Colby Justice

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

A Note to the Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

A NOTE TO THE READER

The Colby Agency is under siege. Victoria Colby-Camp and fourteen members of her staff were taken hostage. Twenty-four hours later, all hostages of the agency except one were released. NOW Victoria’s survival depends upon the people she has over the years hand selected and trained at the Colby Agency—her staff. Yet her compassion and forthrightness alone may serve to help another life in jeopardy. Perhaps two.

The twenty-four hours to come will ultimately determine if Victoria will survive—if any of those under siege inside the Colby Agency will survive.

Will the Colby Agency fall beneath the weight of this siege? Only time will tell…but time is short.

Twenty-four hours…each one bringing death closer and closer. The clock starts now.

The first two stories of the Colby Agency’s UNDER

SIEGE series have been very emotional works for me.

I hope you will enjoy every moment. This entire six-

book series is dedicated to all the loyal Colby fans.

Chapter One

Temporary command center, 8:50 a.m.

Maggie’s Coffee House was closed for business. Across the street, the building that housed the Colby Agency was locked down tight supposedly due to a gas leak.

No one got in. No one got out. Penny Alexander stared beyond the white lettering on the plate-glass window before her. At this time of the morning, those descending upon the Magnificent Mile and the surrounding streets generally hit Maggie’s for a blast of caffeine. Not today.

Today the popular café continued as a temporary command center while the Colby Agency remained in the relentless grip of silent peril. Much needed assistance from the local authorities could not be summoned. As far as the world was concerned, the building had been closed as a safety precaution. The ruthless terrorists inside had made the rules and not one could be broken if the head of the prestigious Colby Agency was to survive.

Penny had reflected many times on how her long-awaited first day at the Colby Agency would commence. Not once since being interviewed had she considered that the day would begin like this.

An internal crisis involving basic survival.

The current situation could be called nothing else. Penny wondered if this was the beginning of the end for the Colby Agency. Just her luck.

“Steele is ready.”

Penny shifted her focus from the building across the street to the man who had spoken, Ian Michaels. Tall, dark, attractive and incredibly still. Every move, every word was precise and calculated for an exact result. He had called scarcely two weeks ago to inform her that she had been selected for the position at which she had only dared to hope having a shot. She had been perfectly happy and completely willing to wait out the necessary time for the final background search required to obtain security clearance.

But Ian had called a few hours ago with a shocking request. The Colby Agency needed her. Now.

“Excellent.” Penny nodded, forcing back the frustrating lump of uncertainty in her throat. She could do this. “I’m ready.”

Ian considered her a moment longer before turning and leading the way to where the rest of the team pored over the building’s complicated floor plan.

Most of the beleaguered agency staff had been sent home, only those absolutely essential to the effort about to launch had remained at the temporary command center. Ian, of course. Simon Ruhl, Ian’s equal at the agency. Jim Colby, Victoria’s son. And the mysterious Lucas Camp, Victoria’s husband. The others were from Jim’s team of Equalizers, a fellow called Rocky, Leland Rockford, and Ben Steele…the man who would be Penny’s partner for this undertaking.

Steele had shaken her hand once, but otherwise he’d paid little attention to her, period. Penny wasn’t sure if he just didn’t like the fact that she was a woman or if he didn’t like partners in general. Ian Michaels had briefed her on Steele’s background, but no insight to him on a personal level had been provided. Whether he currently or had in the past worked with a partner was not disclosed.

Whatever the case, she was his partner today.

“Two hours,” Steele was saying, “if we’re lucky. And that’s if we don’t run into any serious complications. We can make the fourth floor in that time frame if all goes well.”

“Unacceptable.” Jim Colby shook his head and planted his hands on his hips. He, too, was tall and heavily muscled. Blondish-brown hair with piercing blue eyes. “I need you in there within the hour one way or another. Every minute that slips by could be the one…” His jaw clamped shut on the rest of the words, but there was no way to miss the pain in his eyes.

His mother’s fate lay in their hands.

“Taking it slow is the only way to ensure we’re not detected,” Steele reminded his boss. His tone was firm yet understanding. “One wrong move—one misstep—and Victoria dies. We can’t take any risks. Not one. Slow and methodical, that’s how we’ll make this turn out the way we all want.”

Penny considered the man who would be her partner. Not as tall as Jim or Ian, around six feet maybe. Dark hair, close cropped, almost military style. And dark brown eyes that were every bit as watchful as Ian’s.

“Jim.” Lucas Camp stepped forward, shouldering his way between his stepson and Steele. “Ben is right. We do this slow and easy. No unnecessary risks.” His tone left no room for negotiation.

Ian and Simon exchanged a glance but held their tongues. Penny had a feeling that a number of lines had been drawn in the sand well before her arrival on the scene. The Colby Agency and the Equaliz- ers were working together to achieve this goal. The tension was thick enough to squeeze the air right out of the room.

“We’ve got movement!”

The warning came from Ted Tallant, another Colby investigator who’d insisted on staying on the scene. He’d been keeping watch over the front of the building across the street. His curly, blond hair was a little longish, and reminded Penny of the surfer dudes who hung out along the sandy beaches of Malibu. His gold eyes were friendly and he seemed to always be smiling. Colby investigator KendraTodd maintained surveillance from a position on the backside of the building. Penny hadn’t met Kendra but she’d heard her voice a number of times over the communications link.

Both Kendra and Ted had refused to leave after being released by their captors and having their minor injuries treated. Numerous others had wanted to stay, but their injuries and state of exhaustion had dictated otherwise. Besides, Penny presumed that if this thing dragged on much past noon, it was very likely that relief would be required. Those working now might have to stand down so that others more rested could take over.

