CHAPTER TWELVE

 

Two weeks later

 

 

Trace sat in his office at Rocklin Construction, looking over the landscape architect’s plans for Kiki’s yard. That included the renovation of the antique fountain in front, the one she was so determined to restore as the highlight of the yard. Big and heavy, the fountain itself was some kind of architectural masterpiece that the landscape architect was in love with almost as much as Kiki was.

The young, highly educated Hispanic man, who had done a lot of work for Rocklin in the past, had taken a million pictures of the thing on the day he showed up to walk the property and when he came back the next day, he’d brought some guy who was an expert in antique fountains with a background in Art History. The older man with the buzz cut and big, round glasses had praised the fountain’s design before carefully inspecting the piece.

As Trace and Kiki had watched with great curiosity, the fountain expert had crawled all around the fountain and even got into it at one point, inspecting the underbelly of the part that actually spilled the water forth, and declared that it was from the turn-of-the-last-century French designer by the name of Henri de la Mere. It was cast iron encased in a type of clay that, when fired, gave it a very hard and timeless finish. It was evidently a patented process and the expert gave a great explanation on how it was done and why the fountain was so valuable.

In fact, he offered to buy it from Kiki for twenty thousand dollars in cash but she politely refused, saying that the house wouldn’t be complete without its fountain. The art designer agreed but told her that he would be the first one to buy it should she change her mind. Kiki assured him that she never would, so the expert and the landscape designer got together to figure out a way to restore the fountain to full working order as part of the entire landscape redesign process.

So the process of restoring the house went on with Trace as a very big part of it. A little over two weeks after meeting the beautiful Kiki Delohr Conrad, he felt as if he’d known her forever. He felt as if they’d always been together, just the two of them, the farting dog, and her giggly daughters who had returned to college twelve days ago. But those three days he’d spent with the girls and their mother had been amazing days.

After getting the girls’ permission to move in with their mother, Trace had his own bedroom in the house, right across the hall from Kiki’s, and she was the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. She had dinner waiting for him nightly and he called her several times throughout the day simply to hear her voice. It was the fastest relationship he’d ever been a part of but nothing in his life had ever felt so right. Everything about it was meant to be as far as he was concerned. He felt as if he were walking on air, every day, and he’d never felt like that in his life. Giddy was a good word for it.

He was in love.

He hadn’t told her that yet, though. It never seemed to be the right time. Telling a woman he loved her after not even knowing her three weeks seemed like rushing things a bit, but his heart told him otherwise. Was there even a time frame on love? Trace had been in love, once, a long time ago when he’d first met his wife, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. He couldn’t even remember that time, really. All he knew was that, here and now, was the best time of his life. He’d never been happier.

“Hey.” His brother, Shaun, was standing in the doorway. Big and blond, Sean was the middle brother and by far the most genius of the group. He came into Trace’s office, papers in his hand. “Did you see that Andre Mercado is billing us for the art historian’s fee on the Conrad job?”

Trace shook his head. “I didn’t,” he replied, “but I was there when the guy came out to inspect the antique fountain. He helped Mercado get it up and running. As of yesterday, water was flowing through it once again. It’s really something to see. Mercado has water lilies in it and other aquatic plants. It’s gorgeous.”

Shaun grunted, looking at the invoice in his hand. “It should be at that price,” he said. “Ten thousand dollars for that guy to come out and tell you it was a French-designed fountain?”

Trace grinned. “It was worth it,” he said. “A French-designed fountain designed to look like an old Spanish water feature so it’s in tune with the architecture of the house. The restoration needed to be done by an expert.”

Shaun looked up from the paper, eyeing his brother. He knew, as did the rest of the family and the office in general, that Trace was living at Kiki Conrad’s big house over on Raymond in Pasadena. Trace’s official story for the first week was that he was simply helping out an old friend but it soon became very clear that it was far more than that. Kiki had even come to their offices, twice, to go to lunch with him and everyone had gotten a look at the woman that had Trace so enamored. The receptionist was very jealous and even went into the bathroom to cry about it, but everyone else had been very nice to Kiki. Especially Jesse and Shaun; anyone who had Trace’s heart was worth their respect. They couldn’t have been happier for their brother.

