Hostile Territory (Blackbridge Security Book 1) Read online

  “It’s Dani,” she sobs.

  I clear my throat, swallowing multiple times to ward off the lump forming there. “What happened?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for her to deliver the terrible news. People die every day, some suddenly, some slipping away gradually. Some after years of no contact, but somehow that doesn’t stop the twinge of pain, the thoughts of regret. Years of separation and no contact doesn’t stop the grief of losing someone you once loved.

  “What happened?” I repeat when all I can hear on the other line is whimpering and pain.

  “The police are all over the place. There was so much blood. They won’t talk to me. They carried her out on a stretcher. I think she was shot.”

  Her words come out in short puffs of breath between sobs.

  “Shot?” I say because that doesn’t make any sense. “Where?”

  “In her condo.”

  Rich girls don’t get shot in their condos. Rich girls end up with coke problems and either die from an overdose or car crash from driving under the influence. Levels of violence involving guns doesn’t make sense.

  “I-I didn’t know who else to call. Can you come here? Maybe they’ll talk to you.” Anna’s voice is almost begging, but it’s almost like she’s at the other end of a mile-long tunnel.

  “That won’t work,” I tell her. “Go to my office.”

  “Office?” She sounds surprised but assures me she’s got the address when I spit it out.

  I hang up before she can say anything else. Police at an active crime scene won’t talk to me, but it so happens that I know a couple of guys who can get me the info I need within minutes.

  I wave to Jake, and he nods in my direction, well aware of my line of work. He won’t be offended that I had to duck out early.

  A couple of drinks and telling a dear friend congratulations on his retirement has somehow managed to turn into a night I have the feeling is going to change my life forever.

  Chapter 2

  Anna

  I can’t help but think calling Deacon was a mistake, but the second that stretcher passed in front of my peephole it was almost instinctual.

  I didn’t call my dad or one of my many cousins. I didn’t even call someone in Dani’s family to seek help. He was my first and only thought. He’s the man who always knew what to do when things got crazy in the past, and here I am shoving him right back into our present, a man I haven’t seen or talked to in nearly a decade.

  I thought he’d hang up on me, and I’m certain that’s exactly why he sent me to voicemail twice before answering. Even after years and years he’s willing to help, and that says something about the man. I don’t have time to think about what any of this means. Why he’s so willing to help with just a short strangled conversation. I push the memory of his sad face after his divorce from my head.

  My hands tremble, making it nearly impossible to pack a bag and gather my things to leave. Not paying attention to what I’m shoving into my overnight bag, I just grab things at random so I can get out of here.

  Anxiety over not knowing a thing is slowly morphing into fear for myself even though I have no reason to be afraid. As time ticks by, I grow scared that whatever happened with Dani could happen to me. It settles in my stomach like a brick and speeds my hands as I pack.

  Voices flow into my apartment, letting me know that the hallway is still filled with uniformed officers loitering around long after the EMTs left with her bloody body.

  There’s a good chance my best friend is dead or dying on her way to the hospital, but the cops wouldn’t tell me anything. All I got was a couple of inquisitive looks, ones that told me they’d have questions for me later when they discover that I’m not just a nosy neighbor. The thought of answering questions right now when they refused to answer mine is more than a little unnerving. I feel guilt even though I had nothing to do with what happened next door.

  I’m not just some intrusive person next door. Dani is my best friend, and she has been since we were babies. We haven’t seen or spoken much to each other in recent months, but we’ve been as close as sisters for as long as I can remember.

  Go to my office.

  Those words from Deacon’s lips don’t even make sense. Last I knew, he was a military guy, still in the Army when he and Dani divorced. No matter how much I try to picture him working in an office to quell my frantic thoughts, I just can’t. I was privy to his goals since Dani and I were inseparable, and he made it clear from about sixteen that he was planning a career in the military. There’s no way at thirty-two that his military time is over.

  I’m inches away from reaching out to open my front door when the banging begins. I jolt, the sound of hard knuckles rapping against the wood frightening me more than I thought it could.

  Instead of opening the door and demanding answers, I run through the apartment and head out the back. I know it makes no sense. I know I’m not in trouble, but I also don’t have answers. I can’t open that door and have those men tell me that my best friend was murdered. I can’t face that alone.

  The back stairway is thankfully empty. Cops have better things to do than walk up several dozen flights of stairs when the elevator to the top works just fine.

  In my haste, I stumble and nearly fall more than once. Heels, speed, and stairs don’t mix, and I’m panting like I ran a marathon and my shoes are ruined by the time I make it to the lobby of my building. Genaro looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t have the ability to care about my looks right now. The sympathy in his eyes as he looks in my direction while holding the front door to the building open, however, does make me pause. Does he know more than I do about what happened to Dani? He might since he would have had to direct the police to her condo when they arrived.

  “Ms. Grimaldi?” Genaro holds out his time-worn hand, but I know if I take it, I’ll just break down. He doesn’t look insulted when I look away to gain some control.

