Silver Fire (Guardians) (3 page)

“Look, I’m all for you hooking up with Sophie Leroux,”
 
Jack began cautiously. “All I’m saying is don’t lump her with your other women. Maybe you could put...uh...the others on hold while you explore whatever with her.”

“Oh, there will be exploring, but I don’t think we’re on the same page,” Derek laughed.

Jack chuckled. “You’re hopeless, Lockwood. Take it from me, you never know when you
 
meet the One.”

“Marriage has turned you into a sap,” Derek said mockingly.

His friend just grinned, that stupid grin he wore whenever he thought about his wife.
Jesus.

The phone on the Escalade’s dashboard vibrated. Speak of the devil. Jack punched the speaker phone.

“Hey, babe.”
 

“I had to push back my meeting with Sophie Leroux, something came up at AGS. I don’t think I can make it back at the apartment by 6:00 p.m. So we’ll have a late start heading down to see your parents.”

“I hate getting a late start, Maia, 95 traffic can be horrendous,” Jack said. “Why don’t we—”

“It was your idea that I take on the Leroux account,” Maia cut in.

“I was going to say,” Jack stated calmly, “That I can swing back at our apartment, pick up our suitcases, and we can pick you up at Leroux’s place. We, meaning Derek and I. Derek can take your car with him and we can drive from there. That OK, Derek?”

Derek shrugged. He was looking forward to seeing Sophie again, but he would be damned before he made himself too obvious.

“Fine. I should be at her place by 4:00 p.m., I don’t think I’ll take more than an hour.”

Maia ended the call before Jack could reply.

“She’s still pissed at you.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Jack responded wryly.

“I’m impressed by your patience though.”

“I’m feeling guilty for manipulating the situation. She has every right to be pissed at me, so I’m taking whatever she can dish out.”

“Sounds like a marriage.”

“No shit.”

CHAPTER TWO

Sophie pulled up her Honda Pilot beside a silver Mercedes convertible parked in front of her sprawling Mediterranean style home in the exclusive Rosewood Heights historic neighborhood. The house, built in the roaring ’20s, belonged to her grandmother on her mother’s side and was surrounded by four acres of woodland. Sophie was the only daughter of American socialite Theresa Cassidy who had divorced her father when she was eight. She barely acknowledged her mother in thirteen years. She stayed with her grandmother when she was home from MIT, which was rare. The last time she had seen her mother was at her grandmother’s funeral where they hardly exchanged two sentences. Sophie’s inheritance from both sides of her family would have kept her comfortable for life, but what she was making out of Silver Fire Research was her pride and joy. And apparently some people were not happy about it.

A red-haired woman stepped out of the Mercedes and Sophie had to keep her jaw from dropping. She had heard enough gushing from Beth to know that McCord’s wife was beautiful, but meeting Maia Pierce McCord in person could effectively squeeze the air out of your lungs because she—was—breathtaking. No wonder Beth had her panties in a twist whenever she talked about Maia.

“Ms. Pierce or is it Mrs. McCord?” Sophie asked and laughed when Maia winced at the word ‘Mrs.’ “Still not used to it, I take it?”

Maia shook her head and grinned.

“How long have you been married?”

“Six weeks.”

“Ah, still on honeymoon?”

“Oh, believe me that phase is over.”

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?”
 

Maia grimaced and said, “I’d rather talk about your troubles than mine.”

Sophie chuckled. She liked Maia Pierce. Despite looking as gorgeous as she did, she appeared to be well-grounded and a very warm person. She had a rich and swoon-worthy husband, why would she choose a dangerous profession? She led the female Guardian through her front door, turning off her alarm and proceeding to the kitchen.
 

“Care for some wine?”

“I really shouldn’t, but I could use a glass.”

Sophie walked around the center island and checked the wine rack above the butler’s pantry. “What kind of wine do you drink?”

“Cabernet is fine.”

“Shame on you, I’m half-French you know,” Sophie clucked.

Maia smiled broadly but did not reply.
 

“We’ll have to settle on a Bordeaux then. I don’t have one up here, but I’ll go get it from the cellar.”

“Oh, please don’t do it on my account. I’ll drink whatever you have.”

