Exit Strategy, page 16
part #1 of EXIT Inc. Series
“Where are they coming from?” she yelled, as he scrambled backward and yanked her behind the barn with him.
“The house.” A beeping noise sounded from inside the tack room. “And that would be my perimeter alarm going off. Damn it. I screwed up. I shouldn’t have taken off the watch.”
“I’ll try not to take offense at that ‘screw up’ statement since I’m the screw-up.”
He winced and pulled her farther away from the corner as more shots cracked against the barn. “Sorry,” he said, as he grabbed his gun. “Didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
She raised her leg and grabbed the Sig out of her ankle holster. “You’re forgiven, if you get us out of this alive.” Another shot burst through the wood right beside her shoulder.
Mason grabbed her and pulled her down closer to the ground. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Another bullet whined by.
He scanned the area, but Sabrina didn’t know why he bothered. There wasn’t anywhere else to hide but the barn. The trees were too far away. She checked the loading on her Sig. “Will bales of hay stop a bullet?”
“I’d rather not find out. And we’ll just get trapped if we hole up inside. He could prop the doors closed and burn us out.”
Sabrina swallowed against her suddenly tight throat. Burning to death definitely wasn’t an appealing option. “He? Did you see who was shooting at us?”
He nodded. “Ace. The son of a bitch is on my porch.”
“Well, the nerve.”
He grinned, then swore as another bullet tore through the wood a foot away. “All right. That’s enough. I’m going for the truck. I need you to lay some cover fire.”
“What? You’re crazy. You don’t have your Kevlar.”
“Yeah, that’s a bummer.” He hefted his Glock. “Ready?”
“Don’t you dare get shot, Mason.”
“I’ll try not to. You do the same.”
He held up three fingers.
She wrapped both hands around the Sig, pointing toward the ground.
Two.
One.
Mason took off running for the truck, firing his Glock toward the house as he ran.
Sabrina crouched by the corner of the barn, firing as fast as she could toward the porch although she didn’t see anyone there. Had Ace ducked for cover or was he on the move?
The truck door slammed shut and Mason started the engine.
Sabrina held her fire, puzzled at the silence coming from the house.
The truck’s tires threw up dirt and gravel as Mason floored the accelerator and spun toward the barn. The tread grabbed hold and spit the pickup forward. He slammed the brakes and the truck nosedived to a stop behind the tack room. Mason shoved his driver’s side door open.
“Get in,” he yelled.
The sound of another engine, pitched high, had her looking back toward the other corner of the barn.
“Get in, Sabrina. Now!”
The urgency in his voice spurred her forward. She ran to him and he lifted her inside, shoving her into the passenger seat as he hit the gas again. The door slammed shut on its own as the truck swerved and barreled into the cornfield.
Sabrina was about to ask him why he’d done that when the answer plowed into the field almost on top of them. She instinctively ducked as the Chevy spun toward them, with Ace at the wheel, holding a pistol out the window.
Mason fired his Glock through his open window and jerked the wheel. Ace’s windshield cracked in a spiderweb pattern as the car whipped past their rear left side, narrowly missing them.
“Get down,” Mason ordered, as he pressed his foot all the way to the floor, making the pickup leap forward. Thump, thump, thump. The stalks of corn pounded against the sides of the truck and bumped against its underbelly.
Sabrina ignored his order and turned around in her seat. She slid the rear window open and shoved her arms through, aiming the Sig at Ace’s car as it came up fast. Bam! Bam! Bam! She fired at the cracking glass pattern on the driver’s side.
The glass shattered and fell mostly inside the car. She could hear Ace’s curses as he hit his brakes, then swerved off to their left. He fired a parting shot that cracked through the glass, narrowly missing her.
“Get down,” Mason yelled.
“Just drive. I’ve got this.” She held the Sig Sauer as she hung farther out the back window, trying to lift herself high enough to see the stalks of corn being mowed down by Ace’s car. She could hear the engine close by, but she still wasn’t high enough to see the path he was taking.
She let out a squeak of surprise when Mason grabbed a handful of her shirt and yanked her back inside. She slid across the leather seat and plopped down on the floorboard on the passenger side.
Mason glared at her. “Stay down and hold on!”
She glared right back and tried to remember what exactly it was that she liked about him. She definitely didn’t like being ordered around, particularly when she was a good shot and should be protecting both of them instead of lying in a floorboard.
The truck went faster and faster, the corn a green and gold blur as it hit the sides of the truck. Mason looked left, gritting his teeth. “Almost there.”
“Almost where?” She clutched her gun, ready to do battle whether Mason wanted her help or not.
He didn’t answer. He glanced left again, his jaw tightening. “Brace yourself. This is gonna be close.”
Whatever he was planning couldn’t be good. She shoved her gun in her ankle holster and wedged herself into a tight ball.
Another engine revved, impossibly close. Mason held his hand out the window, shooting over and over as he jerked the wheel. The truck kicked up dust and dirt as it jackknifed a one-eighty. It was all Sabrina could do just to hold on as her body was slammed back and forth.
