The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers Book 2), page 18
Rosamie squinted at the picture again. “Oh, yeah. It’s the campus, right?”
“Yes. It’s one of those GPS-generated images.” Laila set down her phone. “He sent me this a few weeks ago. It was a frat stunt. They all ran around campus, trying to make obscene pictures. But he didn’t know how to turn on the GPS tracking so it generated an image like this, so I did it for him.”
It was one of the last civil interactions they’d had.
“I’m hoping he left it on,” she said, aware her hopes were pinned on a very flimsy premise.
“What if he has his phone at the frat?”
Laila shrugged. “If he does, then I’m going to steal his laptop. He has it set to backup over the air to it daily.”
Rosamie nodded, understanding lighting her eyes. “And I’m guessing you know that because you set that up for him too.”
“He is something of a Luddite.”
Joseph had always had people to do the little things for him growing up. Now he either simply paid them or relied on his charisma and connections. People tripped over themselves to helped him. It had made her a little uncomfortable when they were together. Now she downright hated the way the world worked.
Like you were any better than his groupies. But at least her efforts to be a good girlfriend served a purpose now. If they could provide her with a clue, she might find a way forward out of the twisted mess.
“What will Mr. Muscles say when he finds out what you did?”
“You mean what we are doing,” Laila reminded Rosamie pointedly. “And I’m hoping we find something concrete so he can say congratulations.”
Her friend raised a skeptical brow. “Like that will ever happen. I think it far more likely he’s going to spank you—hard.”
Rosamie’s very pointy elbow poked Laila in the ribs. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”
Laila huffed. “And I think you are projecting. Also, now I know entirely too much about your new relationship.”
Rosamie snorted. “Somehow, I don’t think either Ransom or Mason are going to pat us on the head. But at least you aren’t trying to do this alone.” She tugged on her purse strap. “It’s also a good idea we’re packing.”
They didn’t have guns. Though Rosamie had gone to the shooting range once or twice with her old boyfriend, Laila didn’t know how to use one. Instead, she had Rosamie’s stun gun. It was the handheld kind that had to be had pushed against your assailant, so she’d asked Laila to ‘borrow’ something that didn’t require getting up close and personal from Ransom’s collection.
Unlike Mason, who didn’t appear to keep any weapons in his house, Ransom was something of an aficionado. He’d shown off his firearms to Rosamie. Although he kept them locked up, there were some he didn’t secure—like the projectile stun gun that could be shot from a distance.
Laila nudged Rosamie, urging her to her feet. The security guard was on the move, about to take his lunch break. “Remember, if Joseph is there, don’t let him see the stun gun. We’re only there to pick up my forgotten textbooks.”
The ones she had already sold back to the campus bookstore. But she didn’t think Joseph knew that. It wouldn’t occur to him to sell any of his books back at the end of the quarter.
With affected casualness, they crossed the street, entering the lobby. Laila paused at the mailbox, tempted to check for her mail as she put on her winter gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints.
“No,” Rosamie reminded. “If we do find his phone or computer, he will eventually miss them. And you don’t want to let on that we were ever here.”
“Good point,” Laila muttered, eyeing the camera at the entrance of the hall that led to the elevators.
“This camera and the ones in the elevators are the only ones here, but it doesn’t cover where we’re standing.”
“So, what do we do?”
Laila pressed a finger to her lips. On silent feet, she edged along the wall, making sure to stay out of the camera’s range.
There was a small, upholstered bench a few feet from the corner. Dragging it without looking as if she were dragging it, she let go of it just underneath the camera.
“Keep an eye out,” she said, taking the opaque silicone caps out of her bag. She’d grabbed them from Mason’s kitchen. They were meant to close up bottles of varying sizes, but she hoped one would fit the camera like a lens cap.
“Is anyone watching?”
Rosamie hurried to the door. “Nope, go ahead. But hurry.”
Fumbling a little, Laila stretched the cap over the lens…and it popped right off.
“Are you sure there is no sound?” Rosamie stage whispered.
“No, they are pretty old closed-circuit,” she said as she struggled with the next largest cap—this one was far too big. C’mon. They couldn’t afford to be caught on camera.
Besides the single man posted in the lobby, the rest of the building’s security features were minimal and mostly just a showy deterrent. It hadn’t bothered Laila much when she was living here, because something was better than the nothing she’d had before.
“What if we just push them up high and crawl underneath, you know, heist-style?” Rosamie suggested
It was a good idea, but when Laila tried, neither the camera nor the arm it was perched on moved. “They must screw these things into position. I think we need a screwdriver.”
Frustrated, Laila tugged at the single exposed cable. She sighed with relief when the tiny green LED flickered and died. “Or we can just unplug it.”
“Okay, get down from there before someone sees you.”
Positioning the cable so that it barely made contact, she scrambled down. With luck, the guard would just believe that the cable slipped out on its own. “This way,” she said, ushering Rosamie past the elevator to the stairs.
They made it to the top floor without further incident, although they were both out of breath by the time they got there. Pausing in front of Joseph’s door, Laila pulled the smaller stunning device out her bag, slipping it into her more accessible front pocket. Giving her a sharp nod, Rosamie pulled out the larger one, posing with it like Charlie’s shortest Angel.
