Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The heavy clank of boots on metal stairs announced the men’s return before Cici saw them.
Souza appeared first in the doorway, his expression grim. Behind him, Mendez and Falcone shuffled like schoolboys caught skipping class, their earlier bravado replaced by something that looked suspiciously like fear.
Gagnon must’ve seen what she did because he pushed off the desk. “Well?”
The silence stretched, coiling around the room.
“We searched everywhere,” Falcone finally said, his Boston accent heavy. “The bike was totaled, thrown all over the rocks. We went through every piece.”
“And?” Gagnon’s voice remained dangerously calm.
Mendez shifted his weight, still avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t there?” Gagnon seemed to be daring the man to say it again.
“The bag.” Falcone spread his hands. “We looked everywhere. Under the bike, in the water, scattered through the rocks. Nothing.”
Before Gagnon could respond, more footsteps echoed outside, and then four more men filed in. They were trim and powerful, clad in black, from their jackets to their boots, and each carried a veritable arsenal of weapons.
Cici’s blood turned cold. These weren’t untrained street thugs. These men moved with the same controlled precision she’d seen in Grant and her father. They moved with a military bearing. Trained. Disciplined.
Lethal.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she studied their faces—hard lines, cold eyes. Were these professional killers? Or some kind of commando team? Whoever they were, they certainly weren’t the low-budget goons she’d grown accustomed to.
“Gentlemen.” Gagnon’s demeanor shifted, his confidence visibly swelling.
A man with graying temples and a scar bisecting his left eyebrow stepped forward, clearly the leader. “Situation?”
Gagnon glanced toward Mendez and Falcone. “We require protection. It’s imperative that our guest remains with us.” His gaze flicked to Cici.
The leader’s gaze swept the room, lingering on Cici for a moment before returning to Gagnon. “Enemies?”
“She has people who are trained and lethal.”
Who did he fear would show up? Dad, maybe Grant and Michael. Oh, and Callan. He was former CIA, so surely Dad would get him involved.
Of course, GBPA had been hired to protect her. They’d be coming as well.
The question was, did any of them know where she was?
“And?” the scarred soldier asked.
“Something of mine has gone missing, and these men haven’t been able to find it.” He glared at Falcone and Mendez, who’d backed into the corner nearest her and watched the scene silently.
“Timeline?”
“The longer this drags on, the more exposure I face. Meaning, the sooner I get my property back, the better for everyone involved, your boss included. Get it for me tonight, and there’ll be a six-figure bonus in it for you.” His gaze traveled among the newcomers. “For each of you,”
The man’s broken eyebrow twitched. “What kind of security are you offering?”
Gagnon waved the words away as irrelevant. “If you give me an account—your account, not your boss’s—I’ll transfer half now. It’ll be our secret.”
The commando leader pulled a small notepad from one of his many pockets, bent over the table, and wrote something down. Then, he slid the paper toward Gagnon. “I trust you to get it done. Tell us what we’re dealing with.”
The leader and his men focused on Gagnon, who opened a laptop on his desk. They leaned in, studying what she assumed was a map.
They were effectively shutting Souza and the other two out, a fact that couldn’t be lost on them.
They were so engaged in their conversation that, if she weren’t tied up and surrounded by hulking killers, she’d make a run for it. She was surprised Souza, Falcone, and Mendez didn’t take the opportunity.
But they couldn’t, could they? Gagnon held leverage over all of them—threats against loved ones, debts to bosses, secrets that could destroy lives. He’d trapped them as surely as he’d trapped her.
The leader studied whatever Gagnon showed him. “Site’s been searched?”
“Thoroughly.” Gagnon’s jaw tightened. “They say my property wasn’t there.”
“Someone took it.” The leader glared at Falcone and Mendez. “Or it was never there to begin with.”
It had been there, though. The velvet bag had been in her purse, beneath the motorcycle’s seat. How had they not found it?
It didn’t make sense.
When Gagnon and the soldier bent over his phone again, Mendez and Falcone started whispering, though by the little she picked up, they weren’t sharing juicy secrets. They were arguing.
Mendez got in Falcone’s face. “Do it, and I’ll kill you myself.”
She turned back to Gagnon and the other soldiers, who paid no attention.
Souza was watching through narrowed eyes.
A thump sounded, and Falcone stumbled back, crashing into the file cabinet she was propped against.
She ducked.
He fell, bumping her shoulder before scrambling away.
And then Mendez was on top of him, punching, pounding.
Souza and one of the other men yanked them apart.
Mendez could barely stay upright, his face bloodied and bruised.
“Tell him!” Falcone shouted. “Tell him or I will.”
“The bodyguard.” Mendez’s voice was garbled. He wiped blood that dripped from his nose, gaze flicking from Falcone to Gagnon. “His body wasn’t at the crash site.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Cici’s heart pounded. Asher’s body hadn’t been there, which meant…
Asher was alive?
“What did you say?” Gagnon’s tone lowered to that terrifying whisper.
“He looked dead,” Mendez stammered, his mangled face paling. “I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I figured after I tossed him over the edge…” He stopped, realizing he was digging his grave deeper with every word.
The man who’d hoisted Mendez up let him go and moved away. Souza and Falcone did the same, leaving Mendez on his own, only inches from Cici.
She curled herself into a ball, covering her head with her arms as if she could protect herself.
The gunshot was deafeningly loud in the confined space.
Cici screamed.
Mendez collapsed beside her, blood pooling beneath his still form. Her ears rang, and she pressed herself against the filing cabinet so hard the metal handles dug into her spine.
“Clean that up.” Gagnon’s voice was eerily calm.
When nobody moved, she dared to peek.
Falcone stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at the man’s body.
“Now,” Gagnon snapped.
Falcone’s skin had taken on a green pallor, and she feared he’d vomit, but he bent and grabbed Mendez beneath the arms and dragged him toward the door, the man’s blood leaving a dark smear across the concrete floor.
The scarred leader watched, then turned his attention to Gagnon, apparently unbothered by the execution he’d just witnessed. “If the bodyguard’s alive—”
“Then he’s coming.” Gagnon checked his phone screen, then blew out a breath. “Still no sign of the locator.” His gaze flicked to Cici. He smoothed his tie, regaining his composure with disturbing ease.
“You think he’ll be able to track her down?”
“He’s proved irritatingly competent,” Gagnon said.
“We’ll be ready.” The leader turned to one of his cohorts. “Warn the men to be on the lookout.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier stepped out the door, tapping his ear before talking into some sort of communication device.
Asher might be alive, but the hope that had soared at the prospect now crashed in pieces. Because if he was, then Gagnon was right—he’d come for her. But he’d have no idea what he was walking into.