Rick Rocklin, however, was another story. Although very happy for his son, he had an element of reserve that no one else seemed to, unusual for the senior Rocklin. A softy for a beautiful woman, he was, nonetheless, rather reserved about his reaction to Trace moving into her house. Trace had even confronted his father about a week after he’d moved in and, over Jack Daniel’s Honey Whiskey and Coke, they’d hashed out the fact that Rick was simply concerned for his eldest son; concerned that the man was going to end up getting hurt again just as he’d been hurt when his wife had left him.

Two weeks later, Trace was still trying to convince his father that he and Kiki were the real deal. Jesse, and Shaun to a certain extent, was still trying to convince the old man as well. Anything that made Trace so happy couldn’t be all bad.

“Well,” Shaun finally said. “It’s your call, but just know that Mercado is already charging for this guy’s services. Is he done with the job?”

Trace nodded. “The fountain is running fine,” he said. “The guy replaced the inner workings, which ran on a kind of water-weight and pulley system, with electrical innards. I’m sure the fountain has never flowed as well as it does now. Kiki is happy and that’s all that matters.”

“Can I pay him?”

“You can.”

Shaun nodded. “You know that this job is well over what you estimated, right?” he asked. “Is Kiki okay with that?”

Trace cleared his throat softly, looking somewhat awkward now. “No,” he said, lowering his voice. “She doesn’t know. I haven’t told her because I’m going to cover the increase personally, so don’t worry about it. And don’t tell her if she calls to talk about invoices, okay?”

Shaun frowned. “You’re covering the increase?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But that’s at least forty thousand dollars by now.”

“Get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

Shaun simply shook his head and headed out of the office. It was clear that Trace didn’t want to talk about it, but it didn’t make any sense to him that his brother would pay for renovations on a house he didn’t even own. As Shaun passed down the hall, the receptionist walked by him, heading into Trace’s office. She knocked softly on the doorjamb.

“Trace?” she said. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Trace, who had just turned to his computer, looked over his shoulder at the very young receptionist who’d had a crush on him since she had started working there six months ago. “Who is it?” he asked.

The receptionist leaned into the doorway, hoping he was noticing her cleavage. “He says he’s an old friend,” she said. “Harry King?”

Trace stared at her as the name sank in. Harry King? God, that couldn’t be a good thing, not at all. Harry King arriving unannounced? Cross-country no less? Shocked, Trace stood up so quickly that he knocked a file folder off of his desk, scattering papers. But he didn’t notice; he was charging out of his office, heading for reception.

“Where is he?” he demanded. “Up front?”

The receptionist nodded, wondering why Trace suddenly looked so edgy. “Yes,” she replied as he stormed away from her. “He’s at my desk. I’ll pick up your papers!”

The last few words were shouted after him, but Trace didn’t acknowledge her. He kept walking, down the hall with the glass-walled offices, past Shaun and Jesse and his father, past the project manager’s bullpen, before emerging into the modestly decorated reception area.

Immediately, he saw a tall, good-looking African-American man standing near the front desk, inspecting a model of one of Rocklin’s former projects. Startled anew to see Harry King standing there, Trace walked right up to the man.

“Harry?” he said, incredulous. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Harry turned on Trace, his face lighting up with a megawatt smile. Harry had the whitest teeth Trace had ever seen. He extended his hand in greeting.

“God, you look terrible,” he said to Trace as the man shook his hand. “Living in California does nothing for you. You need to go back home.”

Trace couldn’t help but grin as Harry squeezed his hand. “This is my home,” he said. “So answer my question; what are you doing here? Are you on vacation?”

Harry let go of his hand. “No, no vacation,” he said, the smile on his face fading as he looked at Trace. “Do you have a minute?”

The bottom dropped out of Trace’s stomach; he knew, instinctively, that the coming conversation could not be a good thing. After his phone call with Harry two weeks ago, he was more than concerned to see the man here at his place of business. In fact, Harry was the only person who knew where Trace was because that’s the way he wanted it. Out of necessity for Trace’s former line of work, that’s the way it had to be. Now, he was growing nervous.

“Sure,” Trace said. “Let’s take a walk out in the parking lot. I’ll show you the building. It’s brand-new, you know. We just built it about a year ago.”

