Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Once he disposed of the security guards outside the building, Ink would remain dressed as one of the outside guards on roving patrol. Preacher would take Bobby Aspen’s place. He was adept at adapting his body image to appear however he needed to look. They had taken the precaution of making masks of both guards to be on the safe side.
As a precaution against being recognizable, every member wore a silicone mask. They were used to wearing them, changing their appearances and even their walks, with the roles they played, when necessary.
“Guard is down,” Ink reported. “In place.”
Preacher made his approach with Maestro toward the employees-only door. A guard stepped in front of the door, one hand on his gun, his chest out. He looked impressive, his features set in lines of command.
“You can’t…”
Maestro threw his favorite small throwing knife with deadly accuracy. It didn’t take a huge blade to kill a man. One needed to know precisely where on a body to hit, have the training and do so without hesitation. They were on him before his body went down. Maestro dragged him behind a wall of hydrangea bushes, concealing the body. Very little blood seeped down the neck to soak into the shirt and jacket.
Preacher wore a jacket with the security emblem on it in preparation for his role. He removed the keys and small radio as well as a cell phone from the guard’s pockets. Maestro opened the door and stepped inside as if he owned the place. The entrance was mostly dark, lit only by a single bulb. Much farther down the hall, he could see the desk was manned by Bobby Aspen.
Maestro stopped just inside the door to lay his hand on the wooden panels that made up the wall. Immediately, he felt the connection in the way he did, the gift he’d been born with. The knot was only inches from his fingers. He felt Azelie’s presence strongly, as if she stood right there in that hall with him. The wood remembered her, felt her connection with it.
He found the necklace in the knot, scooping it out with one finger, his body covering the movement from Bobby. He suspected the guard’s desk was too far away to see what he was doing. That was why Azelie had chosen—or been given—that particular spot to conceal her key. She was adept at putting it in the hole and retrieving it, which meant she’d practiced somewhere else until she was extremely fast at it.
“Who the hell are you?” Bobby demanded, belligerence in his voice. He stood, gun locked in his fist, aiming at Preacher.
Preacher kept walking toward him, a friendly smile on his face. “New security guard. Weird you didn’t get the memo that I’d be introducing myself to you.”
Preacher was nearly at the desk by the time Maestro had the key in his possession. Bobby’s attention was centered solely on Preacher. It was clear he believed him to be the real threat. He thought Maestro was too far away, Preacher blocking any access to Bobby’s body. Neither Preacher nor Maestro had a gun out.
“Stop right where you are. I need to see your ID and scan your prints. This is a restricted area,” Bobby continued.
Maestro used Preacher’s body as a shield, coming up behind his Torpedo Ink brother in a deliberately slow stalk. Movement attracts attention. Preacher deliberately shuffled his feet, threw his hands up and out while he talked, spoke rapidly and interjected laughter into his monologue to keep Bobby off-balance.
“Isn’t it just like Billows to forget to send an important memo? Guess if he loses one security guard, especially a new one, he won’t lose any sleep over it.” He laughed as if he’d told a huge joke.
Preacher no longer moved forward toward Bobby, but he was the epitome of a very young man with ADHD, unable to stay still. He threw his arms around and punched his fist into his palm and turned this way and that. Bobby’s attention was riveted on him.
Maestro stepped around Preacher, putting him to the left side of Bobby. Almost simultaneously, he threw his favorite knife, the same one he’d retrieved from the outside guard. He didn’t ever leave his weapons behind if it was at all possible to recover them. Bobby reeled back under the impact, gurgling and choking. One hand came up to his neck as if he didn’t quite know what happened. The gun in his hand fell to the floor.
Preacher was on him, snapping Bobby’s neck, not waiting for him to bleed out. With the ease of long practice, he dragged the dead guard into the darkest part of the hallway. Billows kept the hallway dimly lit so there would be no chance of an employee seeing where the door was seamlessly woven into the woodwork. Even knowing it was there, the members of Torpedo Ink would have had a difficult time finding it. Fortunately, Lana had counted the steps Azelie had taken from the guard desk to where the opening of the door was.