Here Comes Trouble (11 page)

“You said this storage company is one of Oliver Technologies subsidiaries, right?” Malcolm pulled her attention to the computer. “Might as well let them get us in the back door.”

“I tried that,” Nathan said. “But that firewall they’ve installed . . . Are you already in?” He did a full body twist in his seat, eyes wide and disbelieving. “How the hell did you do that?”

“Seven months ago Oliver Technologies installed StayAlert firewalls into all of their systems. Good to know you couldn’t bypass it. I owe my tech guys a bonus.” Malcolm’s fingers skittered over the keys. “Thanks to the Trojan virus I uploaded into the system the other day when I gained access to their server, we now have a work-around.” He grinned and winked at Sheila.

“StayAlert?” Nathan asked Sheila when she rolled her eyes. “What’s that look for?”

“It means StayAlert is brought to you by TIN.” She nudged Malcolm with her shoulder. She had to admit, the guy had style. “One of those little side jobs you referred to?”

“Made for a nice first-quarter profit.” Malcolm’s fingers continued flying over his keyboard. “How else was I going to keep an eye on the old man?” Sheila leaned over as the home page to StoreMore blipped on. “Now.” Malcolm flexed his hands. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

***

“You know what they say.” Nathan pulled the SUV into a space between two semis in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour truck stop five miles outside Los Angeles. “Third time’s a charm. Wireless working?”

The throbbing jukebox base of country music blasted from inside the crowded eatery. Her nose curled at the smell of fried onions, overcooked bacon, and diesel.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Sheila said, noting the signal strength on Malcolm’s laptop. “According to the files Malcolm’s accessed in the main database, of the three units Chadwick has on record . . .”

“Using Ty’s name, of course,” Malcolm spat.

“Right.” She squeezed her hand around his wrist, wishing she could erase the bitterness he held toward his father. It wasn’t doing anyone any good and his anger was only going to get in their way. She should know. “Unit one-one-three-nine is the only one he’s accessed in the last two years. As far as we can tell, he’s never stepped foot in any of the others.”

“When was the last time he was here?” Nathan whipped off his seatbelt and faced them.

“Um.” Sheila dragged her finger down the spreadsheet. “Well, there’s an entry here from about a week ago, and before that, six months.”

“Can you access the security code to that unit?”

“You’d better hope so or this whole night has been a waste.” Malcolm’s fingers typed so fast Sheila could barely see them. “I already disabled the part of the security system that sends an alert if it’s deactivated after hours.”

“Did you change your shoes?” Nathan asked her as he adjusted his earpiece.

“Yes.” She kicked out the black hiking boots courtesy of what Nathan called his “go bag.” “We need to talk about your sense of style. Or lack thereof.” She’d had to triple tie the laces around her ankles to get them to stay on. “And don’t you dare comment on how they clash with my dress.”

“You know me so well.” Nathan pointed at her bag.

“I’ve already linked you both through my phone,” Malcolm said, attention still on the screen as she tucked her lock-pick case under her arm and beneath the band of her bra. Sheila arched a look at Nathan, who gave her an imperceptible nod. She dropped a hand into her bag at her feet under the pretense of putting her phone away. “You both have Bluetooth, right?” Malcolm asked.

“Yep.” Sheila pressed hers into her ear as she withdrew the long plastic tie from her purse. “We’ll read each other loud and clear.”

“The storage facility is two blocks that way.” Malcolm pointed to the left. “Just one more minute and . . . yeah. Storage unit one-one-three-nine. Same security code as his safe room. Honest to God, that is so stupid. And here’s the code to the security system once you’re in the office.” He tapped to highlight the numbers.

“Got it,” Sheila said as Nathan pushed open his door. “Malcolm.” She caught his right hand in hers, tugged it close to her heart as her own pounded in her ears. “We couldn’t have done this without you.” She scooted forward in her seat, leaned in, and as his eyes followed hers, she hitched his hand onto the back of the passenger seat and zip tied his wrist to the bar under the headrest. “But you’re not coming in with us.”

“The hell I’m not.” Malcolm twisted so hard, his laptop dropped to the floor. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Our deal didn’t include you breaking and entering, something you aren’t trained for,” Nathan said.

“Oh, and I suppose you are?” Malcolm pulled his hand so hard she saw welts form around his wrist.

“Actually, we are. Malcolm, stop.” She caught his face in her hands, forced him to look at her. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“No.” He tugged again, anger blazing in his eyes that reminded her of pure flame. It stoked inside her, hot, tempting. Volcanic. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry.” She pressed her lips against his, felt his entire body stiffen as he struggled, then all but sank into her. “We’ll be back as fast as we can.” She stroked his cheek.

