“She’s dead,” I said it exactly as I had to his brother Seth at the CIA.
“Hell of a thing.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.
I took advantage of the move to reach out and do a sleight of hand trick, removing his phone from his pocket, sliding it into my bodice.
“I didn’t know she was sick. All right? I’m sorry, all right? I was messed up. It’s all messed up. I didn’t mean it, okay?”
Things were getting weird. Where was Striker? My whole system was in flames.
“But now my nuts are in a vice, you know? They’re screwed down so tight, I can’t make a move. You see?”
“I…”
“Yeah. You pull something like that. And Karma bites you. Hanasal died, you know? In a car accident. Just desserts. For him. Not me. But when they figured it out. And man, Hanasal had some friends in some very high places. I mean. Wow. Right? Yeah. Nuts. Nuts in a vice.” He was dragging me back to the wall.
I wasn’t sure if I should be fighting him. Maybe he was just trying to get us out of the way of the entertainers.
I tried to keep my face neutral. It wasn’t easy. This was the man who murdered my dad.
The green army men made a circle in the center of the room. They lifted their guns to their shoulders. The MC announced, “And the enemy is defeated!”
“Get out. Get out now. This is your chance!” Vincent spat as he turned and grabbed my shoulder. He opened a door that was hidden as part of the wall. He thrust me through.
“Consider yourselves conquered by the invading army,” the MC called as the door slammed in my face.
Through the wall, I could hear muffled clapping.
I tried the handle, but it was locked. I looked around me. This seemed to be a staging room of some kind.
I didn’t see another way out.
The clapping turned to screams.
Striker was in there!
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A strafe of gunfire sounded.
I flung myself to the ground as pieces of the plaster wall rained down on my back.
Screams erupted from the reception hall.
Looking up at the holes left behind as quiet descended anew, I noticed that they traced along the top of the wall.
Cover fire.
It was meant to send a message, to gain compliance, to shock the shit out of the people in the room. It wasn’t meant to kill.
I crawled to the door and tried the handle a second time. Locked.
My team was inside.
What was happening?
I scrambled toward an open door at the other end of this space. Dressing room. Not much here of use. A sink, a makeup table and mirror, an empty costume rack with metal hangers. Some janitorial equipment. My purse was back at the table in my clutch where I had been standing when I confronted Lula—Johnna White.
Patting at my bodice, Vincent’s phone was gone.
Crawling on all fours, I scrambled back to where it had fallen out during my dive to safety.
Then back again to the dressing room. From what I could tell, this was behind the dais, so I should be relatively safe from flying bullets.
With my back against the cinderblock wall, I drew the Z that I had seen Vincent draw moments ago. Boom, the phone’s security allowed me in. What was he texting when I got the psychic message of my own?
Greg: Karl, everything’s in place. We’re a go. They’re coming through the doors now.
Karl Davidson?
Karl: He he he. I’m watching on my computer. We have a good feed. It’s worth getting up at the crack of dawn. Enjoy the show. I’d say break a leg, but what I really mean is break some necks.
Karl. He was in Saudi Arabia, where, indeed, it would be the early hours of the morning.
Holy hell. I was pretty clear on who was in that room, Omega Security. After all, William and Karl Davidson had sat on their board prior to the info dump that Spyder had set off last winter, driving their organization out of the country.
Not to say everyone left.
Management had changed locations.
I used every trick in my book to calm my nerves to stay focused and rational. Work the problem. Stay out of the emotional cascade that would drown me in inability. My team needed me.
What this text told me was that Karl was making another run at a billion-dollar inheritance.
Last summer, Karl the psychopath had drugged his sister and thrown her over the rails of the Davidson’s yacht, trying to kill her.
He had headed right for his father’s private island with a vial of poison in his pocket destined for his dad’s evening cocktail.
Instead, Christen, with Gator’s help, survived. She showed up in time to scoop her dad up in her helicopter and get a shot off, aiming for her psychopathic brother. The bullet pierced Karl’s leg, and he was now an amputee with a lot of rage.
Of course, Karl would show up in some manner and try to destroy her wedding.
Thank goodness for London’s pettiness. It kept Christen and Gator safe. If they’d stay away.
A lot had gone on for the Davidson’s last year. William had faced a possible natural death with a tumor scare. London had given birth to a fourth son/fifth heir. And …
London. Oh no.
Karl needed London dead. Was that what was happening here? I tried to think that through. If William and London were killed, there might be an inquiry that might hold up the distribution of the inheritance, but if many were dead in a criminal event…
After London gave birth to their son Archie, William Davidson had significantly adjusted his will. While he said
