Chapter 10

Ten

Between getting back into the country and tracking down any kind of a lead on Patch, I was not in the mood to find these two jackasses battling it out in her house. I didn’t know who they were and I didn’t fucking care.

They were in the way. If they continued to be an obstacle, I would remove them. At this point, it had been over a week, seven days, since I’d last spoken to her. Seven days was an eternity in this business.

“Where the hell is Patch?” I demanded. They could be a pair of contractors, each taking a job to go after her and now fighting it out. “You have five seconds to answer me or I’m just shooting you.”

I didn’t even reach five, before the one in front dropped and the bald guy behind him shot my fucking gun. It flew out of my hand with almost bruising force, but I pulled out a second gun and then it was the three of us, in a triangle, each pointing a weapon at another.

Well, they were both pointing at me.

Fine.

Whatever.

“How do you know Patch?” The guy who’d shot my gun demanded. His English accent salted every word.

“How do you know her?”

“Fuck my life,” the second guy muttered. “You’re contractors.”

That didn’t mean a damn to me. “So are you,” was my only comment. It was definitely not enough for me to lower my weapon.

“Locke.” The second guy identified himself. Probably not the smartest move.

“Excuse me?” Did he have a point?

“Remington,” the shooter stated in his crisp accent. Then they both looked at me.

“I don’t identify myself, particularly to people I don’t know.” Not trusting people was an acquired skill that involved knives in my back.

“Then I can shoot you in the head and check your ID after you”re down,” Remington stated in the coolest of tones.

“Or we could not splatter blood all over her dining room without a damn good reason,” Locke countered. “Killing people means bodies to deal with, I prefer to minimize the mess.”

I blinked at Locke and it took a beat to realize that I wasn’t the only one staring at him. “You’re not an assassin then,” Remington stated. To be fair, it wasn’t a question.

“No,” Locke stated. “You are. I’ve heard the rumors on the kill count.”

Good to know. I liked the open sharing of information. Locke was less likely to shoot me than Remington. I reoriented my gun at the guy who had fired already.

“You followed me here, Mr. Locke,” Remington informed him.

“Yep, because you were sniffing around for information on Patch. I wanted to find her too—but all my access points were shut down because you were looking for her. So, if you had the info, I let you bring me to her.”

“Reasonable.”

It also suggested they were looking for her after she disappeared. That meant they might be like me, aware that she’d stopped answering her phone. It could also be a covert ploy to get information.

Faking association was a common interrogation tactic. Then again, they hadn’t known I was there before they tried to beat the shit out of each other.

I weighed the potential threat against the benefit of information. Particularly because they knew Patch’s name.

“This is Patch’s place,” I confirmed why I was there and it arrested the attention of Locke.

“You know her?”

“Yes,” I answered easily enough. I knew her. Clearly, they knew her.

“On sight, do you know her?” Remington asked.

And I almost smiled. Smart asshole.

“You don’t,” Remington answered his own question before slicing a look at Locke. “Neither of you do.”

“You don’t either.” That was the thing, if he could, he wouldn’t be willing to wait out this discussion. “Are there photos here?”

They both paused, Locke with a frown, but Remington appeared more thoughtful.

“No,” Remington answered after a moment. “I’d barely done one sweep when Locke walked in. No photos. Nothing of family or friends. If anything, it’s been minimal in the way of personalization. It’s cozy without being warm or homey.”

I blew out a breath. The best covers to inhabit were usually those that were close to the person. She shouldn’t need a cover though, just a?—

“What about her call center?”

No surprise moved across their faces. No, they were definitely contractors. If I had to bet, then Patch was their operator too. My girl, stepping out on me with these yahoos.

Great.

“Not yet,” Remington answered when Locke said nothing. Curiously, the cat had apparently gotten his tongue. Too bad. I had a feeling if he had more information, he’d have already shared it. “You’re here because she didn’t answer.”

Again, Remington wasn’t asking a question. Since the fact was pretty clear, it cost me nothing to confirm it. “The same as you, I would imagine. And Mr. Peace Lover over here.”

“Never said I had a problem with violence,” Locke responded. “I just don’t see the point of dropping bodies if we don’t have to.”

I didn’t roll my eyes, but Remington shook his head.

“Since we are all here for the same reason,” Locke continued. “I propose a truce until we find Patch.”

“You think something’s happened to her?” Remington’s whole focus swung from me to Locke.

“If she was fine, she would have answered her phone. If something hadn’t happened to her, none of us would be here.” Solid logic.

“I could argue that either one of you could be here because you are the problem.” Then before either of them could suggest it, I added, “So could I for that matter.”

The longer we wasted time on this…

“Look, we all want to find her. That gives us a common goal.” Locke again. The man was almost too smooth. “We pool our resources, find Patch, make sure she’s secure, then go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”

“If we don’t find her or she isn’t secure?” Remington’s voice had taken a distinctly cold, unfriendly note.

