Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (2 page)

Another male—the merc, Crocker?—replied, “Good to know,
boss
” ─the man drawled the word, turning it into an insult─ “but I only take jobs on face-to-face meets. You should’ve learned that about me when you spoke to our mutual friend. I don’t risk my ass or those of my men until I’ve read a man’s eyes.”

Crocker’s voice was gravelly and mean-sounding. So much so, it was all she could do not to whimper. She clenched her teeth and worked hard to keep her breathing quiet. No easy task since her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest.

“Fuck that…there’s always risk in wet work,” the Boss snarled. Something thudded and a chair scraped across the floor and hit a wall.

She clapped a hand over her mouth so her shocked gasp would go unheard. These men did not like one another. Was she going to be a witness to a murder?

The Boss continued and the sound of his voice rose and lowered as he paced the room. “You just want to know who to blackmail if things go tits up.”

Crocker laughed, a sinister sound. The atmosphere in the room filled with the electricity of their mutual animosity. “Got that right. At least you aren’t too stupid. Who am I gonna kill and how much is it worth to you?”

Elana pressed her hand tighter over her mouth and swallowed past the giant lump of fear lodged in her throat. A cold sweat broke out over her body and she trembled so much she was afraid the men could hear her bones rattling. She prayed for all she was worth the two men wouldn’t search the room and find her.

The urge to call for Security was great. But she mustn’t. The walkie-talkie wasn’t set to silent mode. If she sent an emergency signal, Harry would try to reach her. Any noise would guarantee her death.

She could do nothing to extricate herself from the situation, but she could listen. Maybe she could hear enough details to help prevent the cold-blooded murder they planned. When she’d thought about using her skills to track bad guys, she hadn’t actually planned on doing so in person.

Be careful what you wish for.

Over the sound of her blood pounding in her ears, she strained to catch every word.

“Your primary target is Keely Walsh-Maddox,” the Boss spoke as if he were ordering a Big Mac. “And if you can take out Ren Maddox and any of the SSI operatives while you do her—all the better. I’ll pay one million dollars.”

Oh my God! Elana knew Dr. Walsh…well, sort of. The woman had lectured at Georgetown on statistical analysis systems and their use in information retrieval to hunt terrorists, sex traffickers, money launderers, and other criminals.

Her brow creased. She took a breath and forced herself to listen and use her head. If she didn’t, Dr. Walsh could die. She couldn’t let that happen.
I’ve trained for this
─I can do it
.

But what did Dr. Walsh have to do with this SSI? And why was SSI so dangerous the Boss wanted Crocker to kill anyone he could?

“Not enough. Big job. Deadly job,” Crocker rasped out.

His vocal cords sounded damaged. This was one clue which might help identify him. She’d bet his real name was not Crocker.

“Those fuckers at SSI are well-trained, most of them former Special Forces,” Crocker said. “Your last attempts to take them out were fucked to hell and back. It’s gonna cost you big money, ’cause I’ll need to take on men who are crazy, suicidal or both.”

“Are you trying to extort me?” The Boss’s words were low and snarly.

“Yeah.” Crocker chuckled. “I’m the only merc left willing to take your jobs. So, my price is the going price.”

“How much?” The Boss sounded as if he spoke through clenched teeth. “If you get the job done, I’ll have a lot more wet work for you.”

The Boss was or had been in intelligence. “Wet work” was what spies, most often the CIA kind, called killing strategic human targets.

Now, you’re thinking like an analyst, Ellie.

“Five million dollars for me and my men, plus you cover all my out-of-pocket costs. Half up front for hiring bonuses and securing weapons and such.”

Crocker had just revealed his antecedents. He came from the South or had spent his formative years there. His accent was subtle, but his syntax showed his origins.

“Done. Where do you want the deposit sent?”

Five million dollars plus costs. No negotiations at all. The Boss must really need Dr. Walsh and the others out of the way. But why? Keely Walsh was a professor at MIT—or at least she had been the last Elana heard.

“Here’s the number for my offshore account.” A rustling of cloth indicated Crocker had pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I want it done fast.” The Boss’s words were short and clipped, a sure sign of rising anger. His accent had a tinge of East Coast, not New York or New Jersey, but definitely northeastern United States. “SSI is hurting my cash flow.”

