Nanny 911 (16 page)

David straightened from the back of the couch where he’d been sitting. “I can answer that.” He circled around the end of the couch to face the senior officer. “Ozzie Chang, one of our computer geeks, found the email and called me in. I went into the lab myself and discovered it shortly after noon. That’s when I called 911 and ordered the building evacuation.”

“Where was Ozzie?” Quinn asked, rising to his feet. “He wasn’t supposed to be working in the lab today.”

David shook his head. “He was in his office when he called me.”

“He called you because of the email, not because he’d found the bomb itself?”

“I guess.” David’s square jaw clenched before he cursed. “You think he could have put it there?”

“I’m not accusing one of my own people. With the holidays and a nearly deserted building, someone with the right skills could get inside.” Although Quinn couldn’t fathom how an outsider could get into one of GSS’s most secure rooms, he didn’t want to think that the easiest answer was that someone he knew and trusted was behind these threats. Still, Ozzie did have the know-how to hack into GSS from a remote location. The question was why. “I’m just trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense to me. He did come in to help me yesterday, but I sent him on vacation for the rest of the week. What was he doing here?”

Miranda huddled inside his jacket as she stood beside Quinn. “Does Ozzie know how to build a bomb?”

“I hire very smart people to work for me. Anything’s possible.” He still wasn’t buying it. “But what’s his motive?”

“Two and a half million dollars?” David suggested.

“The money’s already been paid. Why risk killing more innocent people and doing millions of dollars’ worth of damage?”

“Maybe he was covering his tracks.”

Quinn raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed at the headache forming at the base of his skull. “This feels personal, not like it’s about the money.”

“I wouldn’t write off the computer geek yet.” David braced his hands at his hips and puffed up, refusing to have his idea dismissed. “There’s one more thing, boss. Whoever put the bomb there used an authorized access code. Nothing was flagged to security when the door opened.”

“Could that code be what the hacker was after?” Miranda asked.

“Or maybe Ozzie punched it in himself.” David’s point was made, even if Quinn didn’t like the idea of a traitor working for him.

Michael Cutler stood and signaled to his men. “Taylor. Trip. Grab Kincaid and go find this Ozzie Chang. And let’s get some detectives to look into his financials. Mr. Damiani, can you get us an address?”

“I can take you there myself.” David nodded and headed out the door with the uniformed cops on his heels.

“Rafe and I will make sure your assistant and the three of you get home safely.” SWAT Team 1 was on the move again. “Chang either saw that bomb and lied to your security chief, or someone used the code to get in after he left and we need him to narrow down the time frame when that could have happened—”

“—or Ozzie has a lot of explaining to do about his loyalty to me and GSS.” Quinn was running through the same possibilities Michael was, and was ready to find some answers. He went to the kitchenette and scooped Fiona up into his arms.

Miranda was already gathering up their coats. “No matter what, I have a feeling there are a couple of detectives who’ll want to question Ozzie.”

“Forget the detectives.” Quinn intended to take the women home and then accompany Michael and his men. “I want to talk to him myself.”

“I
AM ONE STEP AHEAD OF YOU
, Quinn Gallagher.” The figure sitting in the car laughed. The brilliant self-made man thought he could plan for every situation, that he could control every outcome with his brains or money or business savvy. “Look who has control now.”

The child would have been so easy to take while the big boss of Gallagher Security Systems was playing hero. As suspected, Quinn wouldn’t be able to resist tackling the bomb himself, once he recognized bits and pieces of his own designs all set into place to topple his empire. Quinn was the type of man to step up and take responsibility, to look out for those around him, to notice who needed him and who deserved his help.

He was a born leader, a consummate protector—in every single facet of his life and work. Except one.

And that one mistake, that one oversight—that one glaring example of Quinn Gallagher not giving a damn about the right person—was the reason for being here.

The figure sitting behind the wheel clutched at the pain stabbing straight through the heart. No one should have to suffer that kind of loss. No one should have to feel that helpless—to know everything one tried to get noticed, to make things right, wasn’t enough.