Not to mention that keeping the whole operation below the official radar of the police and city maintenance grew less and less feasible as the minutes ticked off. The wrong kind of attention could blow the operation.

Penny followed the rest of the crew to the window where Tallant offered his binoculars to his superior, Ian. “The man entering the building,” Tallant explained as he pointed toward the figure stepping through the front entrance, “is Leonard Thorp.”

Thorp had shown up around eight, as Penny recalled. About the same time she had arrived. Then he’d left for half an hour or so. That he carried a large box as he entered now was disturbing. The possibilities of what could be inside that single box presented additional concerns.

Ian peered through the binoculars, evidently wanting to confirm Tallant’s conclusion with a close-up. “The mock trial will likely get underway now,” Ian said. “The box Thorp is carrying is marked as Sensitive Case Files.” He lowered the binoculars and shifted his attention to those gathered around him. “Moving forward cannot wait. We don’t have another moment to waste.”

A chill raced up Penny’s spine. The tension in the room rocketed to a new level.

The men started talking at once. Penny watched as the sedan that had dropped off Thorp drove away. Ian had explained that Thorp’s stepdaughter had been murdered last year by drug and prostitution ringleader Reginald Clark, also known as The Prince. Thorp had spent months putting together a revenge strategy after the pathetic case against The Prince had fallen apart in court. His revenge included the former Cook County district attorney, Timothy Gordon, and a pivotal juror, Victoria Colby-Camp.

According to the man who’d led the siege of the Colby Agency, Gordon was getting a second chance to do the right thing. As was Victoria. The Prince would be executed when found guilty…within the next twenty-three hours. Anyone who got in the way, made a wrong move, etcetera, would be terminated as well.

The Colby Agency had been forced by the terrorists who’d taken the staff hostage to deliver Gordon. No contact with the authorities had been permitted. If their effort had failed or if they’d chosen to contact the authorities, everyone inside would have been murdered. A no-win situation.

The Colby Agency had broken a number of laws. So far, murder wasn’t one of them. But unless Steele and Penny could get inside and neutralize the situation first, at least one man would die. The agency would be an accessory to homicide.

The likelihood that this so-called Prince deserved to die was not the issue. This mock trial was a witch hunt pure and simple. Thorp and his minions had to be stopped before yet another line was crossed. One the Colby Agency might never be able to overcome.

“Let’s gear up,” Steele said to Penny.

Penny grabbed her duffel and headed to the ladies’ room. A black spandex bodysuit would allow for unimpeded movement as well as camouflage in the darkness. Although it was daylight outside, inside the inner structure of the building it would be dark. Damned dark.

Drawing in a big, deep breath, she shook off that last thought and clipped into place the wireless earpiece that would provide the necessary communications with the command center here in the coffeehouse. Gloves, and rubber-soled shoes designed for whisper-quiet steps and incredibly firm grip came on next.

After tucking her fiery red hair into a black skullcap, she grabbed the night-vision goggles and draped them around her neck. They were light, small, but immensely powerful. The technology had come a long way in recent years. Not that she’d had occasion to use such technology in the past. Not really. As a forensics technician she’d used many other types of goggles, but never ones for scouting out prey in the dark.

Despite her determination, a shiver raced over her skin once more. She would not let foolish worries get to her. The next few hours were far too crucial.

She pulled a lightweight but roomy backpack from the duffel of supplies. Inside the backpack were climbing tools and aids. A serious flashlight and a small first-aid kit, along with water packets and a couple of energy bars. Whoever had put together their gear had thought of everything.

Including a weapon and another type of head-wear. Looked like a ski mask but was made from the same stretchy material as the suit she wore. She told herself that dying this first day as a Colby Agency investigator was not going to happen. Allowing that kind of negativity would only work against her determination.

Wasn’t going to happen.

She stepped out of the restroom and shrugged on her backpack. Her new partner, who’d exited the men’s room, glanced her way. She summoned her waning courage and confirmed, “Ready.”

As she came up beside Steele, who was dressed similarly, the bodysuit clinging to lean, well-honed muscle, Ian gave one last block of instruction.

“We cannot hear anything inside. We have no visuals. All communications, including the security monitors, have been disabled as far as what we can attempt to access from here. That does not mean that those monitors are inoperable to those inside. So beware. However,” he countered, “what we can detect is movement.” He sent a nod toward Lucas. “Thankfully one of Lucas’s contacts provided a thermal-imaging scanner that allows us to determine the whereabouts of all those inside the building.”

Simon directed their attention to the building’s blueprints, which had been downloaded into the thermal-imaging system. “Fortunately there was no one else inside the building at the time of the takeover, so the only warm bodies are on the fourth floor.” His gaze locked with Penny’s. “Our floor. We have Victoria, Clark, Gordon and seven members of the enemy’s team. Eight, now that Thorp has entered the mix. They show up as hot spots, red dots, if you will.”

“If anyone leaves the fourth floor—” Lucas picked up from there “—we can alert you as to their movements. But that’s our limit. There is nothing we can do to help you if you run into trouble. We can’t rush in—that’s not an option. Bottom line, once you get inside, you’re on your own.”

Penny moistened her lips and ordered her respiration to remain steady. Ian Michaels had briefed her on the potential risk. This was nothing new.

“The ability to warn us if the enemy is headed our way is better than nothing,” Steele allowed, acknowledging Lucas’s firm warning. “At least if we know they’ve detected our presence, we can brace for trouble or run the other way.”