  The sight of his hand makes me realize I’ve left everything in my condo except for my phone. At least with that, I can pay for a cab. Thankfully, there’s always one idling nearby, and Genaro flags it down, holding the door open for me until I slide inside. I’m trembling from top to bottom, but the tired cabbie doesn’t seem to care, and for that I’m grateful. There’s nothing worse than having to talk to a stranger out of common courtesy.

  I realize I sound like a complete asshole in my head, but I just give the driver the address to Deacon’s office and press my back to the seat, keeping my eyes on my building until it fades from sight. I don’t realize until I shift in my seat just how bad my feet are. Blisters line the back of my heels from my shoes rubbing them running down the stairs.

  My hiss of pain draws the cabbie’s eye to the rearview mirror, but he still remains quiet. Kicking off my shoes, I gather them from the floor knowing I’m going to have to find a trashcan to dump them in. I hold them in my lap like a lifeline, toying with the delicate straps to try to keep my fingers from shaking, but it doesn’t help.

  I have no idea what Deacon can do to help, but not being alone right now would at least calm me a little.

  The sight of the high rise as the cab driver slows in front of the tall building shocks me. This isn’t some rinky dink office. This isn’t a small travel trailer housing the office of a lawn care service or a struggling mechanic’s office—both things I considered I’d be facing once I let myself think about it. This is upscale and expensive. Two things I would never attach to a man like Deacon Black.

  The cabbie sighs for wasting his time, and I quickly pay, having made the entire trip without speaking other than to provide the address. I climb out of the cab, still unsure if I’m in the right place, but the doorman assures me I’m correct, and lazily points in the direction of the elevator.

  Chapter 3

  Deacon

  The drive back to the office was spent with my fingers tapping on the steering wheel in frustration, irritated that only idiots seem to be occupying the roads at
this time of night. Then, I realize that whatever shitshow I’m about to face is more the cause than anything because the irritation doesn’t drain away as it normally does when I take the private elevator up to the Blackbridge Security office.

  Of course a couple of the guys are here just hanging out. Some never seem to go home, even after a long day of work.

  Jude Morris, my medic and biological science engineer, is frowning down at a length of rope as he tries to perform some ridiculous knot.

  Ignacio Torres, the team’s translator, is reading a book, the title in a language so unfamiliar I can’t decipher.

  Brooks Morgan, the best covert ops guy I know, is staring into his phone, no doubt taking selfies like always.

  “Boss man!” Jude snaps. He’s the first one to see me walk in the room. “Queso!”

  “It’s qué pasa, you idiot,” Ignacio mutters without even looking up from his book.

  When I don’t tell him he’s stupid, like I normally would, it draws the eyes of all three guys in the room. Jude drops the rope, Ignacio lowers the book, and miracle of all miracles, Brooks slides his phone back into his pocket.

  It’s then that I realize I need to check my face. These guys have been with me for a while, and I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a quick response from them all at the same time outside of working a serious job.

  “There’s a woman coming. Let me know when she gets here.” They all nod, and I’m once again floored they don’t give me shit about hooking up with chicks at the office. I don’t and they know it. They better not be bringing chicks back here either. “Is Wren in?”

  They all answer in the affirmative, but I’m already heading across the room to his office. Wren Nelson is my tech guy, and if he wasn’t the best in his field, I’d be less inclined to put up with the irritation that comes along with his working here.

  Swinging his office door open without knocking, the first thing that hits me is how damn cold he likes to keep his office. I understand that some A/C is required with all the equipment, but you could probably hang meat in this damn place. Most days it’s no big deal, but this evening, it’s just one more damn thing that annoys the shit out of me.

  The second thing I’m prepared for…

  “This motherfucker.”

  I snap my head to the right, glaring at the bird that always has something to say. He turns his head, angling it to the side so I can only see one yellow eye surrounded by stark white feathers.

  “What did I tell you about that fucking bird?”

  “That’s he’s amazing,” Wren says without even turning away from his stupid video games to look in my direction.

  “Pretty bird,” the African grey parrot says, and even now I can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he walks back and forth on his perch, head bobbing up and down like there’s a song playing only he can hear.

  “Wren,” I snap, and that’s all it takes for my surveillance guy to drop his controller and turn in my direction.

  “Fuck,” he grunts when he sees me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to work up a complete dossier on Daniella Altieri. Start by finding out what went down at her condo tonight.”

  His fingers are already working over the keyboard before I complete my demand. He’s efficient like that when he has to be.

  I tap my foot on the ground as if it will help Wren pull the information faster, but I go rigid when I notice that Puff Daddy—stupid name for a stupid bird, if you ask me—is stomping out the exact same beat with his beak. He turns his head to the side once again when I glare at him.

  A low, insanely humanlike chuckle escapes from his throat. He doesn’t possess an ounce of self-preservation, considering how many times I’ve threatened his life.

  “There’s not much about tonight.” All of my attention turns to Wren. “Gunshot wound. Considered critical. Last update was him heading to the hospital.”

  “Him? As in male, or are you assuming?”

  “Male victim,” Wren says, pointing at the words on a screen I’m certain he doesn’t legally have the right to be reading.

  Relief like I’ve never known washes over me.