Harry had an odd look on his face. “How about we go into your office,” he said quietly. “Does it face the street?”

“It does.”

“Do you have a conference room or another room that doesn’t?”

Now, Trace was becoming very concerned. “Sure,” he said. “Come with me.”

Trace led Harry back down the hallway, introducing the man to his father and brothers as he went. They were all very happy to meet Harry and a few minutes of pleasant conversation ensued, but all the while, Trace was nearly crazy with the need to get the man alone. He’d come a very long way for a protected and private conversation and as Harry and Rick chatted, Trace’s mind wandered to the possibilities. He knew it had to do with Nathalia Nevredevova; there was nothing else it could be. But what did it have to do with her? Had something happened to her? Or to her father?

Trace couldn’t wait any longer to know. He had to break Harry away from his dad because he knew that Rick would talk the man’s ear off. Trace led Harry down to the end of the hall, took a right, and ended up in a small, executive conference room that was windowless. Shutting the door behind him, he faced Harry.

“What in the hell is going on?” he asked, his voice low. “Why the preventative recording protocols?”

Harry eyed Trace as he took a seat. He sighed heavily. “I had to come,” he said. “There are things you need to know and a phone call wasn’t an option. In case I was followed, I don’t want to be near a window or wall by the street. Sit down, Trace. We need to talk.”

Trace did as he was told, facing Harry over the Cherrywood conference table. “What’s happened?”

Harry sighed again as if unsure where to begin. “That conversation we had a couple of weeks ago about Nathalia,” he said. “Things have escalated, unfortunately. I told you I’d keep you posted so here it is - Nathalia Nevredevova is now in charge of her father’s conglomerate. Nevredev died two days ago in Kiev and our sources tell us that Nathalia is out for your blood. In fact, our contacts think she has known where you are for a while. They think she’s already sent men after you.”

Oddly, Trace seemed to grow calm. At least now he knew and he wasn’t surprised by it. He shifted into professional mode in an instant, back in the game now, back in the fight for his life, in the fight between good and evil. He had that ability to shift focus like that but it had taken years of practice.

He was back in his element.

“After our conversation a couple of weeks ago, I agree with you,” he said. “There was something I didn’t tell you at that time.”

Harry was interested. “Did something happen?”

Trace leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. “To make a long story short, I started dating a woman a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “I hadn’t known her two days when someone broke into her house and tried to kill her. Understand that she lives on the west side of Pasadena, which is predominately Hispanic and African-American. The man who broke in was young and very white. That’s the only glimpse I got of him, but in that neighborhood, that was an oddity. A random white guy breaking into a house in a minority neighborhood makes no sense at all.”

Harry grew serious. “Do you really think they were trying to kill her? Or trying to gain information from her?”

Trace shrugged. “We’ll never know,” he said. “She killed the guy by stabbing him through the eye with a pair of scissors.”

Harry flinched at the visual that statement provoked. “But you think it might have been a Nevredevova operative looking for you?”

Trace nodded. “It’s possible they’ve been watching me,” he said. “On the premise that they have, they knew enough that I’d been seeing her for a very short amount of time but it was enough so that they broke in to her house. I can’t prove it, of course, but it makes perfect sense.”

“Has anything happened since?”

Trace shook his head. “No,” he replied. “It’s been quiet, mostly because if they are really watching me, they probably assumed I personally killed the guy and they’re not going to make another attempt so soon, at least not until they have reinforcements.”

“It could have been a lone operative.”

Again, Trace shook his head. “That’s not how Nathalia works,” he said flatly. “She sends her people into situations in groups of two or three. I’m willing to bet there’s at least one or two more around here, watching me as we speak.”

“If you really believe that, then you probably shouldn’t leave your girlfriend alone if they’re watching her house,” Harry said. “If they tried once to get to her, they’ll try again.”

Trace lifted his eyebrows. “She’s not alone,” he said. “Her house is under construction, a massive renovation project, so there are people there all of the time. Nathalia wouldn’t risk doing anything with witnesses around, so Kiki is safe for now. She’s never alone. I make sure of that.”

“Kiki?”