“Once we’re inside,” Penny ventured, studying the blurred, reddish images on the computer screen, “you’ll know where we are as well, right?” She wasn’t that familiar with thermal imaging, but it made sense if the body heat of the enemy could be detected hers and Steele’s could be as well. To some degree, the idea that the rest of the team would know their whereabouts was comforting.

Steele shook his head before anyone else could answer her question. “We’ve taken precautions to ensure no one can see us.”

“Just in case,” Jim put in, “the enemy has a thermal imager, too. That’s the one precaution we can take in advance.”

Penny felt her brow furrow in confusion. How was that possible? All living bodies exuded heat. “What do you mean?”

Lucas pointed to the suit she wore. “There’s a material built into your suit as well as the headgear in your pack that blocks your body heat from being picked up by a scan. Once you’re ready to go inside—” he gestured to Steele’s duffel “—you’ll put on the necessary headgear. You’ll be completely invisible to them and to us as far as thermal scans go.”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire, she might have actually been impressed. At the moment she was simply grateful for the cover, she decided, determined to maintain some measure of optimism. Dying on her first assignment definitely wasn’t on her agenda. “I’ve always wanted to be invisible.”

“We’re counting on the two of you,” Jim said, his voice as weary and worried as his expression. “This could very well be the only chance we get.” He opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Good luck.”

More offers of good luck were called after them as Penny followed Ben to the rear exit on the first floor of the temporary command center.

Before exiting the building, they donned their winter coats, more for not drawing attention to their strange attire than for comfort. Anyone they ran into might very well report seeing such bizarrely dressed pedestrians at this time of the morning.

As they stepped outside into the cold winter air, Penny wondered how the suit could block their heat signatures but didn’t do a whole hell of a lot for keeping them warm against the frigid Chicago temperature. Even with a coat and gloves she was freezing. The shoes were not designed for the snow and ice, and the soles of her feet and her toes chilled almost instantly. She breathed deeply of the cold air. Gathered her strength and courage.

She would need every ounce she possessed to do this right. Years of therapy and determination had marginalized her irrational fears of the dark and tight spaces. She could do this. She had to do this. The job was far too important to her to screw it up on the first day.

Fate had one hell of a sense of humor. Her first assignment was all about darkness and cramped quarters.

“We’re taking the long way around,” Steele told her as he led the way along one of the city’s most well-known thoroughfares. “We’ll cross the street farther up the block and then cut along the alleyway. We’ll access the Colby building through the basement of the neighboring building. I’ve prepared the entry point.”

They’d gone over the strategy twice. She understood that stealth had to be a priority since there was no cover of darkness at this hour of the morning. Waiting for nightfall, hours from now, was out of the question. As Jim had so aptly pointed out, every minute they lost was one that might cost Victoria’s life or the lives of one or more of the others being held against their will.

The structure next to the Colby Agency building housed commercial office space, employees were already arriving but she and Steele would blend into the harried crowd. Not attracting attention was a must.

As he said, Steele had already been in the basement and spent hours achieving the essential modifications. But it wasn’t until Penny was in the basement facing the new opening in the three-feet-thick concrete support wall that separated the underground floor of the two buildings that she understood exactly what he’d accomplished in those long hours before her arrival. The Colby Agency had ensured none of the building’s maintenance crew entered the basement by warning that the problem with the adjacent building was being assessed from the area.

Clearly noticing that her jaw had dropped in surprise, he gestured to the small rectangular hole in the wall a couple of feet up from the floor. “This is our way in,” he said drily. “Our only way in or out.”

She visually measured the width of his broad shoulders, then surveyed the opening once more. “Could be a problem if we’re in a hurry to get back out.” Her throat closed, making it impossible to draw in a deep breath. The opening was damned small…but only three feet to the other side, she reminded herself. Not a problem. She could handle wiggling through.

“Once we get beyond a certain point, if they detect our presence—” Steele retrieved his headgear from his backpack, prompting Penny to do the same “—chances are we won’t need to get out.”

Chapter Two

Inside, 9:05 a.m.

Ben Steele waited as Alexander snaked her body through the small opening he’d managed to sculpt out of the concrete wall separating the basement level of the building they’d entered from the one next door—the building that housed the Colby Agency.

Several hours had been required to slowly, carefully ease through the separating wall. A combination of low-impact charges and special mining drills had done the job an inch at a time without detection by the enemy. Every vibration had had to be measured precisely to ensure as little noise as possible.

The slightest sound could have warned the enemy.

Once Alexander’s feet had disappeared, Ben shrugged off his coat and dropped it to the floor next to hers. He pushed his backpack through the opening and then positioned himself to slide through the fifteen-by-twenty-inch passageway. He canted one shoulder to fit. Tight as hell but not impossible.

His palms flattened on the concrete floor of the neighboring basement. Alexander was already on her feet and waiting for his next order.

Ben walked his body out via his hands and pushed up to a standing position. He tapped his mic twice to inform those listening back at the command center that they were in. Via Ben’s earpiece, Ian Michaels passed along that every glowing image of the enemy remained on the fourth floor.

That was good news.

After positioning an upright, wheeled tool chest in front of the opening by which they had entered, Ben moved to the far side of the massive room and pointed to the ventilation duct that ran upward from the enormous portion of the HVAC system housed in the basement. Another section was secured on the roof. Ben had removed an access panel to the return duct on his previous visit, but then he’d repositioned it so as not to draw attention. He removed the panel once more while she watched. Since he hadn’t secured it fully, removing it was quick and easy and surprisingly soundless.

Alexander moved up beside him and surveyed the one entrance available for reaching the upper floors without using the stairs or the elevators. The main trunk of the heating and cooling system’s return duct.

