Wild Vault (Tyson Wild Thriller #95)

Chapter 1

We arrived first on the scene.

Two more squad cars screeched into the parking lot behind us, lights flashing, sirens screaming. The EMTs and paramedics weren't far behind.

JD and I hopped out of the sheriff’s squad car with weapons drawn. We made our way to the front of the building with Sheriff Daniels and the other officers.

An employee with terrified eyes held the door open and ushered us inside the secure area.

His gold nameplate above his breast pocket read: Cody Harwell.

The private security guard’s uniform resembled that of the C.C.S.O.

, but not as sharp. Not quite authentic.

But there was nothing fake about his sidearm.

We moved into the lobby and cleared the space, our barrels sweeping the corners.

"They’re gone," Cody said.

You can never be too careful.

A desk inside the lobby provided a place for visitors to check in and show ID. Behind the desk were security monitors that pumped in feeds from the cameras around the building.

The private vault touted bank-level security and insurance.

It was a state-of-the-art facility. A place to house your most prized possessions without the added scrutiny of a bank manager looking over your shoulder.

Want to hide gold, precious jewels, or a crypto wallet from your wife during a divorce?

A safe deposit box at The Vault would be just the place.

If you needed something a little more secure with a little more space, private 5x10 vaults were available. Climate-controlled, they were perfect for storing precious artwork, antiques, and larger items that wouldn't necessarily fit in a safe deposit box.

The secure boxes and vaults were housed behind another layer of security. The door to the secure area was wedged open, presumably to make it easier for emergency responders to enter the crime scene.

"This way," Cody said, escorting us down the hallway past rows and rows of safe-deposit boxes of all sizes.

A private 5x10 vault was open.

As we passed, I noticed it was empty.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened.

At the end of the hallway, another security guard was down. Blood pooled around the body. The facility manager applied pressure to the wound, trying to stem the tide of blood, but that was a hopeless cause.

Sweat beaded on the manager’s forehead, and he looked as pale as the victim. The fallen guard had taken a shot to the neck. He was dead, but the manager didn’t want to let it go. Not yet.

With the area secure, EMTs stormed in behind us. The manager finally moved aside and let them take over. But there was nothing they could do.

The manager backed away, his hands covered in fresh blood.

He didn't particularly want to wipe them on his designer suit, but he did anyway.

The dark charcoal suit was custom-tailored and fit him to perfection.

It was crisp and clean. The white-collared shirt looked sharp and full of starch.

The red tie tucked into his waistcoat made him look every bit the banker.

With a slightly chubby face, a bushy mustache, and coiffed brown hair, he fit the part.

"What happened?" I asked.

Charles, the manager, took a deep breath and steadied himself.

His hands still trembled. "It happened so fast." He paused, and his voice quivered.

"We were having problems with the HVAC unit.

I called the repair company we contract with.

They said they'd be right out. I didn't think anything of it when they showed up. We let them in, and I escorted them into the vault area to the roof access.” Anger tightened his face.

“I don't know who designed the building, but they should never have put the roof access in the secure area.

Anyway, I thought everything was going fine.

There were three of them. One went up to the roof and evaluated the situation while two stayed down here.

The guy on the roof came back down and told me they needed to cut the power while they worked on the unit.

Fine. I anticipated as much. Don't want anyone electrocuted.

Shortly after that, they put a gun to my head and forced me to use my key to assist them in opening Vault Seven.

" Charles shook his head. "I still don't know how they got it open.

It requires key code access as well as biometric authentication.

They made me use my handprint. It seemed like they had the numeric keycode.

" He let out a frustrated exhale. "I can tell you this—it was a coordinated effort. That's for sure.”

"What happened to the guard?” I asked, nodding to the gunshot victim.

Charles frowned. "We have a no resistance policy.” He muttered, “I’d appreciate it if you didn't share that with anyone.” He took a breath.

“But if someone comes in here and tries to rob us, we are to stand down.

The owner's philosophy is that nothing is worth a human life. I guess James thought he was going to stop them.” His eyes filled, and he choked up a bit.

“He drew his pistol and fired a shot at one of the assailants, but he missed. They returned fire. Next thing I knew, he was on the ground.”

He wiped his eyes.

"What did the perps take?"

"I'm not sure what was in the vault. We have a no questions policy. As long as it’s not flammable or explosive, we don’t care what people store here. The perps walked out with several black duffel bags. As you can see, they cleaned the place out. I don't think there's anything left.”

"Who owns the vault?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. We take privacy seriously. I will contact the owners and let them know of their loss.”

“Can you describe the perps?“ I asked.