Page 4 of Long Past Deadly

Quaid shrugged and opened the door. “Social media, news, gossip. They don’t leave me alone.”

Alanna sighed and got out, too. “I don’t follow those unless it pertains to work.” Whether he believed her or not, she didn’t care. She’d been chastised for having singular focus at Quantico, but she saw no reason to branch into the latest day-to-day insanity unless it involved a case. Serial killers were all she could handle on her plate.

Quaid entered the code and the garage door rolled. Inside, he went to a side panel and put in another code. Fortunately for them, Cait’s SUV was in the driveway not the garage.

“Put my car in the empty spot.” He went to a cupboard and exposed a different panel, input a code, and opened a door into the house. With a quick stop at an inside panel there, he tapped in another code and disappeared. Jesus, talk about security.

Alanna went around to the driver’s side and carefully moved the red wreck into a tight spot in the garage. Grabbing the two weapons, she squeezed out of the driver’s side and stopped cold at two bullet holes in the door. Punched right through. Too, too close.

Blowing out a puff of air, she worked her away around large first aid boxes and some exercise equipment. She followed Quaid into the house.

She stepped into a cozy breakfast nook and stopped in surprise. Their kitchen stunned with rich white walls and smooth oak cupboards with miles of white marble countertops and several kitchen gadgets by the sink including a coffee pot. She’d kill for a cup of coffee.

Quaid was on a white wall phone. “We aren’t staying here long. Have Elizabeth send us an Uber.” Quaid opened a drawer and pulled out a Walther P99. “No, I’m headed to Barker. I’ll call you when I get there. Have Harrison listen to chatter.”

Harrison Scott. QM’s Chief Operating Officer. Elizabeth was their Chief Financial Officer and handled all the money. Barker she’d never heard of. She studied the weapon Quaid was checking for ammunition. She swore in her head, swung to the panel by the back door, and pushed a button she thought would close the garage. It did. She shut the kitchen door and locked it, too.

Two weeks of meetings at QM International did not introduce her to the ins and outs of the involved relationships. Mackey and Quaid she understood. They were partners. Elizabeth was Quaid’s aunt, but his relationship with Cait defied explanation. At first she was sure they were having an affair, then she had observed Cait with Hunt and knew the conclusion didn’t fly. And how Harrison fit into the tight knit matrix at the top, she had no idea and hadn’t cared to find out.

This job was a consult only and a cover. A cover for her to find Whit, her protector, mentor, guardian, family, who had disappeared two weeks ago from the streets of San Diego. She hadn’t briefed her boss on this part of it. She shoved aside that worry.

If Quaid was a billionaire’s playboy grandson, what had he been doing in the Marines and the CIA? Was the background false or the persona maintained for cover purposes? Who was trying to kill him and why? She hated being confused, despised not understanding the situation, and her world lately was filled with exactly that. No answers, more questions, and tons of doubt.

Quaid hung up the phone. “Don’t stand there. We’ll raid the closets for more casual clothes, gather ammo, and Hunt has burner phones.”

Borrowing the couple’s clothes bothered her at a level she refused to speak about. Growing up poor and homeless at times, she wore whatever was handed to her. But when she could finally afford to buy her own, wearing anything but new ceased. “I’m fine. I don’t need different clothes.”

“You look like an FBI agent, Williams. Which works at QM, but not in the field. Ditch the black suit and get into a pair of Cait’s jeans and a T-shirt.” He led her across a dark living room, sensors in the plugins throwing bits of light across the carpet. One glance told her the room was a comfortable spot for friends and family. He flipped on a light in the bedroom, went to the bedside table, and pulled a Glock from the drawer.

She balked.

This was their bedroom. Their private space.

“We already have two Glocks. We won’t need any more.” She forced herself to move to the closet and pulled the doors open. One side was definitely Hunt’s. The other Cait’s. But there were only dresses, jackets, suits, and dry cleaning bags with work uniforms.

Quaid put the weapon on the bed and checked the other nightstand. “Two is one and one is none. And in this case, with both of us, four would be better, six is prepared given this man’s expertise. There’s a Smith and Wesson at the front door. I’ll raid Hunt’s workroom for ammo and knives.” He came to her side and pulled a pair of khaki chinos and a blue-striped shirt from the rack. Dropping his tuxedo jacket on the bed, he rapidly undid the studs and the cufflinks, shedding his shirt in another swift move.

His bare chest, scars and all, drew her gaze. The man had muscles with miles of tanned skin. Lord! His pants came off, showing tight, black underwear shaping an impressive package. Snapping out of it before he could smirk at her for staring, she turned her back. He had no intentions of guarding his privacy while changing.

She pulled open several dresser drawers. Finding dark jeans and a plain blue t-shirt in her size, she grabbed a navy jacket to cover her gun and exited to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, she shut the door behind her and went to the counter. Her face was pale, her blue eyes huge, and a piece of concrete had nicked her cheek. What was she in the middle of?

“Hurry, Williams. Turn out the lights when you leave the room. Meet me in the kitchen. Check the drawers. There’s a couple of burner phones in one of them.” His voice sent a shiver through her.

She heard him stamp his feet into boots and still she stood staring at the mirror. Get it together, Alanna.

Stomach rolling, she tugged off her jacket and white shirt. She had to kick off her shoes before shedding her dirty, torn pants. Left in white utilitarian underwear, she stalled. Don’t dwell. Do it.

She used the facilities, then moved through dressing steps with an efficiency designed to stop wandering thought.

She took a hair tie from Cait’s stash and twisted her hair into a tight ponytail. She slipped her feet back into her best work shoes while transferring her lip balm to the jean’s pocket.

She hung her damaged suit next to Quaid’s tuxedo, closed the closet, straightened the room, and turned out the lights. Back in the kitchen, she glanced to the hallway and noted another door open.

There was a bag on the marble counter, all five of the weapons laid out like a gun shop – what an insult to the beautiful marble. She opened each drawer and found the burner phones and a first aid kit. She took two of the three phones and the kit and moved on. She needed water – in the fridge, and something to eat – in the pantry. Breakfast bars.

The wall phone rang.

Alanna answered it. “Williams.”