And then it hit her where she’d heard the accent before.
Boston.
The Boss was originally from Boston and had almost succeeded in eliminating the slurred, nasal vowels of a true Bostonian.

“My job. My timeline. I’m not rushing onto SSI turf without adequate intel.” Crocker’s tone said this was non-negotiable. “I’ll start preparations after the deposit hits my account. I’ll let you know when we’re going in.”

“My money. My timetable…bottom line, I need it done before the end of the year.” The Boss’s anger had iced over into cold fury and his voice said “don’t mess with me.”

“I didn’t know traitors had bottom lines. I just thought y’all were bottom feeders.” Crocker’s Southern drawl was even more evident as he insulted the man who’d shown he was willing to pay a lot of money to eliminate problems. Either Crocker had balls of steel or he wasn’t as smart as he should be.

“You have a problem working for me, Crocker?”

Elana shuddered. If anyone had aimed that ominous tone of voice at her, she was sure she’d whimper and run away.

“Yeah—” Crocker’s tone was matter of fact. The merc’s lack of fear made Crocker all the scarier. “—but as long as your money’s good, I’ll do the job. I don’t give fuck all about the political games you’re playing. Don’t fuck me over. I make a bad enemy.”

Another clue. Whoever or whatever the Boss was, he had to be in politics or close to politicians in some way. But that could be said of a lot of men in D.C. Still, every piece of the puzzle was one piece closer to the full picture.

“So do I, Crocker. So do I.”

And the two men had reached
detente
.

Crocker snorted. “At least we understand each other. No more face-to-face meetings will be necessary.”

“Good. We done? I need to get back to the arena before my friends miss me.”

And another fact. The Boss had attended the game tonight. There were cameras at the arena. In fact, there were security cameras all over campus including the library. Video of men coming and going from the arena and the library could be searched for duplicates using facial recognition. Elana smiled. She knew how to find these men, even if she couldn’t get a look at them now.

You won’t be allowed to help.

She’d offer anyway. Or maybe she could work with Dr. Walsh? This was the professor’s area of expertise.

“Yeah, we’re done,” Crocker replied.

“Go on. I’ll follow in a minute. I don’t want to be seen with you,” the Boss muttered, again his words sounded more like an insult than a statement of fact. “In my day we’d have done this with a drop.”

“Fuck you, cocksucker,” Crocker spat out the words in his buzz-saw voice. “In your day, drops were routinely intercepted. People are nosy. NSA hears and sees all. You should know that. You’ve been sitting behind a desk too long. The world’s different than when you did wet work. Face-to-face is safer, especially since my guy is fucking up the security cameras all over campus.”

Elana mentally swore. No cameras meant no easy ID. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of the Boss after he left. Unfortunately Crocker would be long gone. But the mercenary world was a lot smaller than the world of D.C. politicians and their hangers on, and she had his “merc” name to start with.

The outer door closed.

The Boss swore vilely under his breath, “Cock-sucking, mother-fucking, pecker-headed son of a bitch.”

His words were far cruder than those he’d used with Crocker. With the merc he’d been condescending in tone, but his language had been that of a man with education and authority. Yet, now he cursed like a soldier, another clue to his background.

The Boss went silent. Elana listened hard for any sound from him, any hint he might be searching the room. She barely breathed and prayed he was too lazy to make the effort. After what seemed like an hour, but was more like a minute, she heard the snick of the room door closing; it sounded like a gunshot in the empty space and she jerked.

Slowly, she counted to ten before she shimmied out from under the table and stood. She trembled from head to toe, a combination of fear and the chilly dampness from her sweat. She couldn’t afford to collapse on one of the room’s sofas and congratulate herself on a narrow escape. She had to follow the Boss in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him. If the police nabbed him, then Crocker, in all probability, wouldn’t go through with the job. She also had no doubt the Boss would “out” the man in order to lighten his sentence.

