Stolen Vengeance: Slye Temp book 6 (15 page)

Once she put this Vatican deal to bed, she would be back in the driver’s seat again.

Aram would not get a chance to snake another client.

She had no issue with competition, but she’d never gone after a client who was already contracted on a project, and that was Aram’s standard modus operandi.

Valene stepped past one of three gurgling fountains, impatient for her meeting with Tinker.

Her ticket insured she would get sixty seconds to pitch whatever she wanted to Tinker. Most attendees were here to convince him to throw a few million toward their personal charities.

Valene only wanted to pique Tinker’s interest enough for him to have a second meeting with her and to make him think twice about dealing without her expert consultation.

If he hadn’t already been contacted by someone helping the thief.

A rare item such as the scroll would make any collector of those artifacts salivate, but they also knew the extent of fraud in the business. She couldn’t calculate the value of that scroll, if it was certified as genuine, but the thief would be more focused on getting fast money. How much would that be?

Ten million? Fifty million? A billion?

Would that even put a dent in Tinker’s bank account?

Perdido, Fontana and Tinker drew everyone’s attention when they stepped onto a low, flower-draped stage that put them a head above everyone else. Perdido said, “Emilio and I appreciate the invitation to join my dear friend, Jon Tinker, in support of saving the...”  

Valene tuned her out.

She’d have sixty seconds with Tinker.

She’d come prepared and only needed twenty.

Henri had really come through with this ticket. Of course, he’d first explained that one did not trade for an invitation to a celebrity event only to dispose of said ticket with the nonchalance of selling an item on eBay.

That was hardly different than selling antiques at a flea market, in his opinion.

But he’d had no qualms about negotiating with a treasure hunter, who had mentioned the ticket in passing while inquiring about a set of maps and other documentation related to a sunken sixteenth-century Egyptian trade vessel.

The treasure hunter had no interest in hobnobbing at a party. He’d gladly handed over the invitation plus another two thousand dollars to get the maps.

A man just ahead of her made a surgical move to keep from being stepped on by a woman who’d enjoyed a few too many free drinks.

Valene chuckled at the comical sight.

But lost her smile when the man turned as if he’d felt her watching him.

Her mouth fell open.

Was that Smith? What the hell was he doing
here
?

She started toward him, but the crowd filled in and he disappeared. It took her a moment to realize he’d looked different than he had just one day ago, with his hair a lighter shade, wearing tinted glasses and a tuxedo, but she’d developed a keen ability to match up images and shapes from years of searching for items–and people sometimes–who she might only see once in her hunt.

If she hadn’t just spent time studying Smith yesterday, he wouldn’t have been quite so clear in her mind, but that was him.

Had he been here checking up on her? How would he have known she was here? Or had he also come to the party with the idea of talking to Tinker?

Had he seen her with Dingo?

No, because she had a feeling Dingo had dissolved into the crowd and surroundings the minute he’d exited the ladies room.

The ladies room
. Valene had left her lipstick in the damn ladies room. She could not afford to replace it.

With Perdido still grandstanding about how she was going to save California’s treasures, Valene had time to get the lipstick and return to the gardens.

Behind her, Perdido introduced Jon Tinker who said, “Thank you for coming today and donating your pocket change.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

That opening meant Valene had eleven minutes until she could meet with Tinker.

Now if only Henri could convince Geoffrey to help by tossing a bait out to his tight-knit community of Galileo experts and gain her an introduction to the other two potential buyers in New York and Seattle.

Geoffrey
might
do that for Henri, if Henri could convince Geoffrey it was for the greater cause–their relationship.

Geoffrey sure as hell wouldn’t do it for Valene.

Too many ifs to keep worrying over. The plan was good.

“Just keep telling yourself that,” she muttered.

Chapter 16

Dingo passed Tanner, sending a finger signal that all was fine. Tanner nodded, but that only meant Tanner would have questions later.

Blade broke in to inform the team, “Caddy keeps checking his watch and glancing around. Looks to me that he’s anxious to be on the move.” 

