns, or ammo?

He hopped in and took off toward the road. The tires squealed as he barreled onto the little two-­lane rural highway and headed south.

Sabrina straightened up in the seat and clicked her seat belt as she looked back toward the house. Sunlight glinted off something metallic. She drew a sharp breath as she realized Ace was at the edge of the cornfield on his knees, aiming his gun at them.

“Get down!” she yelled.

Mason leaned over with her onto the seat just as the passenger side window exploded. He cursed and sat up, jerking the wheel to keep the truck from going off the road.

Sabrina held her Sig out the window and fired off several rounds. She grunted in satisfaction when Ace dove back into the corn for cover. But unfortunately, she was pretty sure she hadn’t hit him.

The truck squealed around a curve, and the house and cornfield dropped out of sight.

“A
R
E YOU SURE
this is a good idea?” Sabrina scanned the neighborhood of average-­looking houses from the concrete porch. She kept her back to Mason, trying to hide the fact that he was picking the lock. Her gun was at the ready, gripped tightly in her hand behind her. She wasn’t about to get caught unaware again if she could help it.

“Unless Cyprian has figured out that Ramsey is working with Buchanan and me, and he found out about the properties Ramsey keeps off the books like he somehow did mine, then it’s probably safe. Emphasis on
probably
. We need to stay alert.” He forced the door open and rushed inside.

Sabrina followed, closing and locking the door as she glanced at him. “That beeping. Is that—­”

“A security alarm.” He went straight to the keypad and punched in a code. The beeping stopped.

After assuring herself that no one was in the room ready to leap out at them, Sabrina pointed her gun down toward the floor. “This is Ramsey’s house?”

“Yep.”

“That explains the lock picking. How did you know the alarm code?”

“Ramsey’s not the cleverest guy when it comes to remembering numbers. So he always uses the last four digits of the street address as his alarm codes.”

“Hm. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“Trust me, any self-­respecting burglar would. But since Ramsey’s a light sleeper, I don’t guess he worries about it all that much. Why he even has an alarm beats me. I’ll change the code if we end up staying.” With gun in hand, he went from room to room.

Sabrina didn’t know why he bothered. She could see almost the entire house from where she was standing in the living room. To say it was tiny was an understatement. She secured her pistol in her ankle holster.

“Is this like your contemporary house in town? A front, not somewhere Ramsey really lives?”

He came back into the room, holstering his pistol. “You really don’t like that house of mine, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your loathing was stamped all over your face when we were there. As for this place, surprisingly, no. It’s not a front. It’s the family home where Ramsey grew up. This is where he lives most of the time when he’s not traveling. Keep an ear out for anything ‘off’. I’m going to try to get him on the phone and get an update on his situation with the Buchanans.”

“Okay, I’ll just . . . look around.”

He tilted her chin up and grinned. “You’re a nosey little librarian aren’t you?”

She frowned and pushed her glasses further up. “Librarian?”

“Never mind.” He kissed her, then grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number.

Sabrina sighed, her lips still tingling. If it weren’t for Ace going after them at Mason’s farm, there was no telling what she and Mason might be doing right now. She really hated Ace.

The walls of Ramsey’s house were filled with pictures, reminding her of her grandfather’s study. He’d filled every available space with photos of her and Thomas and Brian, and her sketches of course. He was so proud of her sketches.

Her heart seemed to lurch in her chest. She missed her brother and grandfather so much. But she didn’t have time to be sentimental, or emotional. She had to keep it together, keep an ear out, as Mason had said.

A car drove past the house. She listened to make sure it didn’t stop, and continued to study the pictures. She recognized Cyprian in a ­couple of the photographs, the same smiling face that graced the EXIT brochures. She supposed it made sense for Ramsey to have his picture since he was his boss. But it still turned her stomach. Was he the one giving the orders against her family, against her and Mason? She didn’t know. But it seemed almost impossible to believe that a man with his kind of power
wouldn’t
know that his own company was after them.

One of the pictures appeared to be some kind of dinner party. She moved closer, and stopped. Her eyes widened. She grabbed the picture off the wall and held it closer.

“Ramsey’s not answering his phone. I’ll try again later.”

She looked up at Mason who’d come up beside her without her even realizing it. “Who is this woman?” She held out the picture.

He shrugged. “I don’t see Cyprian enough to know whom he might be dating. Smokin’ red dress though.”

Sabrina frowned down at the picture. “No, not the woman on his arm.” She pointed to the brunette off to one side, in a black form-­fitting dress. “That woman. Who is she?”

His dark eyes studied her intently. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve seen her before.”

“Where?”

“At my brother’s funeral, the graveside ser­vice. I knew most of his friends but I didn’t recognize her. And the way my sister-­in-­law was shooting daggers I thought maybe—­”

“That Thomas was having an affair?”

She nodded. “He’d cheated in the past. So, yes. I knew it was possible. I went to confront her, to make her leave. But she took off before I could talk to her or find out her name. I guess I was angry, thinking that Thomas had hurt Angela again. I couldn’t get that woman out of my mind. When I got home, I just sat down and drew her. Who is she? Why is she with Cyprian?”