“Ouch,” she bit out as her head hit the glove box.
A shot rang out, followed by a sickeningly loud crunch of metal somewhere close by. Had Ace crashed his car? What would he have crashed it into out here in the middle of a field of corn?
Mason stomped the accelerator again and drove about twenty yards before he stomped the brakes and shoved the truck in park.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, finally sparing her a glance.
She rubbed the back of her head. “Just dandy.”
“Wait here.” He popped the door open and jumped out.
“No, you wait. I’m coming with you.” She grabbed her Sig but by the time she unpretzeled herself from the floorboard, he was gone. The man was far too stubborn for his own good.
Without knowing exactly where he was, she couldn’t risk going outside and possibly getting in his way. As much as it galled her to do nothing while he was risking his life for her, she settled down to wait. With her knees on the floorboard, she braced her elbows on the seat, watching the broken corn stalks through the open driver’s side door. Except for the low hum of the engine, quiet reigned once again. But this time, even the crickets weren’t chirping.
“Come on, Mason,” she whispered. “What’s happening?” A minute passed. Then another. That was it. She couldn’t wait any longer. Mason must need her help or he’d have come back by now. And she wasn’t the type to cower anyway. She’d rather go down fighting if she was going down.
She crawled out of the floorboard and slid across the seat to the driver’s side. Aiming her Sig out the open door, she hopped out and headed toward the nearest stalks of corn that hadn’t been obliterated by their wild ride through the field. Suddenly her gun was snatched out of her hand. She whirled around, kicking her legs in a circle to take out her attacker’s knees.
Mason jumped to the side just in time to avoid a direct hit and glowered at her. “I told you to wait.”
“And I told you to wait. I want to help you find Ace.”
He let out what she could only think of as a growl and grabbed her around the waist, lifting and dumping her onto the bench seat. She barely had time to slide over to the passenger side before he was plopping down beside her. After slamming the door shut, he floored the gas, aiming the truck back toward where they’d come from.
“What happened? Where’s Ace?” She held her pistol, watching out the back window.
Mason grabbed her and shoved her down onto the seat with her head in his lap. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Did you forget that I bite?” she snapped.
His eyes widened and he wisely let her go.
“What happened?” she repeated, shoving away from him but staying low in the seat this time. “I heard what sounded like a crash.”
“I used Ace’s temper against him. I lured him to the edge of the field and got him to chase us right into a tree. But when I checked the car, he was gone. I tracked him a short ways but he got into the woods. I couldn’t risk him getting off a lucky potshot at me from there so I ran back.”
“Then he could be anywhere.”
“Pretty much.” The cornfield ended and the truck raced across the backyard around to the side of the house. Mason pulled up beside the porch. “I’ll be right back.” He hopped out and ran up the steps, kicking the door open and disappearing inside.
A moment later he reappeared with both of their bags, although one appeared to be much fuller than it had been before, and tossed them in the back of the truck. Go-bags she remembered now. That’s what he called them. Had he grabbed more guns, or ammo?
He hopped in and took off toward the road. The tires squealed as he barreled onto the little two-lane rural highway and headed south.
Sabrina straightened up in the seat and clicked her seat belt as she looked back toward the house. Sunlight glinted off something metallic. She drew a sharp breath as she realized Ace was at the edge of the cornfield on his knees, aiming his gun at them.
“Get down!” she yelled.
Mason leaned over with her onto the seat just as the passenger side window exploded. He cursed and sat up, jerking the wheel to keep the truck from going off the road.
Sabrina held her Sig out the window and fired off several rounds. She grunted in satisfaction when Ace dove back into the corn for cover. But unfortunately, she was pretty sure she hadn’t hit him.
The truck squealed around a curve, and the house and cornfield dropped out of sight.
“ARE YOU SURE this is a good idea?” Sabrina scanned the neighborhood of average-looking houses from the concrete porch. She kept her back to Mason, trying to hide the fact that he was picking the lock. Her gun was at the ready, gripped tightly in her hand behind her. She wasn’t about to get caught unaware again if she could help it.
“Unless Cyprian has figured out that Ramsey is working with Buchanan and me, and he found out about the properties Ramsey keeps off the books like he somehow did mine, then it’s probably safe. Emphasis on probably. We need to stay alert.” He forced the door open and rushed inside.
Sabrina followed, closing and locking the door as she glanced at him. “That beeping. Is that—”
“A security alarm.” He went straight to the keypad and punched in a code. The beeping stopped.
After assuring herself that no one was in the room ready to leap out at them, Sabrina pointed her gun down toward the floor. “This is Ramsey’s house?”
“Yep.”
“That explains the lock picking. How did you know the alarm code?”
“Ramsey’s not the cleverest guy when it comes to remembering numbers. So he always uses the last four digits of the street address as his alarm codes.”
“Hm. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“Trust me, any self-respecting burglar would. But since Ramsey’s a light sleeper, I don’t guess he worries about it all that much. Why he even has an alarm beats me. I’ll change the code if we end up staying.” With gun in hand, he went from room to room.
