Chapter Nineteen

“Comm check,” Jamaal’s disembodied voice ordered through the burner phone at Jake’s ear while he walked with long quick strides toward the front door of Poindexter’s building and right into his lobby. The thick glass opened silently. An information desk stood at the center. Two hallways branched behind the desk, one to the right, one to the left. Eight elevator doors lined the wall between the entrances to those hallways.

“Copy that,” Jake replied smoothly. He’d donned a pair of dark glasses for added anonymity, and to conceal his black eyes. The glasses were cheap knock offs, similar to the Oakleys he’d once owned in the Corps, but they’d do. With his phone in his ear, he hoped he looked like any other arrogant, too-busy-to-be-bothered yuppie owner of a high-tech empire.

“Copy that,” Lacy’s sweet voice answered calmly. Her backpack hung off his right shoulder with the concealed pistol tucked in an inside pocket. He wished he’d taken the time to handle it, but the honest truth was, he plain didn’t want to. He’d used others just like it to take a few lives in his dismal past. It was only there as a last resort.

If there was ever a time to be one hundred percent focused, it was now. Jamaal had taken up position outside Poindexter’s building, while Lacy remained glued to the window inside the Starbucks across the street.

Jake grinned to himself. Beneath that innocent demeanor of hers was one damned tough woman. Lacy might look like strawberries and cream, but there was a definite shot of Jack Daniels splashed over her sweetness. Make her mad enough, and, whoosh, stand back and watch her burn, baby. Then promise you’ll never do it again.

“May I help you?” the young male security guard at the desk asked. Busy people walked by on their way in and out of the lobby.

“Just point me to Rafe Poindexter’s office, kid,” Jake answered smoothly.

“Is he expecting you?”

Jake offered his biggest smile, shifting the phone at his ear up enough to speak to the guard. “Probably not, but I’m an old frat buddy. Name’s Bernie Rothschild. Bet you’ve heard that name before.” He cocked a brash eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m the guy who got one over on Rafe on the Williamsburg deal. Let me guess. Top floor? Penthouse? The dog. He’s made a killing since then, hasn’t he?”

The guard cocked his head. “I have no idea who you are and I wouldn’t know. Mr. Poindexter runs a professional office. His office in on the first floor, not in the penthouse. Go past the elevators, take the left hall, and keep walking. You can’t miss it.”

Jake nodded his thanks, hitched the backpack up higher, and off he went with his cell phone still at his ear. “You guys copy that?” he asked his team.

“Sure did,” Jamaal came back to him. “Anyone we know?”

“No, and thank you for asking,” Jake replied cheerily as he sauntered past three women in stacked heels and tight skirts. The blonde in the middle shot him a brilliant smile, which earned her a quick smile and a nod.

“Thank me for asking what?” Jamaal asked.

“Nothing. I had company. Had to make it sound good.”

“Would it have been those three hot chicks who just exited the building?” Was there a little snark in Lacy’s voice?

“Why yes, it’s about time,” Jake had no choice but to keep up the routine as a bevy of male agents stormed out of one of the office doors at his left and nearly ran him over. “Excuse me for being in your way,” he shot over his shoulder, but not a one bothered with an apology. Guess the real estate market had taken a dip or something. None of those guys looked happy.

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” Jamaal muttered.

“And keep walking.” That was Lacy. “I want you out of there in ten minutes or less.”

“Will do,” Jake breathed, his palms clammy now that he was deep in the heart of Poindexter RE, Inc.

According to Marlee, more Cambodia girls were being brought into the country tomorrow. If he couldn’t pull off this Hail Mary pass today, every single one of them was in serious trouble. The reminder of all they’d have to endure sat like a heavy stone in his gut.

Jake kept walking. The security guard was correct about not being able to miss Poindexter’s office. Expansive plate glass windows lined a large portion of the south wall near the rear exit door, right before the hall expanded into a reception area. Glittering chandeliers hung beneath a mirrored ceiling. Strategically placed greenery and leather couches proclaimed cozy sitting while several big screen wall-mounted televisions played listing after listing of million-dollar real estate properties along the East Coast, as far south as Florida. Life-sized photos of Poindexter Real Estate agents with smiling customers adorned the rest of the wall space. All a prospective buyer had to do was walk through the open doors and straight into the spider’s trap.

“I’m in the reception area,” Jake murmured. “I see Poindexter’s office.”

Who could miss the tinted glass wall between his office and the reception area?

“Don’t hang up,” Lacy barked. “It helps to hear what’s happening on your end.”

“And that’s why you invested in me,” he proclaimed loud enough for the receptionist to take notice. “Hold, please.”

Trim and young, she gave him a dazzling smile right out of a toothpaste commercial. “Why hello there. What can I do for you?” Her bright blue eyes raked him over. She wrinkled her nose at him, coming on strong.

Jake shook off his doubt, imagined he once more wore his USMC Teflon coating. Extending his hand, he repeated his cover. “Bernie Rothschild at your service, ma’am. I’ve come to pay Rafe my respects for one-upping me in the real estate market and…” He dropped his brows as if he had top-secret intel to share. “If you want to know the truth, I’m hoping to catch him in a good mood. I’ve got an offer he’ll want in on for sure. Is he in?”