Laila grinned, but it was shaky. Sucking in a deep breath, she reached for her key. But she didn’t need it.
The door was unlocked. Holding her breath, she pushed it open.
“Are we too late?” Rosamie’s eyes widened on the disarray that used to be Joseph’s pristine apartment. “Did the police already raid the place?”
“Um…” Laila closed the door behind them. She bent to pick up an empty bottle of vodka. “Something tells me that’s not it.”
The place looked worse than the frat on a Sunday morning. There were empty bottles and dirty glasses and dishes scattered on almost every surface. The round table near the entrance was on its side, dirt from the potted plant that normally stood in the middle of it spilled on the glossy marble floor. The plant itself had been kicked into the living room, a trail of black soil flecked with white marking its path.
“Joseph must have moved the party here at some point.”
“Do you think he’s still here?” Rosamie grimaced. “Or anyone else?”
Laila shrugged helplessly. There was no one in sight. “Let’s just hurry.”
They began to go room to room, searching under and between couch cushions for the phone. Laila had to pick her way through the detritus, thinking Joe must have had a big party, but the more she went over the mess, the less convinced of that she became.
For one, the discarded pizza boxes and half-full food containers were all from different places. There was no evidence of a single bulk order, the kind shared among party guests. The only thing that could have conceivably been shared by multiple people was alcohol. The sheer number of bottles was enough for three or four people. To think Joseph may have drunk all this on his own in just a few days—big chunks of which had to have been spent at Alpha Omega.
Her stomach twisting, she caught Rosamie’s eye. Laila waved at the empty bottles. “I think he’s trying to drink himself to death.”
Rosamie’s dark eyes flashed. “Because he feels guilty—now we know for sure he’s involved. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be acting like this.”
Laila wanted to protest. A tiny voice in her head still wanted to defend Joseph, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Rosamie was voicing the same thoughts she was having.
“Let’s check the bedroom,” she suggested.
With a terse nod, Rosamie took out the stunner. She held it up like a cop about to go into a raid.
The siren’s sounded the second she made the comparison. Jerking her head around, she rushed to the window.
“Oh-my-God.” Rosamie was right behind her. But her friend’s shoes were far more slippery. They lost traction on the slick marble floor, sending Rosamie crashing into her. Gritting her teeth, Laila checked Rose’s forward progress before she banged into the window.
“Thanks,” Rosamie murmured. “Are they getting closer?”
Laila craned her neck, but she couldn’t see any cruisers. “I don’t think so. They must have been on the other block.”
She turned around too fast, inadvertently striking a beer bottle she hadn’t seen with her foot. Horrified, she watched it fly across the floor.
Squealing in dismay, Rosamie grabbed her. They held each other’s hands, both cringing as the bottle hit the couch and rebounded with a clatter, setting it spinning in a circle.
Laila didn’t know her heart had stopped until the bottle slowed to a stop, and no one ran out to confront them.
“I guess he really isn’t here,” Rosamie said, risking raising her voice a fraction. “Although I’m surprised he hasn’t had the maid stop by.”
“Yeah,” Laila agreed. Joseph employed a cleaning service. A rotating team of five no-nonsense Hispanic women came every Sunday. Judging from the mess, they had skipped this week. “He must have canceled them.”
“Uh-huh.” The attitude-laden acknowledgment told Laila exactly what Rosamie thought of that.
It wasn’t real evidence, nothing they could take to the police, but both knew this kind of behavior was out of character for her normally carefree and privileged ex.
A few more minutes of searching yielded nothing. Eventually, there was only one more place to check.
Laila jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom, her hands damp under her gloves. By silent mutual accord, she and Rosamie tiptoed to the bedroom door. Turning the handle, she pushed it open and peeked inside.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she fought the urge to turn tail and run.
They had been wrong. Joseph was home.
Freezing, Laila threw out an arm, checking Rosamie’s progress once more.
Joseph’s six-foot frame was splayed over the bed. He was lying face-down, shirtless, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts with his bare feet hanging over the edge. An empty beer bottle sat a few inches away from his hand. A few more were scattered on the floor, but thanks to the plush white carpeting surrounding the bed, they hadn’t broken. However, judging from the smell in the room, it appeared as if they’d still been partially filled when he dropped them.
Rosamie’s nails dug into her arm. Let’s go, she mouthed, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head.
That was Laila’s impulse, too, but they were already here. And Joseph wasn’t moving. His breathing hadn’t changed at all since she’d opened the door.
Whether his recent behavior had something to do with Jasmine’s death, Joseph was making himself vulnerable now. And there was no way to know how long that would last.
“If he’s here, so is the phone,” she mouthed, shaking off Rosamie’s restraining hand. Her friend made the tiniest of squeaks in protest, but Laila shushed her with an admonishing finger.
Slipping out of her shoes, she proceeded in her socks. Rounding the bed, she checked the nightstand, hoping Joe’s phone would be charging inside the drawer through the cables built into the high-tech design.
It wasn’t.
