Forced to Kill

“Not an easy task.” Harv sighed and pushed back in his chair. “I’ve got a meeting with a Ford engineer tomorrow on our armored SUV line.”

“We don’t need to totally disappear, he just wants us under the radar for a spell.”

“I guess Lewey can take the meeting.” Harv said. “He’s up to speed.”

“Good, because we’re flying out to Utah.”

“So much for staying under the radar,” Harv said.

“You don’t have to go out there in person. I’m sure I can get you photos.”

“Holly, I appreciate the offer, but doesn’t it seem strange the body was dumped in Lake Powell? Wouldn’t it have been a whole lot easier just to bury it somewhere? And why Utah? I know Montez. He’s lazy. His henchmen do all the heavy lifting. I’d be willing to bet our security company that Arthur Kramer was interrogated at or near the lake.”

“Let’s not place that bet,” Harv said.

Nathan looked at Holly. “You could really help us by figuring out what Kramer’s work involved.”

“I’ve already got Henning looking into Kramer’s background in depth. I told him to keep everything he does confidential.”

“How’s Henning doing, by the way?” asked Nathan.

“He’s doing great. He thinks you guys are superheroes in disguise.”

Nathan smiled at that. It was a far cry from his first encounter with Special Agent Bruce Henning during the Bridgestone case.

“Seriously, though,” he said, “there’s got to be a reason Montez chose to dump a weighted body in a tourist- ridden lake. There’s a million safer places to dispose of a body out there. Also, I want to know if Kramer owns property in the area or was just on vacation. Was he staying in a motel or cabin? Or maybe a rented condo?”

“Good questions,” Holly said. “Our local resident office will be able to help. Kramer was dumped on federal property, so technically it’s a joint federal case.”

“Good. But whatever we do, it has to be low-key. Otherwise Montez could find out the feds are after him, and if he gets spooked, we’ll never find him.”

“I agree about being low-key,” Holly said, “but it may not be possible if the State Department gets involved. And it’s reasonable to assume it already is. Attaches assigned to U.S. embassies fall under the State Department’s jurisdiction. Whatever time we have, I’m afraid we’re looking at a very brief window.”

“Right,” said Nathan. “So all the more urgent we get to Utah as soon as possible.”

“Like today,” said Harv, looking at his watch. “Right after we meet with Thorny.”

Chapter 6

Nichole Dalton backed her Escalade out of her garage and smiled. Another blue sky day in San Diego. The only flaw in the weather? A slight haze from a wildfire in San Bernardino County. One of many in a newer tract of single-family homes, hers secured in the desirable end of a cul-de-sac. She lived in an area of Del Mar where her daughters’ bicycles could be left in the front yard overnight, where you didn’t have to lock your front door for a short trip to the market. Or worry about finding graffiti on your fence in the morning. On the other hand, she lived with a huge mortgage associated with such amenities. Fortunately, her ex-husband made a generous, five-digit alimony payment every month and Nichole’s own Eastern Bloc language skills were in high demand, especially by her employer, the National Security Agency. With both incomes, she was doing well. The vast majority of Nichole’s work involved translating telephone conversations through encrypted data links in her soundproof home office. The only drawback was the constant intrusion of the NSA’s technical surveillance countermeasure specialists, one of whom kept hitting on her. She didn’t mind as long as it didn’t get too heavy. She could handle friendly flirting-she’d been dealing with it since age twelve.

On a whim, she decided to hit the huge women’s shoe sale at Nordstrom today. To promote the event, the store would open two hours early. The place was going to be a zoo, but shoes remained one of her weaknesses and she’d just have to brave the hordes. Nobody beat Nicky Dalton when it came to shoe shopping.

At thirty-nine, she possessed the energy of a high school cheerleader and the looks to match. After her divorce, she never had a lack of offers, but often declined when asked out. Marriage remained out of the question, at least for the time being. Before walking down the aisle again, she needed to know her man was firmly committed to her and her daughters first, his job second. Her first husband, a former Air Force officer, had been a walking job. Been there. Done that. No thanks.

The man she’d been dating lately worked as an industrial refrigeration contractor and spent the majority of his time in Eastern Europe. At first, she didn’t mind so much. Their reunions often spawned some of the most intense sexual encounters she’d ever experienced. Five years younger, the man was an animal. Voracious. But within the bigger picture, sex played a minor role in their relationship. A union based on sex alone felt empty, like a vacant house. Sex was a fleeting commodity. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Love remained eternal, like a diamond buried in the sand, or more appropriately, adorning her finger. But diamond or not, when her man returned this evening, she intended to greet him in a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. Only the shoes. Not by coincidence, both her daughters were headed for sleepovers after school.

She pulled into the Fashion Valley Mall’s parking garage on Friars Road and realized she couldn’t remember her drive down here. Weird. She had tons on her mind, but having no memory of the thirty minute trip frightened her a little. Had she run any red lights? She hoped not. At least no one had honked at her, she would’ve remembered that. This wasn’t New York. Honking your horn around here was practically an act of war.

Nicole looked at the dashboard clock: 7:47 am. Perfect. She’d have time for Starbucks before Nordstrom opened. Got to have it.

USMC Gunnery Sergeant Christopher “Big Kid” Kiddrich slid out of his Jeep Cherokee and stretched. Just under six feet tall, he looked like an aging surfer because he was an aging surfer. Cropped blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Not quite buff, but definitely not flabby. He worked at Miramar as an MP. He liked his job and had his sights on the San Diego PD after retiring. Who said forty was too old to become a street cop?

He also looked forward to the Nordstrom shoe sale, but for a completely different reason. Simply put, he loved looking at women-not in a perverted or stalking way-he just liked them. All of them. Short or tall, big or thin, he just liked watching them. The way they walked. The way they dressed. The way they cocked their heads when considering a purchase. Their interaction with each other. Everything. Nothing boiled his blood more than the idea of a woman being abused. Women were to be cherished, not mistreated.

He’d just locked his Cherokee and started toward the pedestrian bridge linking the parking structure to Nordstrom when a stunning beauty drove by. More than stunning. Gorgeous. Nice wheels too. He slowed his pace as she pulled into a parking stall. Incredible. She looked like Angelina Jolie. It couldn’t be her, but the similarities were striking. Mesmerized, he watched her slide out and use her remote to lock her SUV. It chirped once in confirmation.

He turned his head toward the roar of an engine and frowned-the dumb-ass. This was a friggin’ parking garage.

A white van sped by, its passenger-side mirror missed his arm by inches. What a jerk.

The van screeched to a stop behind the woman’s Escalade. Two Hispanic men in dark clothes jumped out the rear doors and rushed toward her. Before she had time to react, the bigger of the two grabbed her.

Without conscious thought, Big Kid sprinted toward them.

The smaller man pulled a handgun from his under his Windbreaker.

Big Kid dived for cover between two parked cars just as the gun boomed.

The bullet skipped off the concrete and plowed into his left shoulder. Shit!

Throughout the structure, car alarms blared from the handgun’s concussion. The woman’s screaming and electronic howls echoed eerie desperation.

Big Kid ignored the fire in his shoulder and lifted his head just enough to peer through the parked car’s