The return ductwork’s main trunk was very nearly the same size as the one carrying the heated or cooled air. However, the maze of piping for the climate-controlled air branched off into numerous flex lines taking the heated or cooled air to the individual rooms of each floor. The return, on the other hand, remained large enough to maneuver as well as having more than one branch off to each floor that was equally sizable enough to use as an exit or entrance. Here, in the basement, an access point to this main trunk was provided for maintenance purposes.

Ben had attempted to make the journey alone, but certain parts of the intricate and narrow metal path made maneuvering upward without assistance out of the question. Unfortunately, accessing this metal tunnel required a certain flexibility not possessed by most with the needed physical strength and endurance.

Ben possessed that flexibility because of his former occupation. He’d spent more than a dozen years rescuing those trapped deep beneath the ground or under tons of earthquake rubble. He could contort his body in ways that were definitely not natural. Though he was six feet in height and weighed a solid one-hundred-seventy pounds, he was utterly lean. Every pound was muscle, trained to bend and contract with ease.

Penny Alexander reportedly possessed a similar physical ability. According to Michaels and Ruhl, the woman was an incredible gymnast. She certainly had the body for it, Ben noted, his gaze roving her frame. The insulated suit she wore left no room for speculation. It clung to every lean line and sculpted curve.

She turned her palms up, those vivid green eyes letting him know she’d noticed that he was sizing her up and wasn’t particularly happy about it. Her eyes were all that was visible of her face with the full face and head covering that worked much like a ski mask but was made from that same special spandex.

He ignored her questioning look. There was no time for explanations or playing etiquette games. He reached into his backpack and removed the magnetic climbing holds. After a moment of hesitation, likely to banish her frustration, she did the same. Pulling his pack onto his chest rather than his back, he then gripped one hold in each hand and gestured into the metal tunnel’s opening. She would go first.

With a nod of comprehension, she moved into position. Taking care not to make any more sound than necessary, she pressed the round, magnetic surface of each climbing aid to the smooth, metallic wall inside.

Using body language and other noiseless methods of communication as much as possible would be essential since there was no way to know how or when the enemy would be monitoring a particular area of the building. Though the security system was of no use to those at the command center across the street, there was no way to be certain to what extent the enemy had access.

Slowly, Alexander scaled her way into the narrow space. When she’d moved upward far enough, Ben followed. Reaching the first floor wasn’t a problem. It was the bizarre turn and then the ten-to-fourteen-feet incline, depending upon where they were in the building, that presented the dilemma. A ninety-degree angle combined with the climb going up or the drop going down made the task undoable without assistance. He could reach the angle, but he couldn’t move past it without a climbing partner. The opening was too narrow for anything besides his body. There wasn’t a millimeter to spare.

Alexander would need to move beyond that point and then literally wrench him past it. He hoped like hell she was as strong as she claimed to be; otherwise, they had wasted their time.

And that of those inside.

He had briefed her on every aspect of the journey. She felt confident she could accomplish each physical task. He hoped that would prove the case.

There was no margin for error.

The soft glide of their bodies over the metal was very nearly soundless. Each time either of them settled their magnetic climbing assists onto the surface of the metal wall there was a pause in the whispering glide followed by the more distinct contact of the magnetic handholds. Small tap, extended slide. Over and over the rhythmic sounds echoed around them.

Ben’s forward movement stopped as Alexander reached the first ninety-degree angle. She pushed her backpack through first, then pulled and wiggled her way through the narrow opening.

When she’d cleared the angle, Ben moved into position, his head even with the opening. The seemingly endless tunnel widened at the point beyond the angle. On each floor, there would be such an angle and then a wider spot. A perfect place for a breather after the push to get him through this particular sharp and treacherously narrow turn in the metal tunnel. And before making the upward climb.

Shifting the weight of his body to one hand, he passed his backpack through the opening. Twenty or so seconds later, she threaded a rope to him. A powered lift would have negated the need for a partner, but the requirements to work optimally with metal would have generated far too much noise and ultimately too much risk of being overheard. This was the only option. He wrapped the rope she’d sent his way around one hand, then passed her first one magnetic climbing assist, then the other. His respiration escalated as nothing but the rope held him in place. He attempted to provide as much assistance as he could with no way to obtain reasonable purchase with his hands or feet on the slick metal walls.

His head and shoulders cleared the opening. A blast of air hit him in the face. Whenever the heat kicked on, the necessary air to fuel the push would flow through this metal tunnel. Alexander had positioned herself as a lever, feet planted against the wall on either side of her for added support. She pulled hard, the shaking of her arms a warning that she struggled to tug his weight through the tight squeeze. He hoped her strength held out.

Metal pierced the suit and the skin on his right side. The sensation startled Ben. The next drag on the rope ensured that the penetrating object tore through his skin. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t stop. He had to reach the next point.

One more hard pull and he scooted past the angle. He low-crawled onto the horizontal surface and allowed his muscles to relax. Mentally inventoried the injury as he attempted to reposition himself so that he could inspect the damage.

Alexander relaxed as well, allowing her visibly quivering muscles to melt with relief.

Ben removed a glove and checked his side with his fingers. Warm, sticky fluid. Blood leaked from the suit. He bit back the oath.

“We have a blip on the thermal scanner in the vicinity of the first floor,” Michaels informed him.

Blood wasn’t the only thing leaking through the suit. Damn it! Body heat was showing up on the scan. Adrenaline seared through his veins as he tugged the glove back into place.

Having observed his movements and then heard the same report in her earpiece, Alexander reacted. She slid her body over his, ensuring the main portion of her torso covered his injured side. Then she tapped her mic three times in question.

The seconds ticked off with Ben holding his breath.

“Clear,” Michaels responded. “No movement above.”

