“This is the requested proof of job completion. This satisfies invoice one-zero—zero-eight.”
“No. No. No.” Erin covered her eyes.
“He didn’t shoot them. He couldn’t. At the same time Mark’s company was supposed to be protecting your people, he was hired to stop the facility from being built. He used the blood of my family to make it happen.”
Erin peered out from between her fingers.
Khalil pressed pause.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“He killed my family for profit and made it look like your accident. He played both sides.” He stared at Erin, the sorrow so deeply rooted she didn’t know if he’d ever know how to smile. “How do people like this get away with it?”
“Greed. Someone is always willing to do something for the right price.” She swiped at her cheeks.
“They were invoice one thousand and eight. Does that mean...?” Khalil’s brow furrowed. He was still a kid under all that anger. A kid who’d been hurt, abandoned and alone. “I’ve thought this whole time that they died because you made a mistake. I’ve hated you.”
Invoice 1008. 2394. She didn’t want to think about what all the numbers in-between meant.
Erin stared at the screen frozen on a long view of what looked like a bonfire under the desert sky.
“Khalil, how did you find this video?” she asked.
“There are hundreds of them.” He reached over and tapped the back button.
Row upon row of files filled the screen. Each with a number.
The invoice.
“Oh, my God,” she muttered in English. She switched back to Arabic as her mind finally begun sparking. “Mark’s people killed your family and blew up our facility. NexGen didn’t hire them to do that. Why would they? That cost the company money. The bad press still influences some of their deals...”
Mark had gotten lazy if he thought listing out all the video evidence of his work on a single server was the answer. If she were in his shoes, he’d know when someone accessed their video.
Which meant...
“Khalil? Do you know where Mark is?”
“Somewhere near here. He was supposed to help me escape the country.”
Oh, fuck...
“We have to go now. We have to get to the police.” Erin grabbed his hand.
An engine rumbled in the distance, coming closer.
Mark wasn’t stupid. He’d keep tabs on when his customers accessed his files, which meant Khalil had sent up a flare the moment he started digging. They’d brought Mark to them.
Khalil scrambled to his feet, grabbing the laptop as he went.
Erin stood and glanced at the back door. She shoved the younger man.
“Go. Run, before we’re trapped!”
THURSDAY. CONSTRUCTION Site, Southlake, Texas.
Mark pushed the passenger side door open and peered at the four-story construction site.
Someone—probably Khalil—had broken in and left the gate open. Stupid. Anyone driving by could see it and call it in.
“They’re here somewhere,” Mark said.
The server had pinged this location up until sixty seconds ago.
“Spread out. Find them.” He glanced over his shoulder at the eight men still with him.
He’d lost some, but like Thomas, he’d take care of them in time. The men who joined this team knew there were only two ways off it. They didn’t get to just not show up for work. It didn’t work that way for them.
“I see movement,” one of the guys on the right flank called out.
Another man shone a spotlight, illuminating the forms of two people ducking between the incomplete walls on the first floor. Mark’s men moved like the well-oiled machine they were. Half went right, the other half moved to flank the duo.
“Khalil—stop!” Mark bellowed.
Two of his men darted into the building, shouting.
Mark jogged to catch up.
Khalil was a smart kid. Too smart for his own good. Mark had known Khalil’s usefulness might run its course, and today was that day. At least he’d brought Mark the big fish.
“Over here,” one of Mark’s men called out.
Mark slowed his gate.
He was going to have to kill them both and pull the plug on his server. He’d lose business and some credibility, but it was worth covering his ass.
“Khalil? I thought we had an understanding.” Mark came to a stop next to his man.
“They’re behind that stack of pallets,” the man said.
“Moving to flank,” a voice said through the headset.
In a few moments Mark would have the two pinned down and this problem over. Finally.
He was taking a damn vacation after this.
“Khalil, I only want the laptop and the woman,” Mark called out.
“You lie,” Khalil shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of concrete.
“Switching to infrared,” the man next to Mark said.
Mark pitched his voice low, “When you have the shot, take it.”
“Mark Forest?” This time it was the woman. Erin Lopez. The cockroach that wouldn’t die.
“Ms. Lopez, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Mark said.
“I know you want to kill me, and if you kill me, you’re going to kill Khalil, too. I just want you to know that if you do that—if you kill us—an email will go out to the police and every news station. If you don’t want that to happen, you have to let us go.”
“She’s bluffing,” Mark said, both for his own peace of mind and those men listening to him.
“I’ve got them,” the man said.
The blast of gunfire sounded far louder in the silence of the night than it should have.
Khalil screamed.
“Got him,” Mark muttered.
“They moved,” the shooter said.
“Let’s move in. They’ve got nothing.” Mark took a step forward.
Another bullet ripped through the night and this time, the man to Mark’s right pitched forward, landing in the dirt.
“Stop right there,” an unknown man shouted.
“Police!”
18.
THURSDAY. SOUTHLAKE, Texas.
“What the hell have you gotten me into?”
Riley ignored his Casey’s complaints. It wasn’t like Riley had shoved him in the SUV. Casey had climbed in of his own accord after getting gear from his vehicle.
“The signal came from a hundred yards that way,” Grant pointed up a gravel lane. A construction sign indicated a new office building development.
Riley took point, sticking to a few yards off the trail, still under the cover