Grimacing, she stepped closer to the bed to check to see if it were in his pockets. But they appeared flat to her eyes. Unless it was underneath him, then it wasn’t in the bedroom either. Crouching, she brought her eyes level to the bed, trying to see if she could see it poking out underneath him.
Joseph groaned, turning his head in her direction. Laila froze. If he woke up right now, they would be eye to eye.
Rosamie waved wildly from the doorway. Holding her breath, Laila backed away, acknowledging the fact she’d probably pushed her luck to the limit. And then her eye fell on the open bathroom door.
The cell phone was lying on the bathmat next to the toilet as if it had fallen out the last time Joseph used the facilities.
Moving like molasses, Laila shifted, inching along until she was inside the bathroom, bending to get the phone. Grabbing the device, she nearly died when it slipped out of her slippery gloves. She caught it just in time, trapping it against her thigh before it hit the floor.
Why didn’t I spring for the leather instead of the cheap cotton?
Getting ahead of herself, she began the seemingly endless journey back to where Rosamie waited. Her friend wasn’t making a sound, but Laila could see the flare of her nostrils as if she were breathing fast. The stun gun was out and pointed at Joe’s prone form. Edging around Rosamie, Laila closed the door of the bedroom, sparing a moment to thank whoever had oiled the hinges.
“C’mon,” she whispered, toeing her shoes back on. Though she half-expected it, Joseph did not wake to chase them down. After cracking the door a sliver to make sure the hallway was empty, they slipped out, closing it carefully. Then they ran down the hall as if the hounds of hell were after them.
Rosamie waited until they were at the stair entrance to speak. “Girl, you are insane! I can’t believe you did that.”
Clutching the phone, Laila started to reply, but her words turned into a strangled scream when muscled arms plucked her friend out of the air, a large hand covering Rosamie’s mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason reached out to grab Laila before she tumbled down the stairs in shock.
Guilt flared like fireworks in her caramel-colored eyes. Her head shot up to Ransom, who had snatched up Rosamie mid-step, wisely covering her mouth so she wouldn’t make a ruckus.
“I am going to spank you so hard,” Ransom growled in Rosamie’s ear.
“See, I told you,” Laila hiss-whispered before she caught his eye. Abashed, she looked down at her feet.
Jaw tight, Mason’s words came out in a growl. “Not here.”
Pointing down the stairs, he marched their motley crew down to the ground level. But instead of heading to the front doors, they moved down the hall to the emergency exit. With a sharp nod at Ransom, he signaled his wingman.
With a grunt that had nothing to do with how heavy she was, Ransom put Rosamie down, whipping out a small leather folio holding his specialized tools. In less than a minute, his partner had disabled the alarm on the door.
They were outside in the alley in the next minute, but he didn’t let Laila or Rosamie explain until they were blocks away in the parking lot where he’d parked his car.
“Now that we’re clear, would either of you like to explain what in the living hell you were doing in Joseph Dubey’s apartment?” He looked them up and down, noting the gloves and caps covering their long hair. “Dressed for a heist no less? You are aware that breaking and entering is against the law, right?”
His voice was a cold whip, a tone reserved for men in his unit who disobeyed orders.
Laila flinched, but he didn’t soften. He was too angry.
How could she have come here? They didn’t know if Dubey was involved in her friend’s death, but knowing she had willingly gone to his apartment had sent Mason over the edge.
What was worse—there had been no warning, no build-up. It was like getting hit by a truck and being sent over a cliff he hadn’t realized was there. Laila could wreck him without even trying.
For a man known for his control and calm under fire, it was an unsettling realization.
“It’s not breaking and entering if you still have a key,” Rosamie pointed out in a small voice when Laila continued to stare at the ground.
Mason ignored Rosamie. “Laila. What the hell were you trying to accomplish?”
She took a deep breath, lifting her chin to meet his glare. Her expression was steady. “Detective Silano called. The investigation is dead in the water because they can’t even question Joe. His family’s lawyers are stonewalling.”
Ransom grunted, pulling Rosamie’s back against his front. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry for you both.”
Mason shot him a glare. “Somehow, I doubt Detective Silano encouraged them to investigate for her.”
His voice was still sharp enough to make Laila swallow nervously. “We have a very small window before Joseph either asks for his apartment key back or has the locks changed.”
“And just what did you think you were going to find? A signed confession?” The edge in Mason’s voice could have performed surgery. He didn’t like the way Laila cringed away from him, but his blood pumped hot. All he could picture was Joseph’s big hands wrapped around her slender neck.
“No… I was after this.” She flicked him a glance under her lashes before pulling out a sleek cell phone. It wasn’t hers.
He groaned aloud. “So, we can add theft to the list of charges?”
“I’m with Mason on this one,” Ransom said, making a sour face. “The fact that you two got in and out without being seen—”
“Which we don’t know for sure they did,” Mason interrupted, instinctively moving to block Laila from sight as a pedestrian passed them on the sidewalk.
Pausing, Ransom held up a finger. “Which we don’t know you did,” he acknowledged. “But getting the phone is pointless cause these things can’t be unlocked without a thumbprint or the PIN. Unless you also severed Dubey’s thumb in there as well, we’re SOL because those things aren’t as easy to hack as on TV.”
