Exit Strategy (16 page)

“Stop kidding around. I’m serious.”

He blew out a breath. “Okay. Serious. You’ve got my attention. I like the idea of going on the offensive. Especially since I can’t reach Ramsey and don’t know when he and Buchanan will be back in the picture. But what you’re proposing would take weeks of careful surveillance and planning. We don’t have that kind of time. Once Cyprian realizes that Ace failed, he’ll send someone else after us. Then someone else after that. Since we can’t risk going to any of my properties, we’ll probably end up moving from cheap motel to cheap motel, constantly on the move until we can figure out something more permanent or until the heat is off.”

“And when will that be? What happens while we wait? You said the EXIT order against me was fake. What if your theories about Cyprian and my family are wrong? What if he’s going after others, issuing more fake orders? If we sit around and do nothing, innocent ­people will die.”

He winced, and she knew she’d found the one thing that might sway him—­his moral code, his drive to protect others. He was a man of convictions, with a strong sense of honor. She admired him for that, even though she didn’t agree with his views. The words he’d told her last night about why he did what he did for a living had made her toss and turn. She’d heard them in her head so many times that they’d formed a picture. Now she brought that picture to the forefront, and ruthlessly used it to her advantage.

“ ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ That’s an Edmund Burke quote. A very wise man told me that last night.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not fighting fair.”

“That wise man also told me something else: ‘If I have the power to act to save someone, and I do nothing, then that’s the most horrible sin of all.’ ”

“Sabrina.”

“I’m sorry. But I need your help. And apparently I’m not above using guilt to get it.”

His jaw set. “Okay. You win. I’ll break into EXIT and see what I can find. But you’re not going with me. It’s too dangerous.”

“I
am
going with you. I’ll have your back. Just like I did earlier when I warned you before Ace shot out the truck’s side window.”

“Sabrina—­”

“I took a tour of the EXIT office building here in Asheville when it was being renovated.”

“And?”

“And doesn’t it make sense that Cyprian would need a suite of secret offices to conduct meetings with enforcers? Offices the public, and the tour side of the company, don’t know about?”

“Possibly. Hell, probably.”

“Do I have to remind you that I have a photographic memory? I’ve got the layout of that building imprinted in my mind, the way it looked during construction. If there are any hidden offices, you might walk right past them and not know it. But I can walk those halls and compare them to the pictures in my mind. If a wall is too far out or not where I remember it was, that’s a good indicator that something might be hidden behind it, right? I can help you find the real offices, the ones that will have the information we want, not the glossy, brochure-­filled offices the public gets to see.”

He frowned, obviously not happy with what she was saying. But not denying that it made sense either.

“You need me, Mason. Admit it.” When he didn’t answer, she tried another approach. “I know that I can’t break into EXIT without you. So if you won’t help me, I’ll just have to go back to Colorado.”

“The hell you will. Why would you want to do that?”

“Because Colorado is where all of this started, and most likely where Cyprian’s holding my grandfather, if he hasn’t killed him already. Maybe I can find the guide who took my parents and me on that tour. Maybe he knows something and doesn’t even know that he knows it, something that can point me toward where my grandfather is being held.” She threw her hands up. “I know that doesn’t sound like much, but what other leads do I have? I’m sure the investigators I hired have already spoken to the guide, but they didn’t know about the secret side of EXIT. Or about Ace. So they wouldn’t have known the right questions to ask. I’m certainly not going to hide and do nothing if there’s some clue I haven’t followed to at least try to find Grampy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re trying to blackmail me with that Colorado threat.”

“Is it working?”

He swore and stood up, then crossed to the door. “Since I couldn’t get in touch with Ramsey, I’m going to assume the worst—­that Cyprian knows he’s helping us. Which means we’re not staying here after all. We’ll find a motel outside of town where we can hunker down for a bit.”

She hurried to the door he was holding open. “Are we breaking into EXIT together? Or am I going to Colorado?”

“You’re definitely not going to Colorado. But don’t look so smug,” he told her. “You might have just signed both of our death warrants.”

Chapter Thirteen

Day Three—­9:00 p.m.

M
ason glanced at Sabrina lying on her belly on the ground beside him. She was keeping low like he’d instructed, her head barely visible above the ridge that looked down onto the EXIT building. Another quick look behind them reassured him that his truck was completely hidden, obscured by trees and bushes. If anyone inside EXIT looked across their parking lot, they wouldn’t notice him and Sabrina, or the truck.

He settled back down, resting his elbows on the dirt as he peered through his infrared binoculars at the newly renovated three-­story building. Most of the windows were dark, and uncovered by blinds, which gave him an unobstructed view. He’d been able to catch heat signatures passing the windows at regular intervals and had determined they were security guards.

