Traceless. HelenKay Dimon
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the doorbell. Sometimes he forgot he even had one of those.
He glanced around the open room with its conference room table and rows of computer monitors, and desks, and walls lined with secure filing cabinets. Keeping in his seat at the main terminal, he reached over and tapped the code into the small gun safe under the desk. There were others in the house, but this one was closest.
Except for the kitchen and a small living room, most of the bottom floor of the three-story brick house served as Maryland headquarters for the Corcoran Team, the private security company he owned. They specialized in risk assessments and high-priority but under-the-radar kidnap and rescue missions. Working off the grid meant deep cover, which also meant he didn’t exactly hand out his address.
He certainly never got unexpected guests around midnight.
He got up as the doorbell rang a second time. One tap of the keyboard and the large screen mounted on the wall flickered on. The alarm system feed showed images from every camera outside the house. Someone with a baseball cap pulled low stood on the front porch holding what looked like an envelope and shifting his weight from foot to foot.
The unwanted visitor was enough to get Connor moving. He slipped around the conference table and headed for the foyer. Cameron Roth, a member of Corcoran’s traveling team, met him at the bottom of the stairs. He was spending a few nights in the crash pad on the third floor, but right now he waited, fully dressed, with a gun in his hand.
“What’s going on?” Cam asked.
“No idea.”
“I’ll handle backup.” Cam took the last few steps and set up position flat against the wall on one side of the door. “You get to be the target.”
Connor tucked his gun at the back of his waistband. He had another by his ankle and Cam as insurance, so Connor felt safe unlocking and opening the door.
He caught the guy halfway down the front steps on the way back to the beat-up sedan idling by the sidewalk. “What do you want?”
The guy jumped then spun around. Make that a kid. The tall, all limbs and no coordination type. He was fidgety and had the eye-darting thing down.
“I have a package,” the kid sputtered.
“At midnight?”
“I got extra to bring it now. Are you Connor Bowen?” When Connor stayed silent, the kid practically threw the padded envelope at him. “I had to wait three extra hours to deliver it as ordered. The guy said it was pretty important and said you’d be the one to answer.”
The timing and delivery didn’t make much sense, but Connor—and Corcoran—had a lot of enemies. It was entirely possible that one of them planned on crawling right up his lawn, or at least wanted to send a message that he could.
Connor was not in the mood to play. “Who? I want a name.”
The kid visibly swallowed and started backing down the stairs. “I don’t have one.”
“Then who do you work for?” Cam stepped into the doorway, not bothering to hide the gun in the hand hanging by his side.
The kid’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He took another step and almost went down when his heel overturned. “Whoa, what are you—”
“Stop.” Connor didn’t yell but the kid stilled anyway. “Now answer the question.”
“I had instructions.” Words rushed out of the kid as he held up his hands. “All the information about my boss is on the packing slip. You can ask him. I just needed the money for, you know, stuff this summer.”
Connor swore. “Unbelievable.”
“You should leave.” Cam waved the kid away. “And stop going to strangers’ houses at midnight.”
Connor heard the slap of sneakers against the pavement followed a minute later by the rev of a car engine. None of which grabbed his attention. Curiosity nailed him. He didn’t even wait for the door to close to check the package. Taking it back into the office, he had a pair of gloves on and went to work.
A few seconds later Cam appeared on the other side of the conference table. He watched the preliminaries with a frown. “Paranoid much?”
“It’s protocol.” The package could contain a host of dangers and Connor was already breaking rules to rip it open fast. “And do you blame me in light of some of the people we handle?”
“Good point.”
Wearing the blue gloves, Connor ran his hand over it, carefully squeezing. “Feels empty.”
“Want to x-ray it?”
The question highlighted the step Connor decided to skip. One of them. “No time.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m not sure.” But the churning in his stomach and twitching at the back of his neck gave him the clues. His instincts shouted at him to hurry.
Sliding a letter opener under the flap, Connor broke the seal. He upended it onto the paper Cam spread out on the conference room table. A ring bounced around on the table, pinging and spinning. Gold and slim.
With each rotation the anxiety built in Connor. He slammed a palm against it to stop the noise then picked it up. He didn’t know anything about jewelry but he recognized this. To be sure, he tilted it to get a better look at the inscription and read the piece of the Aristotle quote.
“A single soul inhabiting two bodies...”
Cam leaned in and studied the ring. When he straightened again, the frown morphed into a look of confusion. “I don’t get it.”
Connor did. The kick to his gut had him rubbing a hand over his stomach from the sharp whack of pain there. “It’s Jana’s.”
The phone he always carried with him buzzed in his pocket. It couldn’t be a coincidence his wife’s wedding ring arrived right as the private line only she knew about lit up. He braced his body for the killing blow.
If this was the way she planned to tell him their temporary separation had become permanent in her mind, she could forget it. He was not losing her. He’d get on a plane and fly to her. No more waiting or giving her space.
She asked and he obliged, even though every day without her sucked a piece of his soul away. But the end? No way. Wasn’t happening.
Feeling the heat of Cam’s stare and tension coiling inside, Connor slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Jana?”
“No, but she says hello.”
The metallic twinge had Connor’s head snapping back. He recognized a voice modifier. More out of habit and training than actual thought, he pressed the speaker button.
Jana’s voice filled the room. “Connor, stay away!” The tremble gave way to a scream then all sound cut off.
“Jana!” Connor almost dropped the phone as adrenaline and anxiety thundered together in his brain.
The other voice filled the line again. “She’s done talking.”
The word done echoed in Connor’s head. “Where is she? Put her back on.”
“That’s enough.” The modifier only highlighted the menace in the person’s voice. “This isn’t a negotiation. You have your proof of life.”
“Who is this?” Connor could barely get the question out.
This time the voice laughed. “The man holding your wife. And if you want her back, you’d better get smart fast and figure out where she is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You have seven hours and a long way to travel.”
The line cut out but Connor kept yelling over the buzzing sound in