The brothers, young, physically fit, they would be a force to be reckoned with. Clint would need to walk a fine line, creating the illusion that brothers were the ones calling the shots. It wasn’t a game Clint would have the patience to play for long, so he’d want to kill them as soon as he no longer needed them. But two brothers like the Krofts, used to maintaining constant control even as they divided and conquered, would not be easy marks. No sheep, these two.
Since Morgan had already taken most of Clint’s money, she’d left him with no resources. If he couldn’t kill the brothers, couldn’t buy them off, he was helpless and vulnerable…unless Gibson Radcliffe provided both money and an escape route. All those bomb making materials… Gibson had to have a plan—or rather Clint did. But what? Maybe the bombs were for the brothers, some big score they were planning?
Harding’s cell rang at the same time as the landline. And most of the other phones in the office. She answered, listened, then asked, “Where?” She circled a location on the map and grabbed it, telling Morgan, “Wait here.”
The room exploded into action as Harding barked questions and men and women tried to get her answers. There was an officer down. No, there wasn’t, but an officer was involved in a shooting. No, it was a sighting of the fugitives. Conflicting reports spread across the cubicles like wild fire.
Morgan didn’t hesitate. She took advantage of the momentary chaos to sidle through the maze and into the rear hall where the restrooms, staircase, and fire exit were located. As she walked, she dialed. Because the place on the map Harding had circled was Clint’s bank, Crossroads.
Exactly where she’d sent Jenna.
Chapter 12
JENNA LET OSHIRO lead the way to the building’s front door. She felt exposed, out here in the open, but took comfort in the knowledge that Oshiro’s partner was covering them from her sniper’s perch. Up close, she could see that the brick building was older than she’d first thought, dating from close to the turn of the last century. Yet it was well maintained, including a very modern biometric keypad beside the front entrance.
“Definitely not a church,” she said, nodding to the keypad.
Oshiro had his hand on his weapon but used one finger and a jerk of his chin to indicate the laser sensors at the door and windows.
He reached for the door handle—old-fashioned bronze molded into a lion’s head—but before he could complete the motion, the door opened from inside. It was a movement timed to throw visitors off balance. Oshiro didn’t fall for it. Instead, he stood at the entrance, scanning the inside, blocking Jenna’s view with his bulk.
After a long moment when he didn’t move, she stepped to his right, her own hand on her weapon, and looked past him. A twenty-something redhead dressed in a slinky gold cocktail dress stood smiling at them both, a tray with two bubbling glasses of champagne extended toward Oshiro.
“Welcome to Crossroads.” With her free hand, she gestured to the interior. “Please. Come inside.”
Marble columns stood on either side of the entrance. Beyond them more marble, reminding Jenna of the lobby of a luxury hotel. Leather couches and chairs ringed the space, girls in low cut dresses waltzing between the furniture and the men who occupied it.
Now she saw why Oshiro had frozen, still on alert but not committing himself to an entry. Several of the men wore the emblems of outlaw motorcycle gangs. Not just one gang, either. In the narrow field of vision between Oshiro and the waitress, Jenna spotted a Mongrel, two Reapers, and a cadre of Visigoths.
The leather-clad bikers were all sworn enemies, yet they lounged, relaxed, chatting and flirting with the girls, no weapons in sight. Interspersed among the bikers were men clad in business suits, laptops and tablets or phones at hand, conferring with the bikers.
What the hell was this place? she wondered again. Ignoring Oshiro’s scowl, Jenna stepped past him, inside the building, crossing beneath the twin marble columns.
“We’ve been expecting you, Ms. Galloway.” The waitress extended the tray and Jenna took a glass of champagne, using her non-shooting hand. Had Morgan called to warn the people at Crossroads that she was coming? Or maybe Clint had? Could he have somehow known? Was this a trap? She took a gulp of the champagne, shivering as the bubbles went down too fast and crackled against the back of her throat.
“You can check your weapons here,” the girl said, leading Jenna to a coat-check counter beside the entrance. Discreet paneled lockers covered the wall behind another scantily clad young woman.
Oshiro followed Jenna, his steps reluctant, waving aside the champagne. Jenna could feel his tension as he scanned the room, not liking what he saw. She followed his glance, past the lounging bikers. A large, old-fashioned bank vault, its tremendous round door standing open, took up the back half of the building. Inside, she could see what appeared to be safety deposit boxes, each with a keypad.
“Morgan said it was a bank,” she murmured to Oshiro. “Guess she was being literal.”
“Your weapons, please,” the waitress repeated, sounding annoyed at their dawdling.