“Then we secure her and eliminate the threats,” I said. “By whatever means necessary.” I held Remington’s gaze and read the determination to exact more than a pound of flesh if necessary. With a nod, since we were on the same page, I transferred my attention to Locke. “Can you handle that?”

Locke pursed his lips. “I have no problems dropping any bodies in that quest.”

Silence held sway for a long moment. Remington lowered his weapon first. He didn’t holster it, but it wasn’t pointed at me any longer.

Acceptable. I lowered my own.

Funnily enough, Locke was the last one to lower his weapon. Unlike us, he didn’t keep it in his hand. “You searched the place already?” Definitely aimed at Remington since I just got here.

“Not thoroughly,” the man countered. “You interrupted.”

No apology was forthcoming, not that I could blame him. Instead, I studied the room around us. It seemed cozy, yet it lacked any distinguishing features or decorations. How did she make it warm without giving herself away?

The sharpness of her intelligence had always been a turn-on.

“Then we search it again,” Locke said. “This is my area of expertise after all.”

“Are you an expert in searching places?” I shot him a look that he shrugged off.

“Thief,” he answered. “I’m very good at getting in and out of places people don’t want others in.”

“So you’re good at locating these hidden places?” Remington sounded skeptical.

I didn’t blame the guy, it smelled like horseshit. I moved through the kitchen then headed into the living room. Remington kept pace with me, neither of us giving the other our back.

Locke didn’t follow, and I pivoted to find him standing in the hallway just outside of the kitchen and dining room that led to a half bath at one end and to the garage at the other.

Head tilted, he seemed to be studying the wall. I kept him in my periphery as I scanned the room and its contents. There was a hiss of sound, like a door decompressing and I was a half-step behind Remington.

Locke stared at the door he’d just opened in the stairs to reveal another set of stairs going down.

“I’ll be damned,” Remington muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Locke said without a trace of irony. Nor did he wait for us as he descended the steps. Remington and I exchanged looks. Neither of us wanted the other at our backs.

But Locke was already down there and I wanted to know if she was here. So I took the risk, holstering my gun and descending the steps. Remington followed behind me.

There was another door open at the bottom of the stairs and there was a distinct lack of hum that would indicate running equipment. When I arrived, I discovered why. Locke had stopped just inside the door, and hadn’t taken another step.

The room was a wreck. Easily a half-dozen monitors positioned at different angles. Two of them were broken. The desk was disheveled, a headset hung off the end, dangling. Blood decorated the keyboard. The actual machines were smashed, from the two boxes beneath the desk to the cabinet that had probably housed hard drives on the far side.

The chair was overturned. Papers scattered. A coffee cup lay on its side, an old brown stain pooled around it.

Was she taken in here? Or had they brought her down here for interrogation?

How the fuck had they gotten in here? I pivoted to study the room located down here. The stairs above us had closed. The insulation was remarkable. If she’d been all the way in and the door sealed—she’d have been secure.

A camera in the corner caught my eye. Another on the steps.

Cameras.

Were they throughout her house?

Easing past Locke, I made my way to the hard drive cabinet. There were wires going into the wall. I did a quick count.

Too many for just these drives.

“Patch would have backups,” I said abruptly.

“She would.” Remington moved with the same kind of deliberateness he’d had upstairs. He stepped around the mess, studying each angle. Locke, however, seemed fixed on her desk, at the destruction.

I moved back to him and tried to see what he was seeing.

“She let them in…”

At that, I raised my eyebrows and I wasn’t the only one watching him.

“How do you know?” Remington asked.

Locke had on a pair of black gloves. At her desk, he slid his hand under the rim, then glided his hand along a short distance before he pressed something.

The click echoed through the room and the door behind us—the one embedded in the stairs opened. He pressed it again and it closed. He moved his hand, careful, then the door opening into this room closed.

I straightened abruptly at the whiteboard on the door. Remington beat me to it.

It was written in code. If I had a bet though, because of the grid, it was a calendar. The colors probably indicated different contractors. In all likelihood, that was us up there.

We weren’t the only ones.

A crash sounded behind us and I pivoted even as Remington did and we both had guns out. Locke had yanked the hard drive cabinet away from the wall and he was working his hands against the bricks there.

One of them moved.

Oh, my girl was smart as hell. I’d bet there was a second rack of hard drives back there.

A glint of pink caught my eye and I glanced back at the board. There was something sticking out from behind it. I tugged it free while Remington crossed the room.

The slip of paper held fifteen digits.

It didn’t mean anything.

Yet.

I pocketed it before I followed my new companions.

Locke had another door open and he was inside a computer room. The hum I’d been looking for earlier was present.

“We might be working together for a while.”

I didn’t argue with Remington, even as Locke worked his way through the room. The thief was handy.

Hopefully he knew something about computers.

“When we find who did this…”

“We scratch them off,” Remington agreed and I nodded.

“Long as we’re on the same page.”