To Alexander, Ben whispered, “You’re going to need to patch this before we move forward.”

It would be impossible for him to get into the needed position to attend to it himself. Taking the risk of speaking directly into her ear, no matter how softly, was one he’d had no choice but to take. The flow of air helped camouflage any sound, but that wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes. Still, being caught on a thermal scan was by far the more likely and dangerous scenario, since it would alert the enemy not only to their presence but also their precise location.

When she hesitated, he added, “There’s tape in my pack.”

Alexander nodded, then dragged his backpack to her. She sifted through the items inside, dredging up the special tape needed to seal the rip in the shielding suit. She located the injury and quickly applied layer after layer of tape over the wound. The pressure she applied sent pain shooting down his leg and up his side. Just his luck to have something as stupid as this happen right off the bat.

He’d ignored a hell of a lot worse than this. All he had to do was focus on the goal.

When Alexander had moved up alongside Ben, Ian reported via the communications link, “The blip has disappeared.”

They were in the clear…for now.

“How bad is it?” Alexander asked, her face close to Ben’s ear, her voice scarcely audible above the drone of airflow.

He wanted to shake her for speaking when, in his opinion, it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He would survive. Truth was, the injury stung like hell. He could feel it continuing to ooze blood inside the suit. Since he couldn’t see it, he wasn’t sure just how bad it was. He shrugged and, though she might not be able to see the movement very well, they lay against each other so she’d definitely felt it. He turned his face toward the dark tunnel ahead and jerked his head in that direction.

Time to move.

She hesitated but only for a second.

Even in that slight hesitation he felt the fear radiating off her in waves. That worried him…or maybe it was just the idea that her body was practically wrapped around his and she was trembling.

The forward movement along the horizontal portion of the route provided the needed time to rest his tense muscles. And allowed for some physical distance from his new partner. A few more feet and the straight-up climb would begin again. She would go first with a boost from him, then she would provide the needed hoist for him to achieve that same goal.

Three more floors to go.

Ignore the burn…ignore the pain.

There was no way he could stop for anything other than a life-threatening injury. No turning back. The lives of those inside depended upon the success of this mission. Having the police rush in would no doubt result in casualties. This had to be achieved covertly and quickly.

Ben focused on covering the distance directly in front of him. Alexander’s soft breathing and her soundless forward movement helped keep his mind off the pain. Mostly he stared at her shapely legs and rear end. What could he say? They were right in front of him. His eyes had adjusted to the degree possible in the near absence of light and maybe he couldn’t actually say that he could see her form, but he’d gotten a good look before they’d climbed into this dark hole. His memory and too vivid imagination were providing a stream of sweet details. The woman was all sleek curves and lean lines.

Just a little farther and they would be at the second floor.

“Two enemy personnel are headed down the eastern stairwell.”

Ian’s warning in their earpieces caused both Ben and Alexander to freeze.

The enemy was headed down. If they’d seen that blip of heat on a thermal scanner.

They would know they had company.

They would know he and Alexander were in the building.

Chapter Three

Temporary Command Center, 9:40 a.m.

Jim Colby held his breath as the two glowing forms on the scanner moved swiftly down the stairwell to the third floor…then the second.

“Damn it,” he growled. “They must have seen the heat trace.” Which could only mean that the enemy had a thermal scanner, as well.

“Don’t move, Steele,” Ian ordered.

Jim glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? They have to get out of there.” As Victoria’s son, Jim had thought he’d made himself clear twenty-four hours ago. He was in charge.

“Anything they do now,” Ian Michaels said, in that too-calm voice, “could result in their being captured. Until we’re absolutely certain their presence has been detected making a move that will certainly announce their presence would be a mistake.”

Neither Simon Ruhl nor Lucas Camp said a word, their silence shouting loudly and clearly that they were with Ian on this one.

Jim planted his hands on his hips and turned away from the screen tracking the movements of the enemy…growing closer and closer to the only hope for the rescue of Victoria. Jim’s gaze landed on Leland Rockford. Rocky was the only other member of his team here. He, too, kept quiet.

Maybe this was too close for Jim. Maybe he couldn’t keep emotion out of the scenario. God knows he’d never had that problem before.

Fear tightened in his throat. He’d allowed that thin line to stand too long. He had permitted Victoria, his mother, to give far more than he ever allowed himself to grant. Last year’s attempt on his daughter had set off long-buried emotional ripples deep inside him. Those ripples were still evoking changes in him—changes he wasn’t fully able to control.

Changes he should have allowed long ago.

“We’ve got company at the front entrance,” Ted Tallant called out from his position at the window. “White, nondescript panel van. Tinted windows, no way to tell how many occupants.”

Jim moved to the window, as did the others, except for Rocky, to observe the arrival of the van. Two men, dressed completely in black including ski masks. The two were likely part of the team Jim had seen when he’d attempted to bargain for the release of his mother.

“I believe it’s safe to assume that those are the two from the stairwell.”

“That could mean they don’t have a thermal scanner or didn’t catch the blip we did.” Jim’s knees threatened to buckle with relief. If Steele and Alexander were caught… Jim’s mother would likely be the first victim of retaliation.

Jim could not let that happen.

He should have gone in himself.

But he did not possess the lean body frame necessary for the infiltration.

Guilt and frustration gnawed at him.

Ian relayed the update to Steele and Alexander.

All in the room relaxed marginally.

They were still in the clear.

For now.

At the front entrance of the building across the street, two men from the van handed off rectangular boxes to the two men in black. Six boxes total. The boxes were stacked in the lobby by the members of the enemy’s team, then the van drove away and the entry doors to the building were locked once more.

