Exit Strategy (19 page)

Across the room, on the table beside the TV, sat her purse from her go-­bag. And next to that sat Mason’s burner phone. A few minutes ago she’d decided to go it alone, that since last night’s attempt to break into EXIT had failed so spectacularly, her only remaining option was to go to Colorado to speak to the tour guide. So she’d booked a flight to Colorado. For one.

All she could seem to think about was that bitter anger in his eyes and his fist drawing back. Could she really trust him again after that? In his right mind, he would never hurt her. Of that she had no doubt. But if he was tied up again, what exactly was he capable of? And where did that leave the two of them?

Days. They’d only known each other for a handful of
days
. Not weeks. Not months.
Days
. And yet the thought of going off on her own, without him, was breaking her heart. How was it possible to feel so connected, so dependent on another person so quickly? How could she care about him so much that the thought of never seeing him again seemed as scary as the thought of staying? They’d shared so many emotions, so many intense life-­and-­death situations in such a short amount of time that it was like they’d already lived a lifetime together. So how could she even think of leaving him?

“You look like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems.” Mason’s searching gaze belied the teasing note in his voice. He looked . . . unsure . . . worried . . . vulnerable, as if he knew the decision she’d been struggling with.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Of me.” A statement, not a question, in a hollow, empty voice.

“Honestly, yes. I’m scared of what could have happened back in that cell, and of what could happen in the future.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” His face was lined with misery.

“I know. Stop apologizing. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew what had happened, and why, and that it could happen again.

She fisted her hands in the bedspread. “Since there doesn’t seem to be anything else we can do here to search for clues about my grandfather, I’ve decided to go back to Plan B. I’m going to Colorado to talk to Rick Stanford, the guide from my parents’ trip. Assuming the accident was on purpose, I have to believe it was an enforcer who organized it, right? If I can ask the guide who had access to the equipment, maybe he can tell me—­”

“You’re not going to Colorado.”

She stiffened. “Yes. I am.”

“Rick Stanford isn’t in Colorado. He’s one of the guides Cyprian brought to start up the office in Asheville.”

She blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Because I live in Asheville and I pay attention to the news. EXIT has been running all kinds of ads about the new location and Stanford has been in several of them.”

“Okay. That’s good. Then I . . . I mean . . .
we
. . .”

“You can’t decide whether you want me with you now or not, can you?”

“I’m . . . not sure. I guess. I just . . .” She shook her head.

“Stanford is one of the guides for the rafting and zip lining leg once the tours officially start up in a few weeks,” Mason said, filling the silence. “Again, based on the TV ads. He’s probably there now running equipment tests and getting the outpost set up. Or just doing paperwork.”

“Will you . . . take me there?” she asked, already regretting her earlier indecision. She’d hurt him. She could tell by the look in his dark eyes. And she hated that she’d done that. The decision she’d struggled with moments ago now seemed clear. “I’d like your help. If you feel well enough, and still want to help me.”

“Of course I’ll help you.” His voice was tired, resigned, the events of the tunnel still putting far more space between them than the two feet separating the beds. “But it will be on my terms. I want a full day of surveillance, maybe two, before we make a move this time.”

She winced. “I guess it’s my turn to apologize. I pushed you to go into that building too soon. I know you wanted to watch longer. If you had, we might have seen that Bishop and Stryker were there.”

“And now it’s my turn to tell you not to apologize. I’m a grown man, Sabrina. You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do. I weighed the odds last night and I thought it was a low-­risk situation to go in. What happened is no one’s fault. It just . . . happened.”

“Okay, well. If I’m not going to Colorado, then I guess I should call and cancel my flight.”

“You booked a flight?” The rest of his question went unsaid . . .
You booked a flight without me?

“Yes. But I used the burner phone.”

“What name did you use to make the reservation? And what credit card?”

“Mine, but there’s no reason for Cyprian to think I’d book a flight. It’s not like he’s monitoring the airports.”

He scrubbed his brow, looking incredibly tired. “Not only is he probably monitoring airports, he’s got tracers on rental car companies, bus stations, you name it. I don’t think you understand exactly how powerful EXIT Incorporated is. They have ties into everything.” He dropped his hand. “If you wanted to go to Colorado, why not just ask me? I could have gotten us a private jet without leaving an electronic trail.”

“Us?” she whispered.

“Did you think I’d want you to go by yourself? It’s too dangerous.” He searched her face, then briefly closed his eyes, looking pained. “But you still think
I’m
too dangerous now.”

“No,” she said fiercely, taking his hand in hers. “No, I don’t. Not unless there’s a . . . trigger. I trust you.”

He pulled her hand toward him and pressed a soft kiss against the backs of her fingers. “I’m so sorry—­”

“Stop. I told you not to apologize anymore.”