“Nonsense, it’s right here,” Sophie said as she walked into a huge pantry and hefted a clay-tile covered trapdoor, revealing a short flight of steps. Maia followed her down the stairs without being invited, which disconcerted Sophie a little.
 

“Is this just being kept as underground storage?” Maia asked curiously.

“Yes,” Sophie replied as understanding dawned on her.

“You should keep a cell phone and a weapon down here,” Maia said, turning around and ascending the stairs back to the kitchen. She was busy entering notes on a tablet when Sophie returned with the wine.

Maia asked her some standard questions such as when the death threats started. Sophie informed her that receiving death threats was a part of her life as a daughter of a prominent nuclear physicist. However, threats in the last year had intensified before culminating in the attack last week when she was leaving her Kendo class.

“Your attacker had a mask, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“The police report said you were able to disarm him.”

“I caught his reflection when I was closing my Pilot’s liftgate. I was barely able to duck before he took a shot. Fortunately, he missed. I think I startled him when I went after him with my Kendo stick.”

Maia smiled approvingly before asking, “Who would want to kill you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he say anything? Any accent?”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “He did! Come to think of it...hmm...I couldn’t place it. Why didn’t the Metropolitan police ask me about his accent?”

“I need to know who would stand to benefit or lose from your research.”

“I think my current research is not a big player here,” Sophie admitted. “But my father’s research is more controversial. It’s a bomb that can flatten a small town like a nuclear bomb without the after-effects of radiation.”

Maia’s eyes narrowed as she typed ceaselessly into her tablet. “Has anyone approached you about developing it?”

“A couple actually. But Blackstone International seems to be the most aggressive in sending proposals.”

“Christopher Blackstone?”

“Yes. Have you met him?’

Maia nodded. “Blackstone International is rumored to be secretly manipulating African conflicts. I’ll find out what I can.”

Sophie took a sip of her wine. She needed to pay more attention to world news rather than hide away in her laboratory. Blackstone International was her main supplier of raw zefinium and she had known Christopher almost all her life. All Sophie knew was the highest-grade came from a little section of land between South Africa and Mozambique. There were other sources around the African continent, of course.

Just when she was about to relay this tidbit to Maia, the windows of her kitchen exploded.

***

“Get down!” Maia shouted as she shoved Sophie onto the red-clay tiled floor and drew her 9mm. Assault rifle fire drowned the once pristine designer kitchen in chaos and that simply infuriated her. She saw her decimated cellphone on the floor. It had sustained a direct hit where she had left it on the kitchen counter. AGS would immediately receive notification that she had gone off the grid. The frenetic din of gunfire persisted before a couple of firebombs sailed through the shattered windows.

The assailants were smoking them out!

“Sophie, where’s the phone?” Maia yelled through the noise. The blonde woman had her arms securely crossed behind her head in a protective posture. She unfolded one arm and pointed to the console right at the entrance of the kitchen. “Let’s go.” She shielded Sophie’s body as they ran full tilt out of the kitchen. “Is there another exit?”
 

“Balcony,” Sophie whispered, starting to choke on the smoke as she grabbed her purse to get to her cellphone. Maia snatched the cordless phone off the small table and started dialing 9-1-1. More firebombs hit the living room. “They cut the phone line,” Maia said as she threw the cordless phone away. She pulled Sophie to a crouch behind an imposing marble half-column.

“Yes, 9-1-1? We’re at...hello? Hello?” Sophie looked at Maia. “I think they’re jamming cell phone reception.”

“Son of a bitch,” Maia muttered. She glanced at Sophie, who appeared to be holding it together, but for how long? “We’re gonna have to make a run toward the balcony. I want you to duck behind the sofa while I check out that exit. They may be waiting for us.”

The two women crouch-walked to the other side of the house. Sophie dove behind the couch as instructed while Maia leaned against the wall and started to push the sliding door. As soon as the door moved, gunfire cracked through the glass. Maia spied a couple of gunmen and squeezed off a shot, taking one down. She could probably barrel through them, but she couldn’t risk Sophie getting hit. She glanced back at the interior of the house. It was going to go up in flames soon, burning them alive. The gunmen had no intention of coming in. They were making sure no one got out.