“More case files,” Tallant explained as he peered through his binoculars to read whatever lettering was stamped on the boxes.

“Probably the files on the Reginald Clark case,” Lucas surmised. “Or the personal ones belonging to Gordon. Those disappeared from the county’s official storage facility, as we know.”

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Slade Convoy, posing as an official courier for Cook County, had picked up six boxes of files from former District Attorney Gordon’s personal residence and transported them to the county storage facilities. They had learned mere hours later that the boxes had been given to Gordon’s head of security.

Evidently Thorp was aware that Gordon’s personal work files contained evidence he would need to carry out his mock trial.

Reginald Clark, The Prince, was the reason all of this was going down. How the hell could the justice system let criminals like him continue to escape punishment? Jim knew the answer…because of equally filthy scum like Gordon. Only, in Jim’s opinion, Gordon was far worse. He had been entrusted with a position of power—one that was supposed to protect the citizens. Instead, he used that power for personal gain with no care as to the protection of those under his jurisdiction.

Ian and Simon moved back to the screens providing their meager view into the building. Tallant resumed his monitoring of the front of the building.

“Jim.”

He turned to face Lucas, too preoccupied with ending this to wonder what his stepfather might have on his mind at this point.

Wise gray eyes searched Jim’s. “You’re tired. You haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll stay on top of things here. If anything at all changes, I’ll let you know.”

Jim forced air into his lungs, reminded himself that Lucas was only concerned for his welfare. “You haven’t had any sleep yourself,” he reminded his mother’s longtime friend and husband. A man who had been his father’s closest friend…a man who had helped Jim to survive emerging from the depths of sheer hell. Another person in Jim’s life to whom he had failed to show proper gratitude.

“That’s true.” Lucas smiled sadly. “But, truth is, I can’t close my eyes for more than a second…that second could be the one that would have made a difference.”

Jim summoned a similarly miserable smile. “How about some coffee?”

“I do believe we’re in the right place to see to that request.”

Chapter Four

Inside the Colby Agency, 9:55 a.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp reached up with a shaky hand to check her forehead. The dull ache beneath the lump roared at her touch. She bit back the moan that accompanied the horrendous pain. Her vision was still clear, no more dizziness. Perhaps it wasn’t a concussion. She was strong. She could endure the pain…the uncertainty was another matter.

Hours ago her stomach had stopped the unsettling roil. She moistened her lips, wished for a tall glass of water. But the bastards had refused her water or any sort of nourishment. Terrorists. They could be called nothing else. These men had taken control of her agency, abused her staff and dragged others into the nightmare.

The man brought here in shackles and with a sack over his head, Reginald Clark—aka The Prince, had been beaten again. Former District Attorney Timothy Gordon now shared the conference room with her and Clark. Gordon had received a share of the mistreatment, as well. A black eye and split lip reflected his own physical abuse.

One of the enemy stood at the window, alternately monitoring their movements and keeping an eye on things outside. The weapon in his hand was warning enough to keep Victoria as well as the others still and quiet.

She rested her head against the wall. After her son had been forced to leave her here, she’d been dragged back to the conference room where she’d resumed her defeated vigil on the floor. The guard refused to allow them to sit in the chairs around the table. How much longer could this go on? She had felt the escalation of tension between the masked intruders since Gordon’s arrival. She’d heard a new voice she hadn’t recognized in the corridor outside the conference room door around one hour ago.

Or had it been several hours?

Soon after hearing the voice, she and Gordon had been ushered into chairs at the conference table. Clark, still shackled, had been hauled into one of the chairs positioned around the table as well. Then Leonard Thorp had come into the conference room and introduced himself. Victoria had recognized that the voice she’d heard outside the conference room had been his.

After a brief announcement that justice would prevail this day, he’d walked out beforeVictoria could demand any answers. The masked men had forced both Victoria and Gordon back to the floor, against the wall in a corner where their every movement could be easily monitored. Clark had remained shackled and seated at the table. His own tension had been visible in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Victoria understood now what this unholy operation was about. Vengeance. She vividly recalled the case against Reginald Clark. He’d walked away a free man because of the district attorney’s inability to prove his case…and the jury’s conclusion that guilt had not been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. She had served as one of the jurors who’d had no choice but to comply with the rules assigned in determining innocence or guilt.

Gordon suddenly leaned closer to Victoria. “This is your agency’s fault,” he murmured. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll make sure that you pay for this renegade behavior.”

Victoria turned her head to face him. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear and denial. His face, as she’d already noted, was bruised, indicating he’d taken his share of punches before being forced into the conference room with her and Clark. Despite the reality of the situation, Gordon still refused to own his part in the actions that had culminated in this travesty. That was too bad.

“Perhaps,” she confessed. “But we’re both here for a reason. I would wager it’s safe to presume that we’ve committed some perceived wrong against Thorp.” She shifted her gaze to the shackled man on the other side of the room. “As did he.” She turned to Gordon once more. “I’m certain if you really think about it, your alleged part in that wrong will come to you.”

Gordon clamped his mouth shut instead of hissing his argument, but his lips trembled with the effort. Like her, he feared the worst.

“If we survive this,” Victoria whispered to him, “I’m certain we’ll both be well aware of our sins.”

The door to the conference room abruptly swung inward and Thorp, who didn’t bother concealing his face or his identity, entered, followed by two of his hired thugs. One of the followers was the man in charge. Victoria recognized not only his voice and eyes when he got closer, but also his body language as he moved into the room. His bearing was far more composed and proud than that of the others. This was not the first siege he’d planned and executed.

