A Time to Die. BEVERLY BARTON
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those in the small African nation steeped in poverty and ignorance. But at least they were no longer under a vicious dictator’s rule. Ever since President Tum’s death ten years ago, the country had undergone numerous changes, and after a four-year civil war, they were now reemerging as a democracy.
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