Setting her walkie-talkie to silent mode, she sent an emergency alarm to Harry. After double-checking to make sure the device was set on vibrate for incoming calls, she then opened the door a crack and peeked around it. She let out a long slow breath as she caught the sight of the back of the man who had to be the Boss. She saw no one else.

The Boss headed for the main stairwell at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. He could take the stairs down to the bottom level and leave the building through the parking garage without passing by Harry or Betsy on the main floor.

Assured the Boss was well away from her position, she left the safety of the lounge and tip-toed a path across the carpeted floor, parallel to his. The tall book-filled stacks hid her movements. The carpet muffled her steps. In her mind, she pictured Harry, unable to raise her, running to her last known position, gun out, and Betsy calling the campus cops. They had a good chance of catching the Boss before he even left the library.

Then a door creaked. The sound echoed off the stacks in the night-silent room. The noise had come from the vicinity of the graduate study rooms.

Libby!

The grad student must’ve decided to take a break—or even go home. The Boss would pass right by her room. He’d see her. If Libby saw him, he’d kill her. Elana knew this as well as she knew right now her insides had turned to jelly and her heart beat as if she’d run a marathon.

Libby would be helpless against the cold-blooded killer.

Silent mode was out the window now. Elana raised the walkie-talkie to her lips. She needed Harry and his gun here faster.

Before she could make the call, the sound of a door crashing into a wall was followed by a shrill scream.

Fear held her hostage and every animal instinct coupled with horrible memories from her past urged Elana to flee. But she couldn’t. No one had moved to help her when Demidas had shot her parents and kidnapped her off a busy Russian street. She refused to be a coward and leave Libby alone with a killer. She refused to bury her head in the sand.

Elana ran as quickly and quietly as she could. Harry was on his way. The campus police would be en route also. Could she distract and delay the Boss? Make him chase her?

God, what in the hell was she thinking? But could she live with herself if she didn’t do something to help Libby?

She unclenched her jaw and then screamed, “I heard you and Crocker. I’ve called security. Campus police are on their way.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” the Boss roared. “Goddamn fucking snooping piece of ass.” From the sound of his voice, he was on the hunt, approaching her position. She moved in the opposite direction, keeping bookshelves between them.

There was still no sound from Libby. Was she hiding? Or was she hurt and scared?

“I saw you.” Elana circled back around to approach the graduate study rooms. “I heard what you told Crocker to do. You’ll be caught.”

“You’re dead, bitch.” The Boss’s tone was cold and calm in its certainty.

Elana peered through the stacks. And then she actually did
see
him.

The Boss was tall, maybe six-foot-two or so when compared to the height of the stacks. He had dark, close-cropped, military-style hair. He was dressed in a navy pullover sweater, a pale blue dress shirt sticking out at the collar, and what looked like designer jeans. The type of clothing any Georgetown fan might wear to a basketball game on a mild night in early December. He had the military bearing to go with the haircut—and she’d bet her 401(k) he was either currently military or former.

He’d gone silent—stalking her like an animal—and held a matte black gun as if he knew exactly how to use it. He was in the aisle parallel to hers. He’d find her soon.

Where the hell was Harry? God, she hoped he hadn’t been patrolling the parking garage when she’d sent the emergency signal. It would take him twice as long to get to her and Libby.

Keep moving, Ellie.

Elana, all her senses hyper-aware, headed toward Libby’s position after she saw the Boss’s head move toward the other end of the room, toward the back stairs.

When she spotted Libby’s motionless body on the floor in front of her study room, memories of her mother lying on a cold Moscow street―dying―overwhelmed her…“You fucking bastard!” she screamed, her cry echoing around the room. “You hurt Libby.”

Elana raced along the parallel aisle toward the back of the room. Toward the Boss. When she heard him coming, she stopped. With a strength fueled by rage and fear, she dug in her heels and shoved at a section of bookshelves. The stack fell over and landed with a booming crash.

“What the fuck?” His shout was furious. Her heart sank. She’d missed.

Elana ducked behind a section of couch seating at the juncture of aisles.

He let off a couple of wild shots.
Pfft. Pfft.
One of the shots tore a hole in a couch next to her. She gasped and then clamped her mouth shut. Keeping low, she duck-walked until she was behind another section of bookshelves.