Tanner replied, “Can you blame him when he doesn’t have a speaking role?”

“Roger that, cowboy.”

Nick interjected, “Everything look good up top, Ryder?”

“Roger that. Sniper cover still in place.” Ryder had been keeping tabs on the rooftop security, because for one thing he had the best view of the rooftop from where he stood at the back of the gardens, and for another, the sniper in him would force him to constantly watch Tinker’s men on the roof, whether Ryder was ordered to or not.

Fifty feet away, on the opposite side of the garden from Dingo, a man was moving around the perimeter. Side view. Pale brown hair, trimmed goatee, and a tuxedo covering a body that moved with purpose, but that nose and his chin...

Bloody hell.

Dingo’s mind locked down and all the sounds around him receded, leaving a vortex of disbelief in its wake for the third time today.

Rikker?

In the blink of an eye, the bastard disappeared. Again. Had that really been him this time, or was Dingo
actually
losing his mind, hallucinating about the person he’d rather be hunting? If he was truly seeing Rikker where Rikker was not, he was in serious need of the downtime Sabrina had been pushing on him.

But if that
was
Rikker…

He took a step toward the empty spot, determined to find out. If it was, he would hunt down that miserable piece of humanity and drag his carcass back to Josh and Sabrina before leaving tonight.

Shit. He had to tell the team about Rikker and then he had to tell Sabrina about Valene being here. That was his duty.

Dingo spoke in a whisper, for his mic only. “I just–”

Blade broke in fast, reporting, “Possible Tom showing an interest in Perdido. Nineteen, maybe twenty, five-nine, hundred and thirty, black suit, bowtie, snub nose, short brown hair, curly, fingers twitching like a smoker needing a hit.”

Tom was the code name for a stalker.

And that description fit the guy Dingo had seen smooching the young woman earlier.

The minute Dingo mentioned Rikker, the team would be distracted, choosing between who went after the stalker and who focused on Rikker...who Dingo only
thought
he saw.

Josh had no intel indicating Rikker was here.

Dingo hadn’t seen the spook in years.

Everyone had a doppelganger, a twin version of another person with no DNA connection.

Dammit, he’d never questioned himself like this before. Lack of sleep was shredding his mental stability.

Blade added, “Tom heading north.” 

That was Dingo’s area, the lower tier of the garden.

The op always came first.

Dingo took a quick turn to step up on the main level that led into the double doors at the rear of the hotel. From here, he had a wide view of the gardens.

There was Perdido, Fontana and Daddy Warbucks, who was saying, “In closing, I want to thank you again for your generosity...”

“Disregard,” Blade amended. “Tom is leaving with parents.”

Dingo caught sight of the pimply young man following his elderly mother and father. A late-in-life baby looking miserable and lonely.

At least his parents had wanted to keep him.

Dismissing the possible stalker, Dingo took advantage of his position to scope the crowd for Rikker so that he could at least give a position when he alerted the team.

Ryder spoke as calmly as if noting the mild weather when he said, “The eagles are out of the nest.”

Dingo’s pulse took a major jump. He swung his head around and twisted to look straight up, but Ryder had the best view of the rooftop security coverage.

Where was Tinker’s guard who was supposed to be up there?

Nick sounded as if he was moving fast, maybe running when he asked, “How long?”

Ryder answered sharply. “Twenty seconds. Ten seconds too long. Still gone.”

Nick ordered, “Lock down the elevators. I’m heading up the east stairwell.”  

Josh broke in from where he kept eyes on them through the webcams. “Copy that. Elevators now inoperable.”

The only place they’d been forbidden to access was the roof since Warbucks’s men had said no.

Dingo swung back around and in the next second he took in the entire garden scene, mapping everyone’s position as if they were on an oval-shaped clock face.

Daddy Warbucks, Perdido and Fontana stood at the center of the clock, Dingo was at the six, Tanner closer to the celebrities with his three o’clock position, Ryder was at noon and was walking toward Blade who was ten feet off the raised stage.

Dingo rushed forward, but life often changed in a matter of seconds, as it did now.