“Nathan,” Malcolm bellowed, but her brother had already closed the door. “Sheila.”

She stopped half way out the door.

“Be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Here.” Nathan leaned around Sheila and tossed the USB fob to the car once she’d moved away. “You’re our fail safe. Won’t do you any good cutting through the tie though.”

“You son of a—”

Sheila winced as Nathan slammed the door. “Well that was fun,” she said.

“He’ll get over it.” But her brother didn’t look any happier than she did.

She didn’t like the guilt that was curling in her stomach. They would be out of excuses when it came to explaining themselves. “I still don’t know why you need me,” she whispered as they headed down the road, the noise from the nearby freeway echoing in the warm night air. The lack of signs and traffic lights plunged them into darkness, broken by passing or turning headlights. “As much as I appreciate your faith in me, I’d rather not be tagged as your sidekick.”

“You know what we’re looking for.”

“Paintings aren’t that difficult to identify. Most of them are square. “

“Morgan was gifted with the sarcasm gene, Sheila. Not you. This time around you’re the brains, I’m the brawn.”

“Clichés give me a migraine.” Sheila jogged to keep up with him, tripping over the too-big shoes as he crossed the deserted road. She followed as he slowed his pace and approached the fence line.

“Blind spot under that camera there.” Nathan pointed to the camera closest to them. “It’s on a thirty-second rotation, which means we have that long to pick the lock, get inside, and key in the code to the security system. Then you get to the storage unit while I access their onsite files.”

“Wait.” Sheila grabbed his arm, tapped her ear. “Malcolm, are you there?”

“Where would I go?”

“Yeah, um, so.” She stifled the giggle bubbling in her throat. “What’s the delay on the security door once we pick the lock?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Thanks. Six-nine-pound-seven-four, right?”

“Yes.” The word may as well have been glass under Malcolm’s feet. “I hope you break a nail.”

Nathan patted her arm. “See? He’s feeling better already.”

“Get to it, Nathan.” She looked up at the camera as it began to swing away. She thought for sure the security sensors would pick up on her thudding heart or the adrenaline coursing through her blood. She and Nathan crouched before dashing to the plywood door of the office displaying a plastic clock noting office hours beginning at nine a.m.

Her brother made quick work of the lock, pushing open the door, and the two of them slipped inside. He closed the door as Sheila attacked the keypad, wincing in the darkness as she fingered the keys and listened to the telltale beep, and then the panel light flashed green. “Go.”

Lights burst on as she stepped into the hallway lined with storage units. “Tell me there aren’t cameras in here?” she whispered.

Nathan waved her on as Malcolm spoke into her ear. “I already took care of them. Would you hurry up already?”

“Hurry up,” she mimicked. “Day’s going to come when they’ll have to do what I tell them to do.”

“I can still hear you,” Malcolm said.

“I know,” she sang, then, to piss him off, she clicked off her earpiece as she found the right unit. “Well, son of a biscuit cutter.”

The keypad she’d expected, but the two additional padlocks on the corrugated metal door were more cosmic “Kick-Me” signs. She pulled the case out from under her arm. Underwear doubling as a transport device. The lessons learned on the pageant circuit never ceased to come in handy. She picked the locks quickly and hauled the door high enough to duck under, praying she wouldn’t encounter anything like Clarice Starling did in
The Silence of the Lambs
. Not that finding a head in a bottle would surprise her at this point.

She flipped the light switch. “Damn.” She circled around, skimming the chaotic shelves filled with paintings that may as well have come from garage sales, although . . . typical. She traced the intricate carvings of the wood frames Chadwick had tossed aside, not caring that some frames were more valuable than some of the pieces they housed. She grabbed at scraps of paper, skimmed faded print before moving onto the worn clipboard hanging by a solitary nail. She sighed. Once again, she was too late.

She ducked down, picking up an old shipping invoice from under an empty crate. Dated six months ago, which matched the records Malcolm had accessed. And there was a delivery address in . . . She held the paper up to the light. Nope. She couldn’t make out the address, nor did she see a mention of Ty or Oliver Technologies. But there was another name that had been scribbled out . . .

“Well?” Nathan popped in under the door and hefted it open the rest of the way. “Was I right?”

“Yes and no. No paintings. But I found this invoice for the shipping of three crates.” She waved the paper in the air and Nathan snatched it out of her hand.

“Where were they shipped to?”

“It’s hard to read.” She located a second light switch. She’d just flicked it on when Nathan’s hand locked around her wrist.

“Stop!”

“What?”

“Just stop.” Nathan ducked into the unit beside her, eyes pinned on the thin red wire running from the switch plate all around the perimeter of the door.