There was only one way to make things right now.

Quinn Gallagher had to suffer in the very same way.

Remembering the success of the day, the driver sat up squarely behind the wheel. Everyone was packing up now. Catching their breaths. Escorting people home. Crisis averted. Now Quinn would go back to his mansion and seclude himself with his thoughts. He’d reflect on every misstep and close call of the past four days, wondering what he’d missed, whom he’d offended, where he’d gone wrong. He thought he could fix this if he surrounded himself with the right people and thought about the game long enough and hard enough.

It was a delight to watch him be confused, angry—to watch the great Quinn Gallagher not have all the answers.

There were so many delicious ways this afternoon could have gone. Property damage. Destruction of the GSS mainframe computer. Loss of lives. Losing the young life most important to Quinn.

But the timing wasn’t right. The game had to be played a certain way, on a certain schedule—mimicking the time frame of the driver’s own suffering—or the satisfaction that was so long overdue wouldn’t be gratifying enough.

It was the only way to make things right.

Paying little heed to the police officers still working around the GSS building, the figure behind the wheel speed-dialed the mercenary who’d been paid very well to do exactly as ordered. “Is it done?”

“It’s done.”

“Good.” The boss picked up the disposable phone on the dashboard and ripped open the package. “Then I’ll send my next message.”

Chapter Ten

“Did he have family?” Michael Cutler asked.

Quinn’s eyes burned as he tore his gaze away from the neat bullet hole in the middle of Ozzie Chang’s forehead and looked across the body on the floor to his friend. “Parents in San Francisco. I’d better call them.”

“Let the detectives handle it.” Michael braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself away from the puddle of blood on the entryway’s hardwood floor. “Why don’t you take Randy and Fiona home? You all need some rest.”

“I can’t rest until I find out who’s behind this, Michael.” He curled his fingers into fists at his side. “Ozzie was barely out of college. Those guards at the Kalahari plant had no clue what hit them. Men are watching my house and my daughter and shooting at Miranda. I need to figure this out. I need to get ahead of this guy and stop him.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and came back shaking another fist. “That’s what I do, Michael. I find solutions to problems. I solve puzzles that other people can’t. I figure things out.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, buddy.” Michael literally took Quinn by the arm and led him to the front door. “That’s part of what this guy wants from you. He wants you out of your element. He wants you to suffer.”

“He’s doing a damn fine job. My God…” A horrendous thought hit him, one that almost made him gag as he turned back to the grisly murder. “What if that was Fiona?” He sought out Michael’s steady gaze, needing someone, anyone, to understand. “I will die—I will kill—before I let something like this happen to my little girl.”

He circled around the body to look into the sparsely furnished living room of Ozzie’s small white house. A beat-up sofa, a new recliner and a wall full of electronics—gaming systems, a large flat-screen TV, computer towers. Not a lot to show for twenty-some years of life. Yet Quinn had envied the young man just yesterday.

Ozzie Chang had been young and full of fun and possibilities. He’d come in to GSS during his vacation at Quinn’s request. A bullet to the head was his punishment for helping him.

Or was it his payment for helping someone else?

Quinn scrubbed his fingers over the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. “How soon before the detectives and CSIs get here and get us some answers?” The rage and grief cleared a small corner of his brain and gave him a chance to observe and think. “Oz must have known whoever he let in the door—or else didn’t feel threatened by his killer. There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“Quinn—”

“Do you think the people who paid him to hack into GSS and deliver a bomb betrayed him to cover the connection to them? Didn’t he know how much money I have? How much money I’d pay to ensure the safety of the people I care about?”

“You think Chang hacked your system? That he was a mole in your company?”

“It sure seems like somebody is.” Quinn tamped down on the emotions raging through his blood and tried to present a logical argument. “Or is Ozzie the innocent kid I thought he was, and he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t in the lab? He saw something in the computers, or he saw someone place that bomb—and now he’s another innocent victim in this retribution game.”

