Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,29

I will. You too.” Damn, she sounded as reluctant as he was to hang up. He checked his watch. Two-thirty. He needed to be up by seven-thirty. That was short, even for him. “Sleep tight, Ana. And call me if you need more intel.”

She laughed as she hung up, and he enjoyed the sound as he continued to stand in the darkness. A date.

Something caught his eye, and he forgot about the date, and Ana. The watchfulness that had saved his ass in Iraq alerted him now. A trickle of unease had him tensing, scanning the darkness.

A movement to the left. He eased down, dropping to one knee to crouch in the shadow of the pillars. Silhouetted for the briefest moment, a slight figure scurried along the top of the rough security wall. There were sensors on the ground on either side of the wall, but no one had wanted to damage the decorative stone and brick structure of the original fencing.

Last time I let historic preservation prevail.

Gates eased his PDA from his pocket and texted by feel.

Sighted 1 intruder. Top of SE wall. Disabled sensors? Going 2 alert Dav. Send squad, recon & do 911.

The phone vibrated briefly, letting him know the on-duty crew had gotten the message. Gates slipped around the portico. If he was quick he’d only be visible in the porch lights for a second.

Two of the windows next to his head exploded in a shower of glass the minute he stepped into the light. He hit the deck, rolling to the far side of the inset door, and yanked the phone from his pocket.

Switching to walkie-talkie, he growled, “Shots fired, hit the windows in the front door. Missed me. Gotta have night vision. Let the cops know.”

The sudden whoop of a siren split the air. Lights sprang up all over the compound as the intruder hit one of the full-alert tripwires. It was possible the team had done it, but he doubted it. The wall wasn’t predictable in its width, and pivoting to fire a weapon from the top of it wasn’t the smartest thing.

Gates’s smile was grim. It was a twenty-foot drop along most of the backside of the seven-foot fence, and the contractor he’d hired had planted thorn bushes along the miles it took to circle the estate. Most likely, the intruder had left him a nice blood sample if nothing else.

“Boss? You okay, boss?” Declan’s voice rang out, and the kid appeared at a run, weaving to avoid fire if there was any, putting his back to a column.

“I’m fine. Single shooter, so I think we can stand down on the evasive maneuvers,” Gates stood and moved away from the wall. Another of his security team tapped on the interior glass. They signaled thumbs-up. Dav was safe, and within minutes he got word that his employer was going on to bed.

“No rest for the wicked,” he said, trudging toward the cart Georgiade had brought around. The other team had already headed out along the exterior of the wall. He and Declan would take the interior.

At four-forty-five, they found the spot where the gunman had fallen. The sensors had pinpointed it within twenty feet, but it took them a while to check the ground and begin the search along the proper stretch of wall. Sure enough a welter of broken branches, some bloody thorns, and several hanks of black fabric lay strewn around the area they illuminated with heavy-duty flashlights.

“Thompson,” he radioed back to the team at the driveway. “We’re ten feet past marker fifty-two. Bring Detective Baxter along to collect evidence,” Gates snapped. He was tired and angry. The sensual buzz he’d had from talking to Ana had evaporated, and he was well on to full-out pissed.

How had the shooter known they were back?

The serious possibility of an inside leak reared its ugly head. And why had he been targeted, not Dav? They were built so differently, it made no sense. Perhaps it was a warning. Either way, there was another organization in play. They’d managed to mollify the last two Central American groups who’d sent hits on Dav, turning the contact to advantage rather than death. It had been exhausting and dangerous, but in the end, profitable.

More flashlights winked on and moved toward him. He wondered if any of the company phones would show an outgoing call at the time the limo left the gallery. He’d check that himself. People could—and frequently were—stupid enough to use a traceable phone for such