“Jack,” Maia whispered.
Damn it
. She was not going down like this and not when her husband thought she was pissed at him. Well she was, but that seemed inconsequential compared to suffocating to death by fire. She scrambled back to Sophie.

“We need to use the cellar.”

“What? The kitchen is on fire!”

“Hopefully, not all of it. When we run back, get as many kitchen towels as you can gather. I’ll get the water running.”

They dashed back to the kitchen. The gunfire had ceased; their assailants were going to let the fire do its work. Maia turned the tap on while Sophie dumped towels into the sink. The fire had ravaged the wall on the opposite side of the huge pantry. It was rapidly licking its way across the kitchen. Maia heaved the trapdoor open as Sophie got in. She followed behind her, letting the trap door fall shut as she began lining the seam with wet towels, keeping some for themselves to cover their faces. She led Sophie to the far end of the underground space and as the inferno blazed upstairs, Maia prayed they could wait it out until help arrived.

***

It was twenty minutes before 5:00 p.m. when Jack loaded the suitcases into the trunk of the Escalade. His phone buzzed and he frowned when he recognized Viktor’s number.
 

“McCord.”

“Maia’s phone went off the grid, have you talked to her recently?”

“Four hours ago. She should be at Leroux’s residence. I’m heading there right now,” Jack replied as he tried to quell the panic in his gut. There was a simple explanation for this. He glanced at Derek, who understood what he wanted, getting immediately into the passenger side. Jack sat in the driver’s seat and started the car; his friend started messing around with the police band. “Could it be poor reception?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Jack,” Victor replied.
 

“Of course,” Jack muttered. “Well, let me know if you hear anything. I should be at Leroux’s in twenty minutes.”

“I’m not getting anything from the police scanners,” Derek informed him.

When the SUV left the underground parking, he immediately punched Maia’s number. Sure enough, it went straight to the standard message of a subscriber not in service. The last time this had happened, Maia’s smartphone had plunged into the Atlantic Ocean. Tension crept up the back of his neck like setting concrete. Everything was fine. He was just overreacting.

Regardless of what he had concluded, Jack’s foot felt like lead on the gas pedal. They flew past an intersection before getting on the ramp leading to the main highway. Unfortunately, rush hour had started. Jack cursed as he weaved the car through the infernal DC traffic.
 

Derek was quiet beside him, which meant his friend was just as worried as he was. Damn it. He hit the speed dial again. Same message.

“Fuck!” Jack cursed. “Why is everyone driving so slow!” He slammed his palm on the steering wheel. His phone buzzed. It was Tim Burns from the AGS datacenter.

“McCord.”

“There’s a fire in the Rosewood Heights neighborhood. It’s been identified as the residence belonging to Dr. Sophie Marie Leroux.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Jack said, his voice surprisingly calm.
 
He maneuvered the Escalade through a sea of honking vehicles, taking short cuts from the shoulder and cutting in sharply into other cars. If a cop decided to stop him, he would just have to follow him all the way to Rosewood Heights, because he had no intention of pulling over.

Emergency response vehicles were flying past Jack’s SUV at an alarming rate. He could see the smoke from a distance. If Maia was okay, why hadn’t she called him? As soon as Jack turned into Rosewood Heights, he could see the bedlam of flashing lights, police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. The fire in the house was under control, but what made Jack’s gut seize was the sight of Maia’s car—burned and charred. Whatever doubt remained that the fire had been an accident vanished. The Escalade screeched to a halt behind an ambulance and he ignored Derek’s yell as he bolted from the SUV, charging into the gathering of emergency responders.

“Sir, you cannot be here!” A police officer intercepted him, a second cop appearing as backup, ready to take Jack on if he became uncontrollable.

“That’s my wife’s car,” Jack said furiously, pointing to the remnants of the Mercedes Benz. He was struggling to keep his panic in check. “She was with the owner of the house. Where are they?”

Jack hated the look of sympathy crossing the officer’s eyes.
Maia is not dead, damn it
.
 

“Steve,” the officer barked through his shoulder radio. “There’s a gentleman here who’s asking for survivors in that house. Any news?”