“What’s that?” But she knew from her brother’s expression and lack of color on his face that the answer wasn’t going to be good. “Nathan?”

“Out. Get out. Now.”

Her brain shut down as he stepped into the hall and drew her with him. The second they were clear of the unit, she heard a click. Loud. Quick.

Nathan looked at her. She blinked at him. Time slowed. The click echoed in her ears.

“Run!” Nathan bellowed, all but pulling her arm out of its socket as he yanked her out.

They ran into the office, barely clearing the computer station before the first explosion hit. She dived forward as a blast of fire erupted behind them and the entire building exploded.

Heat blazed around her, smoke filled her eyes, her mouth, coated her lungs as she heaved and tried to breathe. The dead weight of Nathan on top of her sent her into a momentary panic until she felt him roll off her.

“Son of a bitch,” he blasted. “What the hell?”

“What?” Sheila’s ears were ringing, and she smelled burning fabric. Nathan slapped at her arms as smoke cascaded off her in plumes. “I can’t hear—”

Tires screeched as the headlights of the SUV barreled around and into the driveway. Sheila scrambled to her feet, helped haul Nathan up. She pulled open the door, pausing to look into Malcolm’s furious face. “Get in!”

She jumped into the front seat of the SUV as Nathan scrambled into the back.

“Reverse,” Malcolm yelled, angling his gaze to the gearshift. “I can only bend that way so many times.”

Only then did she remember his hand was still attached to the headrest behind her. “Shit.” She grabbed the gear, shifted it, and braced herself before she plowed into the dashboard.

“Drive.”

She shifted again and the car lurched forward, tires spinning as he sped toward the parking lot. This time she didn’t have to be told to shift into park as sirens sounded in the distance. Malcolm reached out and grabbed the back of her neck. “Down.”

She ducked, closing her eyes as the pressure of his fingers eased. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her ears hurt, her entire body hurt. But she was alive. Coughing, she choked and poked her head up high enough to check on her brother. “Nathan?”

“I’m okay.” Her brother coughed. “A bit crispy, but okay.”

Spinning lights and screeching brakes accompanied the sirens as emergency vehicles sped past. “We’re clear.” Malcolm’s voice shot through her head like a bullet. She saw diner customers flood outside drawn by the sound of sirens, their attention focused on the fireball of a storage unit across the street. He bent close to her ear. “Cut. Me. Loose.”

“There’s a knife in the glove compartment,” Nathan wheezed as Sheila scrambled for the latch.

She flicked open the knife, sliced through the tie, but before she could put it back, Malcolm reached out and hauled her to his side, squeezing her so hard whatever breath she had disappeared.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” He stroked her hair, his voice hot in her ear. As she clung to him, she could have sworn she felt him shake, and when she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold. “Not yet. Give me a minute.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, trying not to notice how warm and secure he felt. How taut and oh, so toned. Not good. Really not good. “Malcolm, let go. I’m okay.”

“I’m okay, too,” Nathan called from where he was prone. “In case anyone was wondering.”

“Shut up,” Malcolm shot at him. “Just shut the hell up.”

But his arm loosened and Sheila was able to sit back in the passenger seat, unsteady and more shaken than she wanted to admit. She folded her hands together to stop them from trembling as her ears continued to ring.

“Do you two have any idea what it was like to watch that place go up?”

“Not really, no.” This time Sheila couldn’t stop the giggle from erupting. She covered her mouth, shook her head as Malcolm aimed a furious look at her. “I’m sorry.” She tried to stop, but when Nathan started, it got worse. “Shock,” she managed as tears burned her eyes. “Delayed reaction.” She choked, which set off another bout. There had been a time not so long ago she’d wanted more excitement in her life. “Why don’t you drive?”

“Would have served you guys right if I’d left you there.”

“Nah, you’d never do that.” Nathan aimed a slap toward Malcolm’s shoulder, missed, and grazed his arm.

“It crossed my mind,” Malcolm growled.

“No, it didn’t,” Sheila said, wiping her eyes and trying not to notice when her fingers came away black with soot. “I must look a sight.” She flipped down the visor and blinked at her reflection. “Lord, if the Miss California judges could see me now.”

“They’d say you both got what you deserved.” Malcolm backed out of the parking space and drove well under the limit onto the highway. “At least tell me you found something.”

“Oh.” Sheila slapped her hands against her torso and glanced at her brother. “Do you have it?”

“Yep.” He patted his jacket, but instead of sitting up, he stretched out as best he could and closed his eyes. “Catch him up. I’m just going to take a nap.”

“Nathan?” She scrambled onto her knees, reaching to check for blood or injuries.