Another man carried a box into the room, placed it on the floor at one end of the conference table. This same man made another trip to the corridor and returned with yet another box, then another and another. As the number in the stack mounted, Victoria recognized the boxes as those used to store office files. Official office files.

Next to her, Gordon swore beneath his breath. She turned to him.

“Some of my work files,” he murmured, his attention glued to the movements around the table.

Thorp pulled the chair next to the boxes away from the table. “You’ll sit here, Gordon.”

The former D.A. shared a look of sheer desperation with Victoria before one of the masked men yanked him up and all but dragged him to the table.

Victoria’s pulse skittered with the adrenaline now searing through her veins. So it began.

“Juror Number Eight,” Thorp announced as he pulled a chair from the other side of the long conference table.

Victoria stood of her own accord before the man headed toward her could reach her. She sidestepped around the bastard and moved to the middle of the long table and took the offered seat. That put her directly across from the accused, Reginald Clark.

Thorp took the seat at the head of the conference table, the one Victoria usually occupied. He stared down the long expanse of mahogany that separated him from Gordon. “Now, Mr. D.A., you have a second opportunity to make your case. It would be in your best interest to do it right this time.”

Two of the masked men, including the one she’d recognized as being in charge, sat down, one on either side of Victoria.

Thorp gestured to those seated on Victoria’s side of the table and said to Gordon, “All you have to do is convince your jury in the next few hours.” Thorp smiled. “As judge, I’ll levy the sentence and see that it’s carried out. Any questions?”

Gordon shook his head adamantly.

Victoria turned to Thorp. “Just one.”

Thorp eyed her for a moment. “Speak your piece, Victoria, because once this trial has begun, nothing or no one is going to get in our way.”

Victoria held his gaze. As determined as he clearly was, there was no way to mask the agony in his dark eyes. “Do you believe that justice will be served—” she gestured to the man across the table “—that executing this man, will bring you peace?”

Thorp simply stared at her. In that moment of silence, Victoria urged, “I know exactly where you are, Mr. Thorp. I’ve been in that very painful, dark place. But nothing you do today will change the fact that someone you loved is dead. Surely you understand that this is not going to change that reality in any way.”

Thorp nodded. “I fully understand that what you say is correct.” He glanced at Gordon before resting his full attention back on her. “I’ve worked for months and months to try and get someone to do the right thing.” This time the look he arrowed in Gordon’s direction was cold and lethal. “But they all ignored me. Still, I didn’t give up.” He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. “Until two months ago.”

Victoria prompted, “Two months ago?”

“I have advanced pancreatic cancer. It’s too late for any sort of treatment that might make a difference. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so caught up in trying to guarantee that those we trust to carry out justice were doing their jobs, I might have sought medical attention sooner.” He gave his head a little shake, then leveled a look of pure determination on Victoria. “At any rate, I will not leave this earth without seeing that the man who brutally murdered my sweet Patricia has been punished. So you see, there’s no more time for doing this the so-called ‘right way.’ It has to be done now. And this is the only way it will get done properly.”

Victoria turned to Gordon. She hoped he comprehended what this news meant. Thorp had nothing to lose. Unless her people could find a way in without detection and could stop this. they would all surely die.

Chapter Five

Inside, 10:12 a.m.

Penny ran her hand over the edges once more. Definitely a smaller side tunnel that branched off to the second floor.

An exit point.

The rhythm of her heart kicked into high gear.

A way out…of this closed-in space.

She closed her eyes, told herself she was okay. But she wasn’t. Her breathing sounded too loud in the engulfing silence. The roar of air had ceased about the same time her hearing had adjusted to its soothing constancy. When that stopped it triggered her pulse to kick into high gear, and her heart had started to pound.

Anything had been better than the near complete absence of sound.

Sweat had formed a sticky film between her and the skintight suit she wore to protect her from being seen on a thermal scanner.

Her hands shook even as she concentrated hard to keep them steady.

She could do this, had to do this.

Take a breath.

A tap on her left shoulder warned that Steele had moved up as close as possible. His long, lean body aligned almost completely with the length of hers.

She turned to him. Swallowed hard as she blinked to try and focus in on his face. The night-vision goggles hung impotently around her neck. There had been no reason to put them on…there was nothing to see at this point. Yet, she needed to see…but not like that. It was too dark. Too damned dark. She couldn’t see a damned thing with her own eyes!

Calm. Stay calm.

No reason to panic. She had memorized the route. There was nothing here to be afraid of. Just four metal walls. closing in on her.

Stop!

He leaned his face closer to her head. “We have to keep moving,” he whispered in her ear. “Is there a problem?”

The lump that had swelled to capacity in her throat now ballooned into her chest. If she told him. she couldn’t tell him. No one could know. That would be a huge mistake.

But she had to get out of here.

Without responding, she twisted her torso and low-crawled to the right, sliding as quickly as humanly possible into the narrower metal corridor leading to an exit. Steele snagged her by the ankle, but she jerked free of his clutch and increased her forward momentum toward escape.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

Penny tried with every ounce of her being to grab back control…tried to restrain the urge to rush toward any sort of escape. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t tamp down the need throbbing and swelling inside her.

She needed air…space.

With one shaky yank, she cleared the filter out of her path, then tinkered with the clips until the return grill flew open. Steele was still clutching at her as she scrambled out into a long carpeted corridor.

She stood on rubbery legs. Blinked.

Check your perimeter, Penny. Don’t go totally stupid.

She scanned the corridor. Deserted. An interior corridor judging by the lack of windows, she surmised. Dimly lit, but even a little light was better than none. No noise. No sign of the enemy.

The ruthless grip of fear on her chest eased fractionally, allowing her to drag in a much needed lungful of air.

