Chapter 6 #3
Bloody hell. Some information could be terribly misleading. Without much of a choice, he relented. “One day, that’s it,” Alexander commanded. He rubbed his temples. “You have until the morning. I want them in the house by lunch. Understood?”
“Copy that, boss,” Stan replied before hanging up the phone.
“Well,” Alexander said, turning his gaze to Sam, who had come into the kitchen while he’d been on the phone.
“She didn’t tell me anything, Alex. I swear.” She held up a hand to enforce the point. “I’m as surprised as you.”
“Well, someone has my wife’s ire,” he mused, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He couldn’t be sure what was going through that terribly clever head of hers, but he’d assume it wasn’t good, considering she’d up and left. With his children.
He’d finally had them all under one roof—two, if you counted his temporary residence next door—and he was more than displeased they were gone.
But he’d known that the longer they put off telling her, the more likely something of this sort might occur.
Too bad it had happened in the middle of the night when he was none the wiser.
Gathered in the kitchen together, Alex felt everyone look to him expectantly. He motioned with his head. “Move. Stephen, you’re with me today.”
“Wait!” Sam called as she stood up from the large overstuffed chair that was her favorite. “You can’t just not do anything about it.” Her face was crestfallen.
“Not do anything about it?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Samantha, I’ve given them thirty-six hours, of which I will count each second.
If they’re not safely back here, in this kitchen, by lunch tomorrow, I will move heaven and earth to retrieve them.
And I can assure you, if that happens, they will wish like hell I hadn’t. ”
“If you hear anything—” she started, but Alexander cut her off.
“I’ll let you know. I expect the same.”
The mood was grim as their caravan wound along the Pacific highway.
Alexander’s mobile command center, a black XL Navigator, drove as always in the middle of four others.
All of the trucks in their fleet were customized to some degree, but his was completely tricked out, as they said in twenty-first-century lingo.
A sectional in the back wrapped around the cab with ample legroom in the center.
Computer screens and outlets for countless gadgets were everywhere.
Always driven by Gregor, with Trevor riding shot gun, he and Michael and Stephen were in back.
Calder Defense’s offices occupied what had been JDL Security’s pièce de résistance, a stunning state-of-the-art eighteen-story glass building with ocean and mountain views.
A new logo was now affixed to the building, which looked amazing.
While there was a perfunctory street entrance, this particular facility was equipped with underground parking, from where they packed into two of the four elevators in the garage, arriving seconds later to the top floor, which housed their personal offices.
“Katie,” he said, nodding to their receptionist, who’d worked under Art’s tutelage for well over ten years.
She greeted him in kind and handed him a clean schedule, identical to the one she’d sent to his phone.
Sure, she looked like the typical modern-day professional working at any office, but Katie, like all of their employees, had military training.
So, while she could smile and answer the phone and emails, and arrange any number of tasks, she was also trained in Krav Maga and was a skilled marksman to boot.
Should trouble darken their doors, Katie was a brilliant first line of defense.
Stephen hadn’t been here since he’d had their new furniture delivered, so, momentarily distracted from his runaway wife and children, Alex eagerly ushered his brother inside his corner suite with stunning views, eager to point out the improvements.
Alexander left Stephen behind his desk a few minutes later, where he was diving into some new instructional videos Trevor had put together for him. There was never enough for them to learn, including ever-evolving technologies and current business practices.
When this business with Amanda was over, Stephen would take Alex’s place at Calder Defense, or somewhere within the confines of Montgomery Enterprises.
Whatever he wanted was okay by Alexander as long as his brother was happy.
And as Stephen felt guilty, misguidedly so, for what had ultimately happened that day they’d lost Amanda and Callie, his brother’s well-being and satisfaction were paramount.
Alexander checked on Gregor next, but didn’t find him in his office, even though Alex had had a wall of flat-screens installed for him.
Irritated, Alex went back out to reception and— “Bloody hell, Gregor.” Alexander stopped halfway down the hall.
Gregor was leaning over the counter of the reception desk, trying once again to charm Katie.
Not one for nonsense, Alex grabbed him by the collar as he passed and pushed him forward.
“I’ll call you later, Katie,” Gregor yelled over his shoulder, trying to turn around and look at her.
“You don’t even have her number,” Alexander reminded him.
“Not yet, Alex,” Gregor said, shaking his head. “But it’s just a matter of time, my friend.”