“She’s his daughter, Melissa.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You said you drew her. Did you show the sketch to anyone?”

Her eyes widened and her face went cold as the blood drained away. “Oh my God.”

“Sabrina? Who saw that sketch?”

“My grandfather. I showed it to him and told him my suspicions about Thomas. He was as upset as I was. He took the sketch with him. Said he’d hold on to it in case he ever ran into the woman at any of the charity events or functions he went to. I . . . never really thought about it again.”

“When? When did he see it?”

“This can’t be related to his disappearance. That’s what you’re thinking right?”

“When, Sabrina?”

“Right after the funeral, three months before Grampy disappeared. If . . . if that sketch had something to do with his disappearance, why would someone wait three months?” She laid the picture on a side table and squeezed her hands together.

Mason led her to the couch and sat beside her. “Maybe it took three months for your grandfather to see Melissa and recognize her. But once he did, he confronted her and asked her about Thomas.”

“Okay.” She pressed her hands to her temples. “I’m trying to be objective, to look at all of these pieces, but I’m not seeing how they fit together. If we assume my brother was having an affair with Cyprian’s daughter, so what? My grandfather recognized her from the sketch and confronted her at some party? And Cyprian was there and got mad? That can’t be enough to justify him getting angry and . . . kidnapping . . . my grandfather.” She refused to consider that Grampy might be dead.

He took her hands in his. “Explore all of the connections. See how they might tie together. To do that, go back to the first puzzle piece. Thomas’s funeral. The background report that Buchanan gave me said your brother was killed in a mugging. Did the police ever catch the killer?”

She stiffened. “Please don’t say it.”

“I have to.” He squeezed her hands. “EXIT’s assassinations aren’t always sophisticated. Staging accidents is one of the best ways to eliminate someone. A mugging is easy to stage and doesn’t garner much media interest because it happens all the time.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. This one was all over the television, the newspapers, because of my family’s social status in Boulder. Everyone heard about the mugging. Thomas’s picture was flashed on TV so much that I was afraid to turn it on.”

“Sabrina.”

She tugged her hands out of his. “No. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Thomas was mugged. A random act of violence. So he was having an affair? Big deal. It happens all the time. It’s not the social pariah type of thing ­people kill over.”

“How about a father’s love?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Cyprian adores Melissa. What if your brother hurt her somehow? Maybe he lied about being married, and she found out and told her father? Cyprian has an old-­fashioned sense of honor. He’d be furious if Thomas tricked Melissa that way. He could have confronted him and accidentally killed him. Or maybe he had someone do it for him. That may not be what happened, but it’s possible. It’s one explanation.”

“No,” she insisted. “I don’t believe it.”

He studied her for a long minute. “What did your grandfather say about the mugging?”

“What
didn’t
he say? He was furious that the police didn’t have any leads. He pressured them all the time, saying they had to keep digging, keep trying to find out who’d killed him. He wouldn’t let it go.” Her breath caught.

Mason tilted her head up. “He wouldn’t let it go. And then he disappeared.”

She searched his eyes for the truth. “You think Cyprian, or EXIT, killed my brother. And when my grandfather kept pressing the investigation, that they . . . killed him too. And then when
I
started pressing the investigation to find Grampy, they tried to kill me, not caring that my parents were caught in the middle. And now they’re still trying to finish the job. I put the puzzle pieces together like you told me to. Is that how you see it? Is that what you think happened?”

“I never said that I thought your grandfather was dead.”

Her shoulders slumped.

Mason pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against him. She wasn’t weak. She didn’t
need
him to hold her. But she
wanted
him to. For just a few minutes, she gave in to the desire to let him shoulder her burdens for her, to let him protect her while she clutched his shirt and tried not to let her fears and her grief overwhelm her.

“EXIT destroyed my family,” she finally whispered, her throat tight.

“I believe so. Yes.”

“Then I’m going to destroy EXIT. And you’re going to help me.”

His look turned wary. He lifted her off his lap and set her beside him. “How do you propose to do that?”

“We’re going to break into EXIT, the building here in Asheville.”

He laughed, then sobered. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly. Think about it. Ace and whoever else your boss has running around trying to find us would never think to look for us there.”

“I’ll give you that. But what would be the point of breaking in?”

“To find something incriminating against Cyprian. Something on a computer, or in a file, or even a picture. I’m not sure. We’ll know it when we see it. But there has to be something there we can use against him. There have to be all kinds of secret documents in that building, things that could ruin him if they got out.”

“I’m sure there are. Missions are run out of that office just like the one in Boulder. Which is why the security is tight. The computers will have many levels of protection, both physical and virtual. And there will be security guards. And cameras. And alarms.”

“That’s where you come in. You knock out the cameras and alarms and
drug
the guards.” She pointed her finger. “No killing.”

“Well, gee, you had me until you said the ‘no killing’ part. That takes all the fun out of it.”