“I’m fine.” He smacked her hands away. “It’s just an adrenaline crash and sensory overload. Let me be for a while.”

“I should make a citizen’s arrest,” Malcolm muttered as Sheila resumed her seat and hooked her belt. “Drive you straight to the police station and—”

“Tell them what? You caught us flying out of a storage facility before it blew up?”

“Think they won’t believe me?”

“I know when you’re bluffing.” She’d scared him. And as much as she didn’t like the fear she’d seen on his face, she couldn’t ignore the thrill of excitement . . . and expectation . . . that zinged through her.

“How about I call your father?” His jaw flexed as he rested his head on his hand, peered into the oncoming headlights. “He’s called you at least three times since your little escapade. I bet that’s him again.” He jerked a thumb toward her phone lying on the floor beside her purse when it rang. “But you wouldn’t know that because you turned your Bluetooth off, didn’t you?”

She gulped and pulled out her earpiece. Oops. “Hold that thought,” she said and reached for her phone. Sure enough, she saw her father’s number. “Hi, Dad. You, um, home from your trip?”

She saw Malcolm’s jaw clench in the dim light of the car.

“Funny story about tonight,” she plowed ahead before she lost the nerve. “I know you wanted us to wait for you, but Nathan and I did a little recon mission to try to find the paintings, and, well, we ran into a bit of an issue.”

“Your father knows about this?” Malcolm bellowed and Nathan grumbled. “Give me that phone.”

“No, wait, Malcolm.” But it was too late. He’d snatched the phone out of her hand. “Dammit.” This was so not what she needed. She slumped in her seat like a grounded teenager.

“Jackson, it’s Malcolm. Yeah, well, it’s been an interesting evening.” He glared at her. “Since I think it slipped Sheila’s mind to tell you, you should know I’ve been recruited to the team.”

Sheila groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“I couldn’t agree more. Yes, we have a lot to discuss. I’m in the presidential suite at the Empire. We should be there in about ninety minutes.” He paused, glanced at Sheila, then in the rearview mirror at Nathan. “Yeah. We’ll wait for you. They’re fine, Jackson. They shouldn’t be, but they are. Right. Ninety minutes.”

“You suck,” Sheila said as she pocketed her phone. “I would have told him.”

“I have every right to be angry with you,” Malcolm said.

“Did tattling to my father make you feel better?”

“No, because your father didn’t only sound angry, he sounded scared. Jesus, Sheila, what have you guys gotten into?”

“It’s not like we expected the place to blow up,” Sheila muttered. “Why on earth would your father have wired his unit with explosives?”

“Paranoia? Insurance claim? Who the hell knows? Let’s add that to the list of discussion topics, shall we? Beginning with—”

“Do me a favor and wait until we’re at your place?”

“So help me, if you’re working on coming up with some story to get you out of telling me the truth . . .”

“No stories,” she said. “No lies, I promise.” And she meant it. “You held up your part of the bargain.” Not to mention he’d saved their butts. “You deserve the real story. All of it. But as I told you the other day, it’s not only my story to tell.”

“But I’m not letting either one of you out of my sight until I’ve heard it all.”

“In that case.” Nathan sat up and poked his soot-coated blond head between the seats. “Any chance we could stop for burgers? I’m starved.”

***

“Is everyone all right?” Veronica was holding the door open to Malcolm’s suite as they exited the elevator. “Malcolm? Sheila? What’s going on?”

“You do not want to know.” Malcolm corralled Sheila and Nathan inside and slammed the door. He tossed the three bags of grease-infused fast food onto the dining table by the window. “Trust me, Veronica, you need plausible deniability.”

“I’m your lawyer, not theirs.” She padded after him, her flip-flops slapping on the hardwood floor, haphazard ponytail bopping on the back of her head. The small-frame glasses perched on the tip of her nose made her look more college student than experienced lawyer. “One thing’s for sure, this town is not boring. Hello.” Malcolm gnashed his teeth as Veronica introduced herself to Nathan, who despite looking like a chimney sweep from
Mary Poppins
returned the feminine purr of a greeting with his typical wink and smile.

“Nathan Tremayne.”

“You certainly are.” Veronica pursed her lips and looked him up and down as if he were a hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Let’s play the dating game another time, shall we?” Malcolm suggested.

“Ignore him,” Veronica said with a wave of her fingers. “He gets cranky when he doesn’t get his two hours of moping in.” Veronica’s friendly smile dipped as she trained her sights on Sheila. “Oh, that beautiful dress. And your hair.” She walked over and skimmed her fingers down Sheila’s ash-caked blond curls. “Here.” Veronica picked up a stack of folded clothes—simple jeans and a T-shirt as far as Malcolm could tell—and handed them over. “Malcolm asked if I could loan you something for tonight.”