Sabrina didn’t know why he bothered. She could see almost the entire house from where she was standing in the living room. To say it was tiny was an understatement. She secured her pistol in her ankle holster.
“Is this like your contemporary house in town? A front, not somewhere Ramsey really lives?”
He came back into the room, holstering his pistol. “You really don’t like that house of mine, do you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your loathing was stamped all over your face when we were there. As for this place, surprisingly, no. It’s not a front. It’s the family home where Ramsey grew up. This is where he lives most of the time when he’s not traveling. Keep an ear out for anything ‘off’. I’m going to try to get him on the phone and get an update on his situation with the Buchanans.”
“Okay, I’ll just . . . look around.”
He tilted her chin up and grinned. “You’re a nosey little librarian aren’t you?”
She frowned and pushed her glasses further up. “Librarian?”
“Never mind.” He kissed her, then grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number.
Sabrina sighed, her lips still tingling. If it weren’t for Ace going after them at Mason’s farm, there was no telling what she and Mason might be doing right now. She really hated Ace.
The walls of Ramsey’s house were filled with pictures, reminding her of her grandfather’s study. He’d filled every available space with photos of her and Thomas and Brian, and her sketches of course. He was so proud of her sketches.
Her heart seemed to lurch in her chest. She missed her brother and grandfather so much. But she didn’t have time to be sentimental, or emotional. She had to keep it together, keep an ear out, as Mason had said.
A car drove past the house. She listened to make sure it didn’t stop, and continued to study the pictures. She recognized Cyprian in a couple of the photographs, the same smiling face that graced the EXIT brochures. She supposed it made sense for Ramsey to have his picture since he was his boss. But it still turned her stomach. Was he the one giving the orders against her family, against her and Mason? She didn’t know. But it seemed almost impossible to believe that a man with his kind of power wouldn’t know that his own company was after them.
One of the pictures appeared to be some kind of dinner party. She moved closer, and stopped. Her eyes widened. She grabbed the picture off the wall and held it closer.
“Ramsey’s not answering his phone. I’ll try again later.”
She looked up at Mason who’d come up beside her without her even realizing it. “Who is this woman?” She held out the picture.
He shrugged. “I don’t see Cyprian enough to know whom he might be dating. Smokin’ red dress though.”
Sabrina frowned down at the picture. “No, not the woman on his arm.” She pointed to the brunette off to one side, in a black form-fitting dress. “That woman. Who is she?”
His dark eyes studied her intently. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’ve seen her before.”
“Where?”
“At my brother’s funeral, the graveside service. I knew most of his friends but I didn’t recognize her. And the way my sister-in-law was shooting daggers I thought maybe—”
“That Thomas was having an affair?”
She nodded. “He’d cheated in the past. So, yes. I knew it was possible. I went to confront her, to make her leave. But she took off before I could talk to her or find out her name. I guess I was angry, thinking that Thomas had hurt Angela again. I couldn’t get that woman out of my mind. When I got home, I just sat down and drew her. Who is she? Why is she with Cyprian?”
“She’s his daughter, Melissa.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You said you drew her. Did you show the sketch to anyone?”
Her eyes widened and her face went cold as the blood drained away. “Oh my God.”
“Sabrina? Who saw that sketch?”
“My grandfather. I showed it to him and told him my suspicions about Thomas. He was as upset as I was. He took the sketch with him. Said he’d hold on to it in case he ever ran into the woman at any of the charity events or functions he went to. I . . . never really thought about it again.”
“When? When did he see it?”
“This can’t be related to his disappearance. That’s what you’re thinking right?”
“When, Sabrina?”
“Right after the funeral, three months before Grampy disappeared. If . . . if that sketch had something to do with his disappearance, why would someone wait three months?” She laid the picture on a side table and squeezed her hands together.
Mason led her to the couch and sat beside her. “Maybe it took three months for your grandfather to see Melissa and recognize her. But once he did, he confronted her and asked her about Thomas.”
“Okay.” She pressed her hands to her temples. “I’m trying to be objective, to look at all of these pieces, but I’m not seeing how they fit together. If we assume my brother was having an affair with Cyprian’s daughter, so what? My grandfather recognized her from the sketch and confronted her at some party? And Cyprian was there and got mad? That can’t be enough to justify him getting angry and . . . kidnapping . . . my grandfather.” She refused to consider that Grampy might be dead.
He took her hands in his. “Explore all of the connections. See how they might tie together. To do that, go back to the first puzzle piece. Thomas’s funeral. The background report that Buchanan gave me said your brother was killed in a mugging. Did the police ever catch the killer?”
She stiffened. “Please don’t say it.”
“I have to.” He squeezed her hands. “EXIT’s assassinations aren’t always sophisticated. Staging accidents is one of the best ways to eliminate someone. A mugging is easy to stage and doesn’t garner much media interest because it happens all the time.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. This one was all over the television, the newspapers, because of my family’s social status in Boulder. Everyone heard about the mugging. Thomas’s picture was flashed on TV so much that I was afraid to turn it on.”