  “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Dani?” I mutter to myself as Wren goes back to work.

  “Holy shit,” Wren whispers. “Dude. Is this you?”

  My eyes narrow on the computer screen, following the track of his finger to the picture there.

  “Fuck off,” I hiss. “I need a full workup.”

  “Look how much hair you had,” he continues, not giving up. “Look at those curls. I prefer it over the buzz cut, man.”

  Even though I’m still irritated, I’m not as pissed as I would be if I hadn’t just found out that it wasn’t my ex-wife that was shot in her apartment. Of course, there are a million questions running through my head, but I give that relief a little time to breathe.

  “When was this taken?” he asks, not pulling his eyes from the screen to the right which is running through screen after screen of information faster than my eyes can even focus on. He’s fucking with me, but he’s also managing to do what I need at the same time.

  “Senior prom,” I mutter.

  “You look like a baby.”

  “I was.”

  Things were so different back then. There’s a hopefulness in that kid’s eyes as he looks down at the girl in his arms, but that hope burned away so long ago it seems like a handful of lifetimes have passed since that photo was taken.

  “Wow,” Wren mumbles. “Your wife, man?”

  A wedding picture pops up, and I have to turn away. For the longest time, I thought that day was the best day of my life, until Dani bitched afterward about the simplicity of it all. She didn’t get the dress she wanted. She had to settle with a ceremony in my parents’ backyard instead of a huge party at a five-star hotel, or the destination wedding in Fiji she always hoped for. She only had two bridesmaids because I spent all of my time with her and didn’t have any other guys to stand at my side while I promised the rest of my life to her.

  She didn’t see what I saw. She didn’t see how her beauty shined through in her simple white dress, or how my mother’s yellow rose bushes provided the perfect pop of color when compared to the bouquet of lilies in her hands.

  I sigh in irritation as Wren sweeps through another set of images from the wedding. How did this shit even end up online?

  “Your wife is smoking—”

  “Ex-wife,” I snap.

  “—but this chick is every man’s wet dream.”

  A smiling image of Annalise Grimaldi covers the screen, and for the life of me, I have no idea why her picture makes my breath catch. Maybe because I never remember her smiling. Maybe because the sun is reflecting off her golden pupils in a way that makes her seem ethereal. Maybe because in this image she doesn’t look like the evil villain set out to ruin everyone’s lives.

  “She’s on her way here,” I murmur.

  Wren turns his chair to face me, his unruly hair falling haphazardly over one eye. “Really? She’s pretty.”

  “Hey, pretty girl! Wanna fuck?”

  Wren’s mouth spreads into a grin, but all I can do is roll my eyes at the stupid fucking bird.

  “Bringing girls back to the office?” Wren’s eyebrows waggle comically. “Naughty boss.”

  “Find me the information I need or you’re going to be out of a fucking job,” I snap.

  He chuckles, knowing I’m full of shit. My entire operation would go down in flames if it wasn’t for his computer skills. Technology is the future, and he damn well knows it.

  “And teach that stupid bird something besides vulgar words.”

  Wren and the parrot are cackling like the fools they are when I let the door slam behind me.

  “Not here yet?”

  Ignacio shakes his head. Jude is nowhere to be seen.

  “What does she look like?” Brooks asks with way more interest than I’m comfortable with.

  A body like a god
and a soul darker than Satan’s. If memory serves me correctly.

  “Like a woman.”

  Brooks turns, a smile on his face I know has pulled more chicks than the average man. I’ve intrigued him, but I don’t have time for his bullshit right now.

  “She’s upset and dealing with some shit. Just come get me when she arrives.”

  Brooks, realizing I’m serious, nods his head and turns back to face the front office. I arrow to my office, needing a moment to wrap my head around the fact that Dani isn’t the one hurt, but apparently, she’s in some deep shit. Shootings and acts of violence don’t happen often in her area of town. All I can do is wait. Wren is an ace at what he does and I know he won’t bring me a dossier until he’s one hundred percent sure he’s obtained every ounce of information that he can scour from every single database he can access.

  With the limited information Wren has on the victim, I type out a text to my second in command, Flynn Coleman, giving him Dani’s address with a request to find out what he can. Flynn is former FBI and has managed to maintain many contacts at the bureau that benefit BBS.

  Quickly, I change out of the damn dress shirt and jacket I had on for the retirement party, thankful I keep spare clothes in my office. We all do, actually. There’s no telling what any given day will bring around here and we always have to be prepared.

  Now all I can do is wait for the information to roll in, and that annoys me even more because waiting is the fucking worst. I’m a man of action, and this part sucks.

  Chapter 4

  Anna

  My bare feet slap the polished concrete floor as I step onto the elevator, but I don’t have the wherewithal to worry about germs right now. Besides, the floors are gleaming, as would be expected in this part of town. My destroyed heels hang from my still trembling fingertips as I press the button for the ninth floor.

  I’m nearly in tears, stuck in my own head by the time the doors open to reveal a solid marble wall, only interrupted by a single door. Carved in the wall are the words BLACKBRIDGE SECURITY AND CONSULTING.