Fontana and Perdido leaned toward Daddy Warbucks as if to hear a secret.

Blade could be heard ordering one of Warbuck’s bodyguards, “Your topside guard is gone. Get on that stage and–”

One of the in-house security guards near Tanner shouted, “
Gun!”
drawing everyone’s attention to the left where a guy was backing up with a weapon pointed at the stage.

A rifle report blasted at almost the same instant the back half of Fontana’s head exploded.

A second shot followed, taking down the guy waving the gun.

Nick cursed, “East entrance to the roof is locked.”

Dingo could hear Nick grunting as he slammed up against the door, then the pop of Nick shooting the lock.

Screaming and shouting erupted. People raced in all directions, unsure where to go for safety.

Bodyguards dove to protect the bodies they were still responsible for, but every Slye agent would be headed to their respective positions that had been assigned in case an attempt was made on Perdido.

Dingo raced for the doors to the hotel, catching sight of Tanner and Ryder moving to cover any escape route through the garden. Running ten steps behind Dingo, Blade had been assigned to cover the front entrance in case White Hawk picked up someone leaving that way and had to follow.

They all knew the layout of the hotel.

Nick continued, “I’m on the roof. One guard down. The other missing. West exit is unlocked but door blocked.”

Inside the marble and glass lobby, Dingo plowed through frantic guests crying and yelling, running in all directions. When he reached the stairs meant to be a fire exit, Dingo reported, “I’m at the west stairs, heading up.”

They all knew it was him since this was Dingo’s pre-assigned position.

Nick replied, “I’m backtracking to back you up.”

Dingo acknowledged Nick, then stopped to quiet his breathing before drawing his Sig and taking the steps, but nothing would slow the pace of his body mainlining adrenaline. He started upstairs quickly, treading silently with senses tuned to red alert as he sorted through what had already happened, planning for what might happen next. Stairwells like this were every agent’s nightmare place to get caught in a firefight.

The person behind this hit had used the gun in the crowd as a distraction to give his sniper an exit strategy.

One of Warbucks’s men had made the hit.

What
was
the exit strategy?

And why hadn’t Dingo seen the guy in the lobby first? The shooter was ahead of Nick coming down, and wouldn’t have risked the elevator, not with Warbucks’s men aware of the extra security. But they thought Nick and his team were here only to watch for a stalker.

On the second landing, a sharp metallic smell singed the air.

Blood.

As Dingo turned to step up, he saw a hand dangling at the landing of the midway point to level five. Moving faster, he did a visual sweep of the stairwell for threats, then came face to face with the dead eyes of a man dressed in the dark blue suit of Tinker’s security, and with a case that probably held a dismantled rifle.

A double tap to the head had killed him, but instead of being in the forehead, the two shots were through the eyes.

Dingo called out, “Body in west stairwell looks to be our shooter.”

Nick said, “Heading up those stairs now.”

Footsteps pounded up toward him now that there was no reason to be quiet. When Nick reached Dingo and the body, he frowned. “What the hell?”

Dingo stepped over the body to stand on the opposite side of the landing so they could both study the body and watch each other’s backs. “Have no idea, mate.”  He noticed something odd on the dead man’s neck, and squatted down, using the muzzle of his Sig to turn the guy’s head, exposing a scarred marking. “He’s got that Orion Hunter tat.”

Nick crouched down. “What’s on his wrist?”

Dingo reached over and picked up the sleeved arm, easing it back to see something that should only be in his nightmares. He worked to keep his breathing steady and his voice even as he told Nick, “It’s a Satanic design wrapped around three letters.”

“What are the letters?”

“S. G. C.”  Dingo swallowed then added, “That stands for Satan’s Garden Club.” 

“Shit,” Nick murmured then raised his voice. “We thought the Orion Hunters were tracking information down on SGC to kick them out of Orion territory, like a gang war.”

“Nope.” Dingo stared at evidence that the two groups were working together.

Valene had been exposed to both groups.

Was she in danger? Or was she somehow connected to all this?

It was time to climb off the fence and choose a side.