Betrayal or a friend caught in the cross fire?

He didn’t like either option.

Quinn faced Michael again, counting off options on his fingers. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with suspects—people who might hold a serious grudge against me. Mom’s live-in boyfriend, who I threw out of the house once I was big enough and tough enough to get him to stop hitting her. Business competitors. I’ve absorbed several companies around the world into GSS and have put others completely out of business.”

“Quinn, stop. You’re grasping at straws.”

“I have to grasp at something! I can’t stand not being in control. I hate it.”

“I know where you’re coming from. When my Jillian had a stalker, before I married her, I was… When he had her tied up with a gun to her head, I…” Quinn saw the first crack of emotion in Michael’s stern facade. “It was the first time in a long time that I was truly scared. And I didn’t like it. It threw me off my game and I almost lost her.” He swallowed hard, glanced away for a moment, then looked him right in the eyes. “You and I are a lot alike, my friend. The bad guys don’t get to win. But you’re in no shape to do battle right now. You’re exhausted. Your anger is getting in the way. And this is not the place where you want to do your thinking.” Michael went to the front door and opened it. “So go home and get some rest.”

Quinn glanced down at the injustice of the body at their feet. “And give that bastard the chance to do this to somebody else because of me?”

“Think of it this way—a few hours’ sleep will clear your mind so you
can
figure it out.” Michael rarely talked about the man who had stalked and kidnapped his wife. The glimpse of deep, conflicted emotion from his normally unflappable friend made Quinn understand that Michael truly got what he was going through.

It also gave him hope that he could get through this crisis, too. As long as he kept his head. “I guess I’ll wind up with a cranky toddler if I don’t get Fiona to bed.”

“And, I’ve entrusted you with one of my team, Quinn. Randy’s not as tough on the inside as she is on the outside. I need you to take good care of her.”

Quinn looked through the open doorway to see a battered Miranda standing guard over the car where his daughter slept. Her eyes were sharp as she paced up and down the sidewalk. But the mark on her face was already bruising, and she hugged her arms around her middle as she walked, as though not even the hat and coat she wore were enough to keep her warm.

Those same possessive, protective instincts he’d discovered in his office this afternoon heated his blood. Yeah, he could take care of Miranda, too. If she’d let him.

“All right.” Maybe he could do more good for the cops, his company and those two women outside if he could get some rest and some rational thoughts in his head. He extended his hand to Michael to thank him for all he and his team had done for him today. “But call me the minute KCPD has anything to report.”

“Will do.”

“Captain?” Trip Jones called them back into the living room. “I pulled this up on Chang’s computer. You’re going to want to see this.”

Quinn should have walked on out the door.

The words typed on the screen were in big, bold print. The taunting promise in the words was even bigger.

I am one step ahead of you. Now Mr. Chang will never reveal the favor he did for me. Now you see I can get to you at work. I will require another 2.5 million in the Swiss account or I will strike much closer to home.

“Y
OU GOT THIS
, D
AVID
?” The pictures on the wall of monitors in the estate’s security command center were blurring.

Quinn was a weary man. He pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his hand over his entire face, from his aching eyes down to the sandpapery stubble of late-night beard growth on his jaw.

“Yes, sir.” David Damiani’s tie was loose, his suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair beside Quinn’s and his coffee mug was nearly empty. “Between my men at the gate and Cutler’s men doing periodic drive-bys, as well as me in the security office and Murdock upstairs, we’re completely secure. I’ve got eyes on the front door, back door, side entrance and more. If our presence and technology aren’t deterrent enough, at least there’s no way we won’t see this guy coming.”

Quinn slipped his glasses back on to get a good look at the camera shots where David was pointing. He knew David’s ego had probably taken a few dings the past few days. GSS employees had been killed. A bomb had been rigged in GSS headquarters. Quinn had called on his friend Michael Cutler and SWAT Team 1 in addition to David’s private security team—not because Quinn doubted David could handle the threats, but because Quinn could never feel secure enough where Fiona was concerned.