A Time to Die

Lexie had brought several Gadians into the Helping Hands organization, with three working here at the Chattanooga headquarters. Robert would complete his internship with the organization and return home by year’s end. Another young Gadian would take his place. Malik and Vega were permanent employees now and had applied for U.S. citizenship.

Just as Lexie lifted the file from the cabinet, a thunderous boom rocked the building, shaking the walls and shattering the windows. Losing her balance, she toppled over, hitting her hip against the carpeted floor and her forehead against the edge of a filing cabinet. Her cane sailed across the room and struck the side of her desk.

My God! What had happened? Could it have been an earthquake? Surely not one of such magnitude here in Chattanooga. But if not an earthquake, then what?

HE TOSSED the detonator into the Dumpster in the alley beside the building across the street from the four-story structure occupied by Helping Hands. Then he removed his gloves, stuffed them into his coat pocket and emerged onto the sidewalk. A small crowd of onlookers had already congregated, so he simply joined them, just one more curious, concerned person wondering what had happened.

He had constructed the bomb in the laundry room of his apartment complex late last night, putting it together with the expertise he’d gained during his year of instruction by the Majeed. The small explosive would harm only those within a twenty-five-foot radius and was not intended to kill or create extensive damage. It was nothing more than a first warning of the terror yet to come.

Within minutes, sirens shrilled through downtown Chattanooga: the police, firefighters and paramedics racing to the scene. Now, before the situation escalated, he slipped away from the crowd and entered the building, going straight to the men’s restroom on the ground level.

After checking the room to make certain he was alone, he pulled the prepaid cell phone from his pocket and dialed hurriedly. The phone rang several times, then went to voice mail. He waited, redialed and got her voice mail again.

Pick up the phone, bitch. The bomb didn’t explode in your office. You’re all right. I wouldn’t kill you so easily. You have to suffer greatly before you die.

After his third attempt to reach her, she answered. “Hello?”

Her voice was shaky. Good. She was unnerved, at least.

Placing a folded handkerchief over the phone, he deliberately disguised his voice as best he could and said in a raspy whisper, “This is only the beginning of the end for you and Cara Bedell and Helping Hands. I warn you now that there is a special time for you to die, a time I have chosen.”

“What? Who is this? Did you—”

He ended the call, leaving her asking questions he did not intend to answer. Not now. Not yet. Let her worry. Let her learn the true meaning of fear.

WHENEVER he was between assignments for the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency, Deke Bronson made a point of being at the downtown Atlanta office on Wednesdays because office manager Daisy Holbrook always brought a homemade meal for the employees’ lunch on that day. The agents had nicknamed Daisy Ms. Efficiency, because she seemed to be able to juggle a dozen different things at once, do each extremely well and accomplish them all on time. Daisy wasn’t the matronly type, as one would expect from a “mother hen.” She was young, cute as a button and slightly plump, with big brown eyes and a warm, outgoing personality. Everyone adored Daisy, even Dundee’s CEO, Sawyer McNamara, who was a stern, by-the-book, don’t-mix-with-employees kind of guy.

“Is that chili I smell?” Lucie Evans asked as she entered the employees’ lounge, better known as the break room.

“Chili and corn bread,” Deke replied as he ladled a huge helping of Daisy’s famous homemade chili into a deep bowl.

“And apple-dapple cake for dessert,” Geoff Monday added.

“There’s vanilla ice cream in the freezer to top off the cake,” Daisy said as she sliced the two large skillets of corn bread into pie-shaped pieces. “One of these is Mexican corn bread and the other is plain.”

Geoff Monday placed his arm around Daisy’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. “Ms. Holbrook, you certainly know the way to a man’s heart.”

Daisy blushed. Everyone at Dundee’s—everyone except Geoff—knew that Daisy had a major crush on the former SAS officer. Deke had wondered if maybe he should clue his clueless British friend in on the obvious, but not being the type of man who interfered in other people’s lives, he’d kept quiet. Besides, if Geoff knew how Daisy felt about him, he would probably stop casually flirting with her, and that would end all of Daisy’s hopes and dreams. Poor Daisy. She had to know that a guy like Monday would never settle down, especially not with a sweet kid like her.