One of them would come outside the side door every forty-­five minutes and make a circuit of the parking lot, shining his flashlight into the trees and bushes near the building. The route took fifteen minutes. Then he would go inside and head upstairs to the next level. Another guard would go downstairs on the far side of the building and tour the lower floor, then go out the side exactly thirty minutes after the other guard had come inside. Like clockwork, for the past three hours, that was the routine.

“What do you see?” Sabrina whispered beside him.

“The building looks empty, except for three signatures on infrared—­the security guards. What bothers me are the three cars parked by the maintenance shed right below us.”

“Why does that bother you? Three guards, three cars. Doesn’t that confirm the building is empty, except for the security guys?”

“Probably. Makes sense. But the company they work for may bus in new guards each shift and takes the others back to town since it’s such a long drive out here.”

“I’ve never heard of a company doing that.”

“I have.”

She sighed impatiently. “But you haven’t seen any other heat signatures.”

He tapped the side of his binoculars. “No. I haven’t.”

“So . . .”

“So I’m not worried enough about the cars to cancel, if that’s what
you’re
worried about. This late at night even a Type A like Cyprian should have gone home.”

“Great. Now, what do you plan to do about the guards?”

The worry in her voice had him lowering the binoculars. “Per your instructions,” he said drolly, “I’m not allowed to kill them. So I’ll drug the guard at the side door when we go in. The others we’ll avoid if possible. But if not, I’ll take care of them too.”

She leaned in and kissed him. Not a little peck but a full-­blown, getting-­him-­rock-­hard-­and-­wanting-­her kiss. When she pulled back he was aching.

“What was that for?” he bit out, none too happy to be sporting a hard-­on when he wasn’t in the position to do anything about it.

“It was a thank-­you.”

“Hm. You’re welcome,” he grumbled, shifting his legs and trying not to think about how good it had felt to make love to her.

Focus. Concentrate.

He shoved the tiny pair of binoculars in one of his jacket pockets. It wasn’t chilly, but he needed those pockets to hold everything for the mission. He pulled out the map the two of them had made of the lower floor while they were at a motel outside of town. She’d drawn the location of the executive offices, which apparently made up one-­half of the building. They had a lot of searching to do.

Because of so many unknowns, he’d decided they would
only
explore the bottom floor. As far as he was concerned, this was a one-­time deal. If nothing came of it, he’d take Sabrina somewhere—­out of the country if he had to—­so she couldn’t come back and try to get into EXIT on her own.

The jammer he’d brought for the alarm system would probably buy them at most forty-­five minutes. That was the time from when one guard went outside on patrol to when the next one reached the side door. They’d have even less time if the guards deviated from their routines.

As soon as one of them reached the side door and saw the alarm panel light was disarmed, they’d call the security company and go on full alert. Mason wanted to ensure that he and Sabrina were out of the building and far down the highway before that happened, so he was limiting them to thirty minutes for their search.

“The jammer freezes the cameras connected to the security system,” he explained. “As long as there isn’t much of a breeze, the guards should be fooled. They wouldn’t expect to see tree branches swaying on their screens.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this a few times.”

“A few. Usually with a lot more preplanning. Are you sure you want to do this? You can wait out here.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve got your back, Mason. And I’m supposed to tell you if the layout doesn’t match the picture inside my head. I’m going with you.”

He sighed and used his regular binoculars to scan the parking lot. Still empty. But Cyprian was known to be a bit paranoid about EXIT’s safety. What if he had another entrance to the building that couldn’t be seen from here? Built into the side of the hill, an underground tunnel? That was the kind of thing Mason would have looked for if he’d taken days or weeks to case the building before planning an entry. Going in without that kind of intel had him nervous as hell.

He looked at Sabrina. Dressed all in black like him, she was using some binoculars he’d given her earlier to study the building as if she were seeking out every little detail. As if her life depended on ensuring their mission was a success. In a way, he supposed it did. If something happened to him and she was on her own, would Buchanan or Ramsey be able to find her before Ace or another enforcer carried out the EXIT order? He’d tried to reach both of them before driving out, but neither had answered his phone. He’d fired off encrypted e-­mails, letting them know about his plan, but still hadn’t received any replies.

Sabrina lowered her binoculars. “Shouldn’t we move closer to the side door so we can be ready as soon as the guard comes out?”

He sighed. “Yes. We should. All right, mini-­enforcer. Let’s do this.”

She put her binoculars in one of her pockets.

A few minutes later they were in position. As soon as the guard came out, Mason would press the jammer to freeze the cameras and block the alarm.