“Of course it is.” Alexander rolled his eyes, then watched Gregor do a ridiculous He-Man impression—or the Hulk, he couldn’t keep them straight—when he saw the new flat-screens set up. He held up his hand, however, when Gregor tried to go in for a chest bump. Not Alexander’s style.
The TVs weren’t for business. Gregor loved sports.
And not just the big leagues, he had a penchant for anything fast and competitive.
And some not so fast. When Alexander left him, he’d already switched the TVs on to sixteen different events.
All on silent, of course, since Gregor actually had a real job because they had all decided it wasn’t enough to sit around and collect interest on what they’d brought with them, that they had to earn money as well.
Besides, they were all former military men, so what better than this? As his wife would say—Seriously!
Bloody hell, he missed her and he wanted her—them—home. Now. He checked the face of his Breitling again; thirty-three hours, twelve minutes—yes, he was counting.
Knowing that there was nothing more he could do on the Amanda front for the moment, Alexander turned his attention to work.
Day by day, he was beginning to understand just what it was that his company did.
Between Art explaining the mechanics of the overall operations and Trevor and Michael helping him with specifics, he was catching on.
He had the personality, the cunning, and the command down, but in order to learn even more of the fundamentals of today’s business practices, he’d sat in on the training of some of their most recent administrative hires.
All of them wounded warriors. Just because someone was disabled or disfigured didn’t disqualify them from performing a job.
Comrades beget comrades. And what better than something within the realm of security and surveillance?
He wasn’t learning code or anything of the sort but understanding which buttons to push and when had helped.
After a few more perfunctory hellos, he entered his office, a large space filled with a massive desk and a sitting area.
Large couches and chairs, a sixty-inch plasma TV, and a table for smaller meetings.
He had his own bathroom, which was outfitted with a shower, two sinks, a comfortable chaise and table, and a private toilet room as well.
Stephen’s and Gregor’s suites were the same.
Settling behind his desk, he looked at the stack of paperwork in front of him.
Mostly contracts that needed his signature.
He was just about to call Chris, who was in New York waiting for them, when Stan checked in again.
It was his hourly perfunctory text: Amanda and the kids are well.
At least he was giving him that—bare minimum though it was.
They left for the private airport after his call with Chris. They had a six-hour flight, a two-hour dinner meeting, and then six hours back, including travel to and from airports. They’d be exhausted and back in California around midnight.
“Well?” Alexander asked Trevor. He hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived at the offices earlier and now in the truck, he wanted to know what he’d been able to find.
Trevor held up his laptop and shook his head. “Stan’s disabled his tracker, and must have done the same to Mrs. Montgomery’s and Callie’s.”
While Alexander knew Amanda and the children were safe—Stan would make sure of that—he preferred to know exactly where they were at all times.
Was that too much to ask? He’d feared the unfathomable for so long and thought the trackers he’d put on their phones would have been enough, but now he wished he could have them all chipped like he’d heard people did with pets.
Leave it to Stan to give her the modicum of privacy she needed. Still, Trevor pointed out excitedly, Stan hadn’t disabled the systems on her Range Rover or that of the penthouse in Chicago. The team knew when she arrived safely at her residence and when they were buttoned up snugly for the night.
When their caravan arrived at their Manhattan operations, they were filmed by a few news crews entering what was now Montgomery Enterprises Inc.
headquarters, which had been happening with increasing frequency now that the acquisition had made headlines.
The meeting was over by ten and then they headed back home.
It was a long day, but at least as they settled on the plane, countdown was at twenty-three hours, six minutes.
Back in Cali, Alexander walked through his foyer, passing the long hallway to the left that led to the kitchen.
He continued beyond an enormous powder room, then entered the living room.
It was a beautiful house, but what he wanted was a home, with his wife and children.
He poured a scotch and then stood in the terrace doorway that faced Amanda’s property.
He hated seeing it so darkened. Devoid of his family.
Early the next morning he hit the lights in the gym, taped his hands as he’d been taught, and instructed Siri to play “Dream On” on repeat.
Then he spent the next hour beating the hell out the bags that hung from the ceiling.
Afterward, he lay spent on the floor, wondering how life could change so very drastically in what was a relatively short period of time.
The remainder of the morning involved pacing the courtyard, foyer, and terrace on Amanda’s property. Lunch came and went. An hour later, Alexander, his men, and Samantha boarded the Calder Defense jet, intent on bringing Amanda home.
I am so coming to get you, sweetheart.