Deke chose the smaller of the two round tables in the break room, set down his bowl filled high with chili and topped with a huge slice of Mexican corn bread, and settled comfortably into the cushioned chair. He was officially off today, but no way would he miss one of Daisy’s meals if he was in town. Noting that Geoff and Lucie were the only other two agents there, he assumed everyone else was on assignment.

“Just us today?” Geoff asked, apparently thinking along the same lines as Deke.

“Ty’s supposed to come in later,” Daisy replied.

“I leave first thing tomorrow for another boring, nobody-else-wants-it assignment,” Lucie said.

Geoff rolled his eyes. Deke grunted. Daisy gave Lucie a commiserating half smile. They all knew that Sawyer deliberately chose the worst jobs for Lucie. Why he did, no one other than Sawyer and Lucie knew. And why he didn’t just fire her, and why she kept taking everything that Sawyer dished out, was something else only the two of them knew. Everyone who worked at Dundee’s was aware of the ongoing feud between the CEO and the Amazonian redheaded agent, but no one knew when or why it had started. Years ago, the two had been FBI agents, so the most logical explanation was that something had happened between them back then.

Lucie and Geoff joined Deke. Instead of sitting down with them, Daisy prepared a tray of food and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going with that?” Lucie asked.

“Mr. McNamara has requested lunch in his office,” she replied.

“Too good to eat with the peasants.” Lucie shoved back her chair, stood and held out her hands. “Here, let me take it to him.”

Grinning, Daisy shook her head. “I believe Mr. McNamara wants to eat his lunch, not wear it. Don’t think I’m not aware of what would happen if you served him.”

With that said, Daisy balanced the tray with one hand and opened the door with the other. Just as she crossed the threshold, she stopped abruptly, coming face-to-face with the big boss himself.

“I was on my way to your office with lunch,” Daisy said.

“It’ll have to wait,” Sawyer replied. Not unpleasant, but not friendly. And certainly all business. He eased past her and entered the break room. His gaze traveled to the table where his three available agents had begun devouring Daisy’s delicious chili. “Good, you’re all here.”

Deke knew what that meant. Either a delayed lunch or no lunch at all. Sawyer was about to give one or more of them a new assignment.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve eaten lunch,” Lucie said, not even glancing at their boss.

Sawyer bristled. Deke noticed only because he possessed an uncanny ability to read people. That intuitive instinct had given him an advantage as a member of the Delta Force and later as a mercenary. Sawyer’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he took a deep breath. The guy was reining in his impulse to tell Lucie Evans to go straight to hell.

“Daisy?” Sawyer motioned to the office manager. “Bring that tray in here. We’ll eat lunch while we discuss the new assignment.”

After Daisy placed the tray on the table where the others had congregated, she hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Sawyer glanced from one agent to another, then eyed the meal in front of him. “I just got off the phone with Cara Bedell of Bedell, Inc.,” he told them.

“Someone hasn’t killed that worthless brother-in-law of hers, have they?” Deke asked. He’d met Grayson Perkins when he’d been called in as a backup agent for Domingo Shea the last time Bedell, Inc. had used Dundee’s services.

“As far as I know, Mr. Perkins is alive and well,” Sawyer said. “But it seems there was a bombing at the headquarters of Helping Hands, one of Cara Bedell’s pet charities. The building is in downtown Chattanooga. The bomb exploded on the first floor and seriously injured three employees, one of whom has since died.”

“And Ms. Bedell wants Dundee’s involved because…?” Geoff asked.

“Because the president of Helping Hands received a threatening phone call shortly after the explosion.”

“Was the threat directed at him?” Geoff asked.

“Her,” Sawyer corrected. “Yes, the threat was directed at the president as well as at Ms. Bedell and the organization itself.”

“Why would anyone threaten a charity organization?” Lucie shook her head, bouncing her copper-red curls. “You know, we’re living in a really screwed-up world.”

“How astute of you, Ms. Evans,” Sawyer said sarcastically. “Bronson, I want you and Monday to drive over to Chattanooga as soon as you finish lunch and can go home to pack your bags. I’ll leave it up to the two of you to choose who guards Ms. Bedell and who guards the Helping Hands president.”

“Who’s going to head up the investigation?” Deke asked.

“The Chattanooga PD,” Sawyer replied. “Lieutenant Bain Desmond is in charge. As for who will be Dundee’s investigator—”

“You could send me,” Lucie suggested.