Strong fingers, just as ruthless as the fear had been, wrapped around her arm. She turned to face her partner. The glare in his eyes told her he was not happy. But they couldn’t talk here.

Doors lined each side of the corridor. All they needed was one that was unlocked.

She motioned for him to follow her. Checking doors as she went, she opened the first one she encountered that wasn’t locked.

Office. Large. Gleaming wood furnishings. View of the Magnificent Mile below. En suite half bath. It had to belong to a top executive.

Steele hauled her to the en suite bath and quietly closed the door. In the split second before he flipped the light switch, her heart rate had already started rising again.

“What the hell, Alexander?” he muttered in a harsh whisper. The ferocity of his tone jump-started the guilt that had hovered around the fringes of her illogical fear.

Guilt, fear, whatever, her pulse was hammering again. In spite of his obvious annoyance, she should be able to hang on to some semblance of control now that she was out of that tunnel and in the light.

But that wasn’t happening nearly fast enough.

“I.” She gestured to his side. “We should take a look at your injury.” As she said the words, he flinched. But not because she’d spoken too loudly. Her words had scarcely been a whisper. The area around the tape job she’d done in the darkness was smeared with blood.

That relief she’d been anticipating slowly filtered through her veins. His injury was the perfect excuse. She didn’t have to tell him the truth. That she was claustrophobic. She’d fought the problem for years. Thought she had it under control enough to pretend it wasn’t real.

She’d been lying to herself.

Seriously lying.

Major mistake.

Normally the little issue wouldn’t be a problem. Her assignments wouldn’t take her into places like this under normal circumstances. There had been no need to mention it in the interview with Ian Michaels. Damn it!

She’d done her research. The Colby Agency had hired a deaf woman only six or seven months ago. Penny’s situation was nothing compared to that.it shouldn’t create a problem. Even if she was forced to fess up.

When Steele didn’t growl back at her, she went on in that barely audible whisper. “Since the enemy didn’t come rushing after us when your suit tore, maybe we can safely assume they don’t have a thermal scanner. We’re safe here for the moment as long as we’re quiet. Let’s see what the damage is so we can get on with our assignment.” Sounded completely logical to her.

“Do we have a problem?” Ian Michaels’s voice echoed in her ear, adding another layer of tension to her already runaway reactions. Steel stiffened as he heard the same question.

Steele touched his mic to activate the audio on his end. “We’re checking the injury I sustained when my suit was torn,” he explained, keeping his voice whisper soft. “I may have to remove my suit. Keep us posted if trouble heads our way.”

The silence that radiated for the next five seconds revealed the hesitation Ian felt at the idea. “Understood. We’ll keep you informed.”

More of that knee-weakening relief roared through Penny. She didn’t want to screw this up—for those who needed rescuing or for herself.

She and Steeled dropped their backpacks onto the tiled floor of the tiny bathroom. Penny peeled off her gloves, then her head gear and exhaled an audible sigh.

Steele studied her as he did the same before reaching for the front zipper of his suit. He was suspicious. Penny avoided direct eye contact by turning to the sink and rinsing her face and hands. Her hands still shook. She glared at the traitors, then grabbed a hand towel and blotted her skin dry.

Steele continued to stare at her.

She tossed the towel aside and ran her fingers through her hair. If she had been smart she would have allowed her gaze to meet his rather than having it stick like glue to his muscled chest as he stripped away the upper portion of the suit.

The skintight material peeled off his shoulders and down his arms, revealing his upper torso. The injury was on his right side, just above his lean waist. She blinked to dispel the image of rippled abs. Of course he would be in excellent physical condition. His job required as much. She should have expected as much. But somehow seeing all that awe-inspiring terrain still startled her.

She shifted her attention to her backpack and removed the first-aid kit. It wasn’t much, just the essentials, but it would have to do.

After locating a clean hand towel on the shelf above the toilet, she wet it and started to clean the wound.

“I can do that,” he said, the statement a fierce rumble under his breath.

“I imagine this is something I’m better trained to do than you,” she tossed back as quietly as her frustration level would allow.

He didn’t argue further, just stood there watching her every move, brooding.

With the wound cleaned, she spread the items she would need on the counter and dropped into a crouch in front of him. The ragged incision still seeped a little. Antibiotic ointment and butterfly strips wouldn’t likely stop it right away, but they would help. She pressed the damp cloth over the wound and held it for a bit in hopes of stanching the last of the seepage.

His face remained stoic. His close-cropped dark hair kept it from appearing mussed after removing his headgear. Lucky him. Her wild mane was a mess. She was pretty sure Ian hadn’t mentioned Steele being former military. That made her wonder at his short hair. Maybe he preferred it so short in deference to the job. She could definitely see how digging and ferreting his way into dangerous crevices and tunnels would make longer hair bothersome.

Setting the damp, bloody towel aside, she quickly stretched the butterfly strips across the wound, pulling each side tightly across the skin. When she’d accomplished that goal, she applied the ointment to the gauze and placed it over the injury. She taped the gauze snugly into place.

“That feel okay?”

He grunted what might have been a yes.

That was about the extent of what she could do with the limited supplies they had brought with them. Not exactly a professional job.

Her heart rate had slowed and her pulse was back to something resembling normal. For that she was immensely grateful. All she needed now was a moment to get a grip and then they could proceed. She fully recognized that every moment wasted was one that could make all the difference.

Focus on the calm. Keep those slow even breaths coming.

She packed up the first-aid supplies, dropped the kit into her pack, and tossed the soiled hand towel into the lidded trash receptacle, then reached for her headgear. Steele stopped her, catching her wrist in his hand.

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