A grin flickered on his lips. “The name of my future wife,” he said quietly. “Kiki Delohr Conrad. You’ll like her, Harry. She’s… well, she’s amazing. I can’t describe her any better than that. You’ll just have to meet her.”

Harry didn’t move to congratulate him. In fact, his mood seemed to dampen. “Trace…,” he sighed heavily, shaking his head. “If Nathalia’s people really are here, as the evidence seems to suggest, then you need to get out of here. They’ve found you, my friend. Somehow, someway, they’ve found you and they are going to try and kill you. Do you want your girlfriend to end up collateral damage?”

Trace’s smile turned into something of a grimace. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

Now, Trace was starting to get defensive. “Yes, I can,” he said. “And here’s how -  you will make it known, through our contacts, that if any of Nathalia’s men come near me or her, or anyone associated with me or her, I will unleash hell on earth like they’ve never seen. I have that capability and you know it. I’ll wipe out her and her entire damn family, Harry. I’ll wipe out anyone who has even looked at her. I will go on the offensive if I have to and that’s not something they’ll want to deal with.”

Harry saw, in that speech, a flash of the man he’d known for years, an assassin so highly trained that he could take out anyone, anywhere, and never leave a trace. Trace Rocklin had been a man of such talents until he’d walked away from it. Or, at least tried to walk away from it. But men like Trace were never completely free of the chaos they were involved in. They were part of the very fabric of it.

“The Eliminator,” he muttered, satisfaction in his tone. “Welcome back, man. We’ve missed you.”

Trace simply looked at him, something deadly brewing in those hazel eyes. “You’ll make it known, then.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Harry agreed. “But you know what I’m going to say, don’t you? The only way this will end is if you go to the Ukraine and remove Nathalia yourself. There is no other choice in this, Trace. If you ever want peace in your life, if you really want to marry your Kiki and live happily ever after, then you’re going to have to do one last job to make sure you can. If you don’t, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. And you know that Nathalia would take a lot of pleasure in killing a woman you loved.”

That caused Trace to stiffen; nothing else Harry had said made an impact on him but mentioning Kiki and Nathalia in the same breath did something to him. His jaw tightened and began to tick, the expression on his face nothing short of murderous.

“Then you’d better make sure she gets the message. Any move against me or people around me, no matter how small, and everyone dies.”

“That’s the gist of it?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

Harry considered his options at that point. Trace seemed to think that threatening Nathalia would be enough. But he knew, deep down, that Trace knew differently. He knew a simple threat wasn’t going to mean anything in the end. There had to be more than that; much more.

“I can’t get that message flowing through the channels any time soon,” Harry said. “You know that. Stuff like that takes time. Meanwhile, if she’s got people on you, they’re still going to do whatever it takes to get to you. They could be watching your office for all you know. What happens if they try to take out your dad or your brothers? Do you realize that by staying here, you risk them all? You’re not that careless, man. Do I really have to explain this game to you, Trace? You know what you have to do. How many times do I have to say it?”

Trace inhaled; long and deep and thoughtful. He didn’t want to hear this, any of it, but he had no choice. He was resisting his role in this situation and they both knew it. More than that, he knew that what Harry said was true. He knew why Harry had come and it wasn’t to put him in a position he didn’t want to be in. It wasn’t to put him back in the game he had walked away from. It was to help him. Finally, Trace sat forward and put his face in his hands.

“Damn,” he groaned. “Damn it all to hell.”

Harry could see that he was finally understanding the reality of the situation, the truth of what needed to happen. To be honest, he was very relieved. He put a hand on Trace’s shoulder.

“I know, man,” he said sympathetically. “I know. But that’s why I came to see you personally; if you ever want to be free of the shadow of death, you’re going to have to go into the field one last time. You’re going to have to kill Nathalia.”

Trace just sat there with his hands on his face. “Do you have any idea what it means to be really happy, Harry?” he asked, his voice muffled by his hands over his mouth. “Well, I didn’t. I really didn’t know at all until I met Kiki. I’m living with her, you know. We’re renovating that big behemoth of a house she bought because she wants to turn it into a wedding venue. She wants us to live there and be a host to this fantasy world like that guy who ran Fantasy Island. People will come to our location, happy, and leave happier. All Kiki wants is joy and peace and I want it with her. We’re damn happy, Harry. I don’t want to leave that world, not to go back into hell.”