“No amount of apologies will ever be enough. Ramsey or Buchanan will have to call in soon. When they do, I’ll arrange to hand you off to them to protect you until we figure out something more permanent, a way to ensure that you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. There has to be a way to get EXIT to leave you alone. I won’t stop until I figure out how to make that happen. All I ask is that you stick with me a little longer, until I can get you better protection.”

She wanted to reassure him, to remind him that she wasn’t helpless, and that they made a good team. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid of what could happen the next time—­if there was a next time—­when he was tied up and the darkness took over again. But she was afraid. And she didn’t want to lie to him. He deserved better than that.

But he also deserved not to keep beating himself up over what had happened.

She rubbed her palms against her shorts and noted the time on the digital clock between the two beds. The sun would be coming up in about four hours. What would that new day hold for the two of them? Would the tour guide be able to tell them anything that would lead to her grandfather? Would she find him alive and well? Or would she find out that he’d been dead all this time? She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms again.

“Rina?”

“I’m just . . . thinking about . . . tomorrow. I know you have a Glock for each of us in your go-­bag since you grabbed extra guns and ammo at your house when Ace was after us, but I really preferred the Sig and Cyprian took it and—­”

“Sabrina.”

“—­I don’t like the recoil of a Glock and it’s too big for an ankle holster and I—­”

“
Sabrina.
”

She pressed her lips together to stop her nervous chatter.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he said.

“I know. That wasn’t why . . . I know.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Maybe it’s a good thing that I booked that flight since I won’t be on it. Cyprian will send his thugs there while we’re talking to Stanford.”

“Maybe. It’s late. Or early. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. We should get some sleep.”

She nodded and rose to get into the other bed. But then she looked back at Mason, and just thinking that today might be their last day together changed her mind. She turned back to his bed.

“Scoot over.”

His brows rose in surprise but he moved back and lifted the covers. She lay down on the mattress, her back to his chest with her head pillowed against his arm. He put his other arm around her and pulled her tight against him.

Chapter Fifteen

Day Four—­9:00 a.m.

C
yprian donned his gloves in the backyard of Bishop’s rental home, while Stryker and Ace disarmed the security system and jimmied the lock on the door. The house was a bit overblown and gaudy for Cyprian’s tastes, but the acres of trees blocking out the nearest neighbors were convenient for his purposes this morning.

After last night’s . . . disappointment . . . with Mason and Miss Hightower managing to escape, he’d realized his crucial mistake—­not killing them when he had the chance. He’d wanted to keep them alive long enough to get information out of them about what Buchanan might be planning against EXIT. A valid reason, perhaps, but it had resulted in them getting away. That, and the fact that Bishop was the one who’d tied her up. One more mistake on top of so many others was the final straw, and the last time Cyprian would tolerate any more mistakes from him.

The door popped open. Cyprian’s men quietly entered the home. He followed a few moments later, giving them time to make sure everything was secure. The kitchen he stepped into was clean, tidy. Much more appealing than the overlarge pool out back with its tacky, naked mermaid statues.

When he passed from the kitchen to the dining room, an archway opened into the ostentatiously large family room. And standing in the middle of the shiny marble floor, with Stryker and Ace flanking him, was Bishop. His face was pale, his eyes wide with apprehension. Good. If he was frightened then it wouldn’t take long at all to get him talking. Although Cyprian trusted Eddie to have given him everything he found, there was always the possibility that he’d missed something. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to double-­check at the source. He needed to know
everything
Bishop had done so he could clean up the evidence and get things back on track.

Buchanan’s family had made waves with the Council a few months ago, through Devlin’s contacts and one of his brother’s FBI contacts, complaining about Cyprian abusing his power. But the Council had accepted Cyprian’s explanations and hadn’t intervened. This new, fake EXIT order situation could give Buchanan—­and those helping him—­the ammunition they needed to get the Council to step in. That was something Cyprian could not allow to happen. It was looking more and more like he’d have to involve the Council at some point or look bad for not contacting them. But he wanted to be the one to contact them so he’d look like the good guy.

“Good morning, Bishop. I must apologize for intruding on the start of your weekend. But this Mason-­Hightower problem needs to be taken care of before things get out of hand.”

Bishop cast a wary glance at the men beside him before answering. “Of . . . of course. I didn’t realize you wanted me at the office today or I’d have gone in. I’m happy to do whatever you need me to do.” He waved toward a grouping of couches and recliners. “Why don’t you all have a seat?”

“Not necessary. This won’t take long.” Cyprian stopped a few feet away. “It’s a shame that Mason’s been caught up in this . . . situation and has to be eliminated, because he’s exactly the kind of man I want working for me.”