“Damn, you’re good at this, bro,” Jamaal whispered.

Miss Blonde-and-Flirty’s eyes lit up. “An offer?” She scrunched her shoulders as if they shared a secret. “We like offers around here, but…” Tap, tap went her fingertips on her telephone. “Let me check with his secretary. Annette will know if Mr. Poindexter is receiving visitors.”

Jake gave her what once was his best come-on-down grin. It used to work. Sure enough, while she waited for her call to go through, she slid a business card across the desk. “Ah, Annette? There’s a Mr. Rothschild here to speak with Mr. Poindexter. Is he...? Oh, I see. Yes, of course. Ah-huh, sure. Yes, ma’am.”

The phone went back into its cradle with a decided ‘thunk’, and those flirty blues were all business. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Poindexter is out of the office. May I take a number where he can reach you?”

Jake slid the dark glasses down his nose, baring his black eyes. Women loved a wounded man. It triggered their nurturing natures—or something. “Listen, Miss” —he glanced at the card— “Constance Garritty. Connie, huh? That’s my mother’s name. What a coincidence.”

“Is not,” Jamaal hissed.

Jake pressed the phone against his cheek to muffle his buddy’s big mouth. “Listen, Connie. I’ve come a long ways to clue my old friend in on the deal of a lifetime. If he’s going to be out of the office the rest of the day, I’ll leave, but this deal expires when the stock market closes.” He waggled his brows, hinting at insider trading. “Mind if I hang around for an hour or two, just in case he shows in the nick of time?”

Her brows dipped into a cute little, worried V. “You poor thing!” she gushed. “What happened? Who hit you?”

Glad you asked. Jake rolled those black and blues, wincing because his nose really did hurt. “Damn. I forgot about them. You won’t believe it, but a stingray clobbered me two days ago while my buddy and I were diving off the reef. It’s the funniest story.”

“That buddy’d better been me.”

Jake darn near rolled his eyes again. Hello, Jamaal. This story is F-I-C-T-I-O-N!

“The Great Barrier Reef?” Now he had Miss Garritty hooked. “In Australia? I’ve always wanted to go there. What’s it like?” Her elbows slipped to the top of her desk as her chin dipped to rest on her clasped hands.

Jake fingered her business card. “Why don’t you find out for yourself? I’m going to Bora Bora next month. You wouldn’t be interested in a business trip, would you? Is this a good number to reach you?”

Miss Garritty bounced out of her chair as if she’d been stung by a hornet. Reaching for the card, she scribbled on the back of it. “There. That’s a better number for me. It’s my personal cell and I always answer it. Call me. Any time. I can be out of here tomorrow if you need me.”

He let his lips curl into what he hoped was a genuine smile, then folded his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket to show that he trusted her enough to reveal his true self. “Count on it. Now...” Jake glanced around the sitting area. “Where do you want me to sit while I wait?”

Around the desk she came with a grin on her face and a definite swish to her hips. “Let’s put you in Mr. Poindexter’s office, shall we? He won’t mind, and if Annette does…” Connie’s nose twitched. “That’s too bad, isn’t it? You’re a friend of Mr. Poindexter, and friends get special perks around here, I don’t care what she thinks.”

Jamaal snickered. “Special perks. Get it?”

Clenching his phone to his thigh now, Jake slipped his glasses out of his pocket and reinstated them on his nose as he followed Connie into a lavish suite. Lucky for him. A dark-haired woman had just entered Poindexter’s office through a side door. Talk about the evil eye, this woman had two of them.

“I thought I told you no,” she challenged Connie as the door clapped shut behind her.

Poor Miss Garritty wilted on-site. “I… I…”

“Annette! How nice to meet you.” Jake shifted automatically into the gregarious side of himself that he hadn’t been in years. “Blame me, not Miss Garritty for this intrusion.” He didn’t dare refer to her as Connie, not as sharp as Annette’s tongue was. “I’m afraid I never take no for an answer, so I might’ve steamrolled your associate here.”

Up went Annette’s nose. “Miss Plunkett to you and she’s a secretary, not an associate.”

All righty then. Miss Pain-in-the-Ass Plunkett it was. “So listen, I’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime offer for Rafe. You wouldn’t want to tell him he missed it because of a little scheduling problem, would you?” He extended his right hand, going for broke.

Miss Plunkett’s painted on brows arched nearly as high as the snarl on her upper lip, which Jake was pretty certain had been recently plumped with Botox. A lot of it.

Her nose wrinkled in that ewww-so-disgusted kind of way that uppity women had when forced to shake hands with a man of a lower station in life. “I don’t know when he’ll be back,” she bit out as poor Connie slinked out the way she’d come in.

Come on, Weylin. Pour on the charm. You used to do this kind of stuff for a living.