Harry was sympathetic. “If you don’t go to hell, hell will come to you,” he said quietly. “Is that what you want?”

Trace took his hands away from his face and sat back in his chair. “No,” he said. “It’s not. The world Kiki and I live in… it’s heaven, Harry. I don’t want that jeopardized for anything.”

Harry reached into the pocked of his suit jacket and pulled forth an envelope, handing it over to Trace. Trace looked at it for a moment before opening it up. It was a first-class plane ticket, departing Los Angeles International Airport tomorrow evening for Washington Dulles.

“You need to come back for a briefing before you head over to the Ukraine,” he said quietly. “I’ll be on that plane with you tomorrow when you head back. You need to understand the dynamics of Nathalia’s cartel now. We’ll brief you on the details before you go.”

Trace just stared at the ticket. It was all happening whether or not he wanted it to, but he realized as he looked at the ticket that he wanted it to happen. He wanted to take care of those who would threaten him and the world of joy and passion he’d had a taste of. He’d never known anything like it and he couldn’t let his past take away his future. As reluctant as he was to go, to leave Kiki, he knew he had to go.

He had no choice.

“Okay,” he said, closing up the envelope. “Let me wrap up things here and I’ll be on the plane tomorrow. Do you want to come over tonight and meet Kiki? I’d like you to, Harry. She’s the only reason I’m doing this. If she wasn’t involved, I wouldn’t be going at all, but you’re right – Nathalia would do a victory dance if she took out the woman I love. I can’t let that happen while there’s still breath in my body.”

Harry nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like to meet the woman who finally caught your eye. I didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest.”

Trace smiled weakly. “When you see her, you’ll get it.”

Harry’s gaze lingered at him. “Seeing your expression when you talk about her, I get it already.”

There was nothing more to say. Harry stood up, as did Trace, each of them knowing what they had to do, knowing what was coming. It was like old times again, only these old times weren’t good times. They were times of necessity.

Necessity to save the free world.

Trace’s world.

“I’m going to the Los Angeles office for a while,” Harry said as they headed for the door. “I’ll come over later tonight if that’s all right. Text me the address.”

Trace nodded. “I will,” he said. “It’ll give me time to break the news to her that I’m going to be gone for a while. I may have Jesse go stay with her, just to make sure she’s not alone.”

Harry opened the conference room door. “Are you sure you want her staying there at all, Trace?” he said softly. “If Nathalia’s people are watching the house….”

Trace put up a hand. “If they’re watching it, then they’ll see me leave,” he said. “It’s me they want, not her. If they see I’ve left, then it’ll take the focus off of her. Besides, like I said, with all of the activity going on at the house, they’re not going to chance doing anything.”

Harry shrugged; he didn’t particularly agree with him. “They might try to use her to get to you,” he said. “It sounds like they tried it once.”

Trace knew that; he was trying to talk himself into believing that if he left, the problem would be solved. But he knew it wasn’t that easy. “I’m going to have to let Jesse in on this if I ask him to stay at the house with her,” he said. “That ought to thrill him. My brother has always accused me of being a spy. Now he’ll know he was right all along, the little shit.”

Harry grinned. “I’ve got a brother like that,” he said. Then, his smile faded. “If he does stay there, make sure he’s armed.”

“To the teeth.”

There wasn’t much more to say at that point. The path was set and they knew what needed to be done. Reluctantly, but it needed to be done, nonetheless.

Trace walked Harry to the door and shook the man’s hand, watching him as he headed out into the parking lot beyond. Then, he turned around and headed back into the offices, seeking out his father specifically and, seeing the man alone, went into his office and shut the door.

It was a very long and somewhat emotional conversation he had with his father where Trace informed him that he would be taking a hiatus from his job for an unknown length of time. When Trace was finished with Rick, he sought out Jesse, who was just getting ready to leave for the day. He and his brother had another very interesting conversation, during which a lot of Jesse’s suspicions of his brother’s real role with the CIA were clarified.

The first time Jesse said, “I knew it!”, Trace punched his brother in the gut.

Little shit!