Bishop blinked nervously.

“He likes to help the downtrodden,” Cyprian continued. “And because he was assigned to kill Miss Hightower, he now feels obligated to protect her. He’ll want to help her figure out who targeted her and why. I’m making a logical leap that he and Hightower broke in last night for that very reason: to find evidence pointing to who was behind her assassination order. Of course, you and I already know the answer to that.”

He stared at Bishop, noting that sweat had broken out on his forehead. “Tell me, Bishop. If you were Mason, what would your next step be?”

Bishop shifted his stance and used the pretense of scratching his head to wipe the sweat away. “I . . . ah . . . would probably start at the beginning. The tour where her parents died?”

“Excellent. That mirrors my own thoughts as well. I believe they’ll want to speak to the guide from that tour, Rick Stanford. Lucky for us, he’s here, in Asheville. That should make it quite easy to catch Mason and Hightower when they make their move. Ace, Stryker, I want you to work out a plan to keep an eye on Stanford. If you need assistance, get some local trash to help you.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Do you want me out in the field or assisting from headquarters?” Bishop asked.

“Actually, I need some information.”

Bishop’s earlier nervousness faded and he puffed out his chest like a self-­important peacock.

“I’ve been speaking to Eddie in the Boulder office,” Cyprian continued. “He’s head of system security. Did you know that?”

“Ah, no.”

“He’s been digging into our security logs. You see, any time a file is created or updated on our system, the ID of the person performing that access is recorded. When I requested a list of those who’ve accessed the EXIT order for Miss Hightower, well, we’ve already had that discussion haven’t we?”

“And . . . and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right of course. But what else do you suppose Eddie found when he looked at the rest of those security logs?”

“I . . . I . . . I—­”

“You have a bit of a gambling problem, don’t you, Bishop?”

The sudden change in topic seemed to throw him. He glanced beseechingly at his associates, but they offered no sanctuary.
Nor would they
.

“Enough,” Cyprian said, wearying of the game. “You’ve been selling the ser­vices of
my
enforcers to the highest bidder. Haven’t you?”

Bishop was sweating so hard now that Cyprian could smell his stink. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and signaled Ace and Stryker. They drew their weapons and trained them on their doomed peer.

Bishop made a whimpering sound.

“You owe your soul to loan sharks. Tell me, how have you managed to fend them off this long?”

“I . . . I paid them from my missions. But it wasn’t enough. I was desperate. I put my house in Colorado up as collateral for my gambling debts. If I don’t pay them back in the next two months I’ll lose everything. It was just one EXIT order,
one
. Please, give me another chance.”

Cyprian roared with rage and slammed his fist into the side of Bishop’s jaw. He flew backward and skidded across the marble, slamming into the side of a couch. Bishop whimpered and held his hand against the cut that had opened up on his cheek
.
That would make staging the scene a bit more . . . complicated. But it could still be done.

Normally Cyprian exercised better control, but hearing the lies pouring out of his assistant was more than he could take. He stood over him, no longer bothering to hide his contempt.

“The truth will set you free, Bishop. You’ve been faking orders ever since you became my assistant. You’ve probably raked in enough money in the past two months to pay your gambling debts twice over. This isn’t about saving your home. This is about paying for pools and disgusting mermaid statues. Do not dare to lie to me again. How many EXIT orders have you faked?”

“I don’t know,” he blubbered. “Five, ten.”

“
Twenty-­three
,” Cyprian spat. “If the Council ever finds out about this, it could ruin me, you idiot.”

He drew deep breaths until he’d calmed down, then straightened his suit jacket. “Get up, Bishop.”

Bishop whimpered as he climbed to his feet.

“Ace, Stryker, give us a moment.”

They immediately crossed the room and waited by the dining room opening.

“Bishop, I want to thank you.”

“Wh-­what?”

“When Melissa told me she was dating Thomas
Worthington
and never could manage to get our schedules aligned so I could meet him, I asked you to investigate. And you did a thorough job. I thank you for that. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have known that Melissa’s beau was actually Thomas Hightower and that he was married, cheating on his wife, and
using
my daughter. And in my anger, I ordered you to kill him. I’m not proud of that. It was a mistake that has led to an entire host of problems. But you were only doing your job when you arranged the ‘mugging.’ And it’s certainly not your fault that Melissa saw his obituary in the paper, or that she went to the funeral and was seen by Sabrina Hightower.”