“Sabrina?”

She was intently watching the side door and didn’t seem to hear him.

“Sabrina?”

She frowned. “What?”

“It’s Hunt.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“My last name. It’s Hunt.”

Her brow smoothed out and she gifted him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Man, he was in trouble.

The door opened and a security guard stepped out.

“Here we go,” Mason whispered. “Wait until I disable the guard, then run inside.”

She nodded, looking far too excited. Stoked. Like a kid at Christmas. He belatedly worried that he might not have impressed the danger and seriousness of the situation on her enough.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

“Damned if I know.” He pressed the remote to jam the system and took one of the filled syringes out of his pocket.

“You used a cloth when you drugged me,” she reminded him.

“And you were out far longer than expected. I can control the dosage better with this. Ready?”

“Ready. Be careful.”

“You too.” He yanked the protective cover off the needle, and took off toward the guard.

S
ABRINA FOLLOWED
M
ASON
into another office and tapped him on the shoulder. She held up five fingers, letting him know they only had five more minutes before the thirty-­minute mark. He gave her a thumbs-­up, then hurried to the desk and sat down to search the drawers.

Following the routine they’d established in the first office they’d searched, she went directly to the filing cabinets along the wall. So far, everything they’d found seemed completely legit, only mentioning real EXIT tours. One of the offices they’d searched had all kinds of legal documents. But they had to do with land grants and permits and agreements with various landowners, even the federal government, to allow tours on their property or in national parks.

As Sabrina rummaged through the last drawer of the filing cabinet, she was coming across more of the same. Nothing that would give her and Mason any information on the private side of the company. No secrets. No EXIT orders. Nothing to prove they were anything but the EXtreme International Tours company they claimed to be. And nothing personal on Cyprian. Her shoulders slumped and she closed the drawer before heading to the desk to see if Mason was having better luck. But something was off. She slowed, then stopped and turned around.

At the door, she peeked out to make sure there were no guards before stepping into the hall. She turned in a complete circle, putting herself back to the day when she’d taken the tour. It took a few tries, but finally she could see the building the way it had been. She stepped through the doorway, the memory of the wood two-­by-­four walls superimposed over the sheetrock and paint before her now. She looked down the long hallway, counting doors, mentally measuring the distances between each office.

It was definitely off.

She hurried down the hallway to the office they’d been in last, then slowly walked forward as she’d done the day the walls were still being built. The next door she stopped at was the janitor’s closet they had skipped. That was it. She hurried back into the office just as Mason appeared in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his face.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You’re not to leave my side.”

“I figured it out. The janitor’s closet is a ruse. It takes up too much space along the wall between the offices. The two offices beside it should be bigger, or—­”

“There’s another office in between them, behind the janitor closet, with a concealed entrance.”

“Yes!” She belatedly clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing she’d been too loud.

Mason looked down the hallway for guards and hurriedly pulled her into the office. They both headed to the far right wall.

“This wall shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “It’s several feet too far out into the room.”

Instead of the excitement she expected to see on Mason’s face, he shook his head, a look of worry in his eyes as he glanced at his watch.

“We have to go,” he said. “We’ve already been here one minute longer than we should have.” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her toward the door.

“Wait, don’t we have some wiggle room?” she whispered as she pulled back, trying to slow his progress. “You said it takes forty-­five minutes for the guards to make their full rounds. We can take five more minutes to see if we can figure out what’s behind that wall and still be out of here before the next guard goes outside.”

He stopped in the middle of the office to face her. “Sabrina,” he whispered harshly. “This isn’t a game. It’s too dangerous to stay any longer. Time’s up.”

“It most certainly is,” a voice called out from the doorway.

Mason shoved Sabrina behind him as the lights flickered on overhead. He whipped his Glock out and squeezed off two quick shots, the sound terrifyingly loud in the small space.

Before Sabrina could reach for her weapon, someone grabbed her from behind.

Mason whipped around.

“Look out!” Sabrina screamed.

He jerked back but it was too late. The man behind him slammed his pistol against the side of Mason’s head, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Sabrina tried to run to him, but the man holding her yanked her back and held her immobile.
Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.

Another man lay writhing on the floor not too far away from where Mason had fallen. He must have been the man Mason had shot. And beyond him, a man looking impeccable in an expensive dove-­gray suit frowned down at the floor.

“Really, Bishop. Do stop being so dramatic. You’re wearing Kevlar. There’s no reason to act like you’re dying.”

His obsidian gaze rose to Sabrina and his mouth curved into a delighted smile as if they were about to be introduced in the middle of a dinner party. “Miss Hightower. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’m Cyprian Cardenas.”