“I could, but won’t. You already have an assignment that starts tomorrow. I’m calling in Ty Garrett to handle the investigation for Dundee’s.” Sawyer looked from Deke to Geoff. “You two have worked with Ty before. You know he’s good at what he does.”

Geoff reached in his pants pocket, pulled out a quarter and grinned at Deke. “Flip you for the heiress. You call it.” He tossed the coin.

“Tails,” Deke said.

Geoff caught the quarter in his palm. Grinning broadly, he said, “Heads. Sorry, old chap, but I get Ms. Bedell.”

Deke shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. One client was the same as the other. One woman no different than any other.

“I’ll have Daisy put together some preliminary info and e-mail it to both of you. You should have the report by the time you arrive in Chattanooga,” Sawyer said.

BAIN DESMOND met the two Dundee agents at three-thirty that afternoon, when they arrived at Helping Hands’ headquarters. The CSI team was working the scene when Geoff and Deke arrived.

“What can you tell us?” Geoff asked as they rode up in the elevator with the police detective.

“The bomb was placed in a storage room. If the maintenance man hadn’t been in there getting some supplies, he’d be alive. The bomb probably wasn’t intended to kill anyone. The area of destruction was limited, so we surmise it was detonated as a warning.”

“A warning to Helping Hands, its president and Ms. Bedell. Is that right?” Deke asked.

“From what the caller said, yeah, that’s right.”

When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, Lieutenant Desmond emerged first. “The ladies are pretty shook up. I told Cara…Ms. Bedell, that hiring around-the-clock bodyguards probably wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. And what Ms. Bedell wants, she gets. Money talks,” Desmond grumbled.

“Her money shouts over at Dundee’s,” Geoff said.

Desmond nodded. They followed him down the hall to where one of the office doors stood wide open, revealing three women. When they entered, one woman turned and faced them, one glanced over her shoulder at them, and the other remained seated, partially blocked from Deke’s view by the other two.

He recognized Cara Bedell immediately: tall, statuesque and redheaded. Although not as pretty as Lucie Evans, there was something about Ms. Bedell that reminded him of the Dundee agent. They were approximately the same height and size, but Lucie was a few years older and her hair a deeper, darker shade of red.

Ms. Bedell moved forward, her hand outstretched. “You’re from Dundee Security?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Deke shook her hand. “I’m Deke Bronson.” He hitched his thumb in Geoff’s direction. “This is Geoff Monday.”

“I assume that Sawyer explained the situation, and you understand that I want you two on the job until we find the person behind today’s bombing,” Cara said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Deke replied.

She turned to Desmond. “I expect daily updates from the police department. And I want any information you can legally share with Dundee Security to be shared with Mr. Bronson and Mr. Monday. Understood?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Desmond said, a flash of irritation in his gaze.

Cara Bedell turned to the tall, slender African-American woman with curly black hair and striking hazel eyes. “Take tomorrow off, Toni. I don’t want anyone coming to work here until we get heavier security in place.”

“No problem, Ms. Bedell. After what happened, I’m not eager to come back.” Toni turned to the seated woman. “Jafari is waiting for me downstairs. I’ll call you at home later. Are you’re sure you’re all right? You don’t need to go to the ER or…?”

“The medics checked me out,” the woman said. “I’ve got a bruise on one knee and a slight bump on my forehead. I’m fine. Go home. Call me tomorrow. I should know by then if we can return to work Friday.”

Deke and Geoff watched Toni as she exited the office, both quite aware of how attractive she was. Then Deke faced the seated woman. Beautiful didn’t quite describe her. Exquisite might come close. Blond hair hung below her shoulders in soft, loose curls. Blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes. A peaches-and-cream complexion was touched with a fading summer tan. He blinked once, twice and then closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, certain his vision was playing tricks on him.

When he reopened his eyes, his gaze connected with the lady’s. Momentarily robbed of breath, he stared at her. It had been ten years, but seeing her again, he felt as if it had been only yesterday. Hers was the face that had haunted his dreams ever since that bloody day in the capital of Gadi when she had gotten caught in the crossfire between his team and Babu Tum’s guards.

She rose from the chair, leaning heavily on a decorative wooden cane with a bronze handle. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She took a step toward him, then held out her free hand.

“I’m Lexie Murrough, the president of Helping Hands.”

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