“Lucky for me, I’ve got time.” Jake took the nearest high-back leather chair. His ass sank into the plush, blood-red cushion. “But as I was telling your receptionist, only until the stock market bell rings. Then…” He flicked an invisible piece of lint off his knee. “It’s sayonara for your dumb-assed boss.”

She scanned the reception area beyond Poindexter’s office where a young couple with potential buyer written all over their faces had just entered Connie’s office. Two male agents trolled along behind them. “Fine. Stay,” she snapped.

Jake jumped to his feet to grab the plate glass door for her, watching the transformation. The two agents stepped aside and closer to Poindexter’s office to make room for Miss Plunkett. Annette’s deep red lips curled into a smile. Her eyes brightened, and this was easier than Jake expected. Out the door she went, shouting over Connie, “Good morning! What may I show you today?”

One of the male agents tilted into his buddy’s shoulder and whispered, “Shit, I hate her guts.”

“She’s sleeping with Poindexter, you know,” the other muttered conspiratorially. “I’ve seen them together, the bitch.”

“She’s not the first. She won’t be the last.”

“No, but she’s the worst. He’s giving her all the corporate accounts and—”

Jake closed Poindexter’s door, shutting the drama out and himself in. It turned out he wasn’t in a spider’s web at all. This was more like a shark tank, and those two young kids with stars in their eyes had just chummed the water, creating a feeding frenzy and the perfect distraction. Things were looking up. Rafe’s employees wanted sales and each other’s blood. Jake was in their way. Good deal.

“I’m in,” he told his two accomplices over the phone. “One guard at the desk in the foyer. Three agents in the reception area outside Poindexter’s office. A dozen or so civilians coming and going.” And one poor receptionist who needs to find another job.

“Copy that,” Jamaal and Lacy replied simultaneously.

Jake set the backpack beside the door for a quick getaway. “Remember how we thought someone might spoil our plans and contact him to tell him he has a visitor? It doesn’t look like anyone cares.”

“That might buy you a few more minutes, but once he gets to Bolling, he’s not going to sit around and wait when Lacy doesn’t show,” Jamaal advised. “With one call, his security will be all over your ass. You’ll be caught red-handed. It won’t be pretty.”

“Copy that,” Jake whispered. “Listen guys. I need both hands to get this search done. I’ll call right back.”

“Copy that,” Jamaal replied.

“Be safe,” Lacy murmured and Jake nearly buckled. The last thing she needed was another death on her hands, and if this op went sideways? He shook his head at all the ways this day could end, none of them good.

“You know I will,” he promised. Instead of pressing end call, he only pocketed his phone.

Rafe knew how to decorate. His office was more polished glass and wood than Jake had seen in a long time. An expensive looking carved desk dominated the room. A smaller table with matching wooden chairs sat off to the other side of the expansive room. A person could play baseball in there, but there was no time to waste gawking.

With one eye on the goings on in the reception area, Jake took a quick look behind the large mural of an ocean behind Rafe’s desk. No wall safe. Moving to the three closet doors on the wall behind the conference table, he discovered that one was a walk-in closet, but the other two doors led to a full-sized bathroom and a smaller meeting room. Damn. They all needed to be searched.

He processed them quickly, checking for air vent covers that might be loose, hidden wall panels, or anything suspicious. Nothing. Returning to the main office, his heart kicked up a few beats. The outer office was now clear of agents and customers. Even Connie was nowhere in sight, but where would Rafe keep a deep dark secret? Definitely not too far from his fingertips. The information had to be here somewhere.

So find it.

The desk? Jake pulled the center pencil drawer all the way out. Sliding his hand inside, his fingertips traced the underside of the desktop. Nothing. All the drawers opened easily, and he performed the same search on them all. Still nothing. The more he searched, the tighter his nerves stretched. Nothing in the place was locked or suspicious. The clock kept ticking and the odds were against him. Rafe might already be on his way back, but Jake had found zero. Zilch. Nada. He stood and stretched his back, worried he’d risked Jamaal and Lacy for nothing.

Damn. It has to be here. Dr. Presley said it was. She died passing her intel to Lacy.

Panic started an annoying tap, tap, tap at the back of his neck. Icy fingers trailed down his spine. Zack always told him not to let the little things rattle him and to think. Settle down. Take it easy. Steady and smooth. Deep breath. Exhale slowly. Take your best shot. Don’t get mad. Get even.

Jake gulped. I can do this. For all those little girls, I have to do this.

He dropped to the floor to check the underside of the desk, his ears straining to hear anything but the silence of this deadly predator’s man cave. The carpet was thick and plush. He wouldn’t be able to hear footsteps on the other side of the desk if he was caught. So hurry!

I am! He rolled to his back for a better view. The desk rested on four ornately carved footings, but there was no hidden safe secured to the bottom of it. No envelopes taped anywhere. No hidden compartment. Shit. Nothing.

He caught sight of the cordless screwdriver setting in a charger below the pencil drawer then. Why’d Rafe need that? Didn’t he have a maintenance crew? Or was he just the kind of a guy who liked to handle his own small repairs? Yeah, right. Jake removed the tool from its charger. Designed with a pivot handle, the thing fit snug in his hand. Curious.