He smiled sadly. “It’s not your fault either that Miss Hightower was curious and drew Melissa’s sketch and gave it to her grandfather. Or that he did his own digging into my background and accused me of arranging Thomas’s death. And when Mr. Hightower informed me that he had evidence proving my culpability in Thomas’s death, it certainly wasn’t your fault that I reacted without thinking, abducting him without a plan in place. And, finally, it’s not your fault that the torture you and Ace have inflicted has yet to yield the location of the evidence he insists he has against me, evidence that could come out someday and ruin me. I just wanted you to know, that in spite of everything that has happened, that I accept my responsibility in all of this. And I appreciate and acknowledge the work that you’ve done for me. Thank you.” He headed toward the archway where Ace and Stryker were waiting.

Bishop called out from behind him. “Boss? Does this mean that you forgive me?”

Cyprian turned around. “Of course not. Whatever would make you think such a thing?” He shook his head in disgust and crossed beneath the archway. “Ace, Stryker, I notice the stove is gas. Accidents happen. And I can’t have an ME seeing the cut and bruises on his face. Take care of it please.”

“No!” Bishop screamed.

Cyprian hummed to tune out the screams as he washed Bishop’s sweat off his gloves in the kitchen sink.

C
YPRIAN SIPPED HIS
Hennessy in the back of the limo, parked several blocks down the street from Bishop’s home. Even from here, the wide lawns, hills, and tall trees kept him hidden from view. Perhaps he should look for a home in a neighborhood like this instead of the condo he was renting, if he ever decided to move permanently from Boulder to Asheville. He had to admit, North Carolina with its lush greenery did have a distinctive beauty that was refreshingly different from his home state. But then he doubted his daughter would want to leave the only place she’d ever lived. Melissa loved the stark beauty of the Rockies. And Cyprian couldn’t stomach being away from his only remaining family for long periods of time.

Losing his beloved wife and sons in a terrorist hijacking over twenty years ago had been almost more than he could bear. Dark depression had sunk its talons into him for months. And if it hadn’t been for little Melissa, needing her daddy, he’d have given in to the urge to end it all. But Melissa had been his one shining light, the only reason left to smile. She’d saved him and given him the courage and desire to go back to work, to the touring company he and his wife had begun several years earlier.

The idea to use EXIT as a weapon against terrorism, to save other families from the trauma and loss that he’d suffered, had been put forth by an army general who’d just taken an EXIT tour and wanted to meet with Cyprian. The general had been extremely impressed with the quality of men Cyprian employed, comparing them favorably to special elite forces in the military. After swearing Cyprian to secrecy, he’d explained a radical idea the government was considering. EXIT’s enforcement arm came into being a mere month later.

Had innocent ­people died through the years, collateral damage from EXIT operations? Yes. But that happened in all wars, and this was definitely a war. Cyprian was keenly aware of his own loss and made every effort to keep his men and women under tight control, to protect innocents whenever possible. He was proud of his record. And he wasn’t about to let Buchanan or Mason or even Sabrina Hightower destroy what he’d worked so hard to build, even though he could empathize with their plights.

He couldn’t stomach the idea of hundreds or thousands of Americans dying at the hands of terrorists because a few bleeding hearts worried about a handful of mistakes over decades of ser­vice. His fascination with Kelly Parker had weakened him, had blinded him to what she was doing on the side. And by the time he’d realized Buchanan was the innocent scape goat in her games, it was too late. Buchanan had become an enemy and had to be eliminated. But Buchanan had disappeared. Not even Eddie’s attempts to locate his properties had yielded success. Which of course had prompted Cyprian to make Eddie rework his programs to yield better success the next time—­which it had with Hunt.

Now, Buchanan had come back. Yes, he’d been temporarily sidetracked by the Austin diversion. But that wouldn’t last. And in his place he’d left Mason Hunt to bring EXIT down. Well, it was time to eliminate all of Cyprian’s enemies. Then he would rebuild, make his empire stronger, better, with tighter controls in place so this could never happen again. Because what he did
mattered
.

He never wanted to have to look into Melissa’s eyes and tell her that he hadn’t done everything he could to make the world safer and better for her and the family she’d start one day. He owed it to his wife, his daughter, his sons, to keep EXIT viable in the war against terrorism.

No matter the costs.

A
C
E KNOCKED ON
the limo’s darkened window. The window lowered, revealing Cyprian reclining on the luxurious leather seats, calmly sipping a mixed drink while his minions once again cleaned up a mess for him. It was all Ace could do not to let his disgust show on his face while Stryker related the details of what he and Ace had just done.

From the moment that his boss had stolen Kelly away, Ace had been biding his time looking for the right opportunity to make him pay. And thanks to Bishop’s marble-­floored home that carried sounds better than a concert hall, he now had the information that might very well bury Cyprian. Fake EXIT orders? The Council wasn’t likely to ignore something like that, especially once they knew that Cyprian had covered it up. For now, Ace would keep the information to himself. But when the time came, he’d use it to his advantage.