“So I heard,” Sheila said, and Malcolm wondered if he was imagining the tinge of envy in her voice. “Thank you.”

“He led me to believe you’d be here for a while, so I tossed in some toiletries.”

If the envy had been there, it vanished beneath the droop of grateful eyes. “That was a nice thought.”

“Master bath’s through there.” Malcolm pointed to his bedroom. “Guest shower’s there,” he told Nathan with a jerk of his chin. “I’d get cleaned up before your father gets here otherwise you might give him a heart attack.”

“Dad’s stronger than you think,” Sheila said, but when Malcolm aimed a furious look in her direction, she ducked her head and disappeared behind closed doors.

“You know, I’m feeling a little woozy.” Nathan dropped an expectant gaze on Veronica, who gave him such a knowing crooked grin Malcolm repressed a chuckle. “Any chance you’d like to scrub my back?”

“Tempting an offer as that is”—Veronica gripped Nathan’s shoulders, turned him around, and pushed him into the bathroom—“I don’t think you’re up to taking me on right now.” She shoved him one more step and pulled the door closed before swinging on Malcolm. He stepped aside when she transformed from caretaker to banshee in the blink of an eye. “What in the hell is going on?”

“My answer hasn’t changed since you asked me two minutes ago.” He went in search of paper plates, popping open cabinet after cabinet. “You don’t want to know.”

“The last thing you need right now is more stress, and with those two looking like refugees from the Hunger Games, I’d call that stress.”

“Keep your voice down,” he demanded in as low a register as he could manage. “Or I’ll sue you for breach of attorney-client privilege.”

“Bugger privilege.” And with those two words, Malcolm realized just how angry—and worried—she was. “Doctor Chapman called me today. As your attorney of record, she thought something catastrophic might have happened to you since you haven’t returned her last call. I had to assure her you were incredibly busy, which she didn’t believe for a second.”

Malcolm sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Yeah, I know.” And he did. If tonight taught him anything it was he needed to stop postponing reality. “I know.”

“No, you don’t know. And neither do I. That’s the point.” Veronica stalked over to him and poked a finger hard into his chest. “It’s time you sucked it up and faced whatever it is you have to. I told her you’d call her by four tomorrow afternoon if you didn’t hear from her before. And you’ll bloody well do it because if you don’t I am going to say fuck privilege and demand she give me your test results.”

“You won’t do that.”

“Look at my face, Malcolm.” She stood toe to toe with him. “Do you think my law license is more important to me than my best friend?”

“That’s why you’re my best friend,” he said in an attempt to soften her rabid expression. “Okay, if she calls, I’ll answer, but either way, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“She has instructions to let me know if she doesn’t hear from you.”

“Boy, you’ve just covered everything, haven’t you?”

“Whatever she says, we’ll get through this, Malcolm. And I’m betting I won’t be the only one willing to stand by your side.”

Malcolm grabbed hold of Veronica’s upper arms and shifted her out of the way. “You are not to say a word to anyone about any of this, you hear me? Not to Nathan and
not
to Sheila.”

“Malcolm.” Her expression shifted to barely contained sympathy mingled with frustration. “She cares about you. They both do. Otherwise they wouldn’t have let you drag them here after . . .” She waved her hands by her side. “Whatever happened tonight. They respect you.”

“Take what you can get, Veronica. I’ll take the call, but this stays between us.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head before pushing her toward the door. “But don’t test me on this. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

“Why do I feel as if I’m an Avenger who’s been ordered to assemble?” Nathan plopped two single In-N-Out burgers along with a container of fries onto a plate and took a seat across from Sheila, who was picking at her own burger. Her stomach rumbled, but she resisted the call.

“If I can be Iron Man, I’m happy to let you live with that delusion.” Malcolm joined them, sitting beside Sheila and pointed at her undisturbed plate. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat a full meal since I’ve been back. Eat or I’ll shove it down your throat.”

“Do you know how many calories—”

“I do, and you can jump off the pageant circuit at any time. I bet you’ve been hungry for over a decade. One burger isn’t going to kill you.”

“It might kill me given how tight your jeans are,” Nathan grumbled. “Jesus, Malcolm. How much weight have you lost anyway?” He tugged at his waistband and blew out a breath.

“Enough that I can afford a few burgers. Jackson? Are you hungry?”

Sheila looked over at her father, who had taken up sentry duty at the plate-glass window, hands shoved deep into his trousers, silver hair glinting against the black iron ceiling fixture over the dining table. “Dad?”