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FISH KNEW THAT DESPITE their specialties, Blackthorne operatives were trained to deal with any situation. Still, he wondered if Fozzie, who was rarely in the field anymore, was the right man for the job.
Not that Fish had a clue what the job was. Fozzie and Rambler had come to do a surveillance sweep of the building. What were they heading into?
Lexi hovered, her gaze fixed on the screen. “Do your guys have body cams? How can someone keep track of them?”
“Given what they were sent to do, I’d say no to the cameras.”
“What about the security guard?”
“This is a residential building,” Fish said. “An expensive building. With high-tech security for the tenants. These two safe apartments aren’t meant to see combat. They’re for protecting people, and the idea is to protect them by keeping the danger away. I don’t know what’s going on, but because it was on the residential side, I’m guessing—hoping—it’ll turn into something we can laugh about later.”
“Does Manny know what’s going on?” she asked.
“He must. Fozzie and Rambler will be relaying information. Before you ask, disturbing the guy when he’s busy calling the shots is a major no-no.”
She fussed with her hair again.
“Lexi, Manny knows we want to be in the loop. Think of it this way. If he’s leaving us out of communications, it’s because it doesn’t involve us. Which means it doesn’t involve you and the Falcon.”
She gnawed at her lower lip. “I guess so.”
“Sometimes no news really is good news.”
“You can’t tell me you’re not as antsy as I am.”
He couldn’t. “We do what we have to do.”
His phone danced along the desktop burring an incoming text. He grabbed it. “Manny. He must have picked up your vibes.”
She leaned closer, but he kept the phone out of her vision until he read the message. His jaw dropped. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Lexi tried to grab the phone, but he turned his back on her and read it again.
“Nelson Riggs is dead. The other security guard’s been shot,” he said. This was going to get ugly. No. Was already ugly.
“How? Why? Is the guard going to be okay?”
Fish checked the lobby screen. DeFries was on the phone. She’d moved her mic out of the way so Fish couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he’d bet the woman was calling the ambulance service.
“They’ll fill us in as soon as they can,” he told Lexi.
“Not soon enough,” she muttered. “This is totally crazy.”
Fish didn’t disagree, but they had no choice. He didn’t think watching another movie while they waited would go over well with Lexi.
So they watched the camera feeds instead.
Fozzie strode into view, spoke to DeFries, who slipped off her headset and gave it to him.
“You read me, mate?” Fozzie said, his voice less chipper than his norm.
“Five by five,” Fish said. He moved to the second screen and enlarged the lobby image.
“We’ll be conferencing,” Fozzie said. “Stand by.”
“What the ... what happened?” Fish asked.
Fozzie shook his head. “Let’s wait for everyone.”
Fish had heard Scrooge complaining—many, many times—about hating to wait. Although Fish’s patience quota was higher than Scrooge’s, he totally sympathized.
It seemed endless, but within ten minutes, an ambulance showed up. Same company, different staff. The medics did their thing, and the injured security guard was wheeled away. If the medics wondered why a man was tied up, they gave no indication.
“What about the other guy? The tenant? Nelson Riggs?” Lexi asked.
“Nothing they can do for him now. He’s dead. They’ll deal with him soon enough, but I think Blackthorne wants more information before they bring in the cops.”
Rambler and Townsend appeared and gathered around the desk for a short discussion, which Fish couldn’t hear because Fozzie had his hand over the mic. Fish imagined it was because whatever they were saying wasn’t for Lexi’s ears, but dammit, he was part of this.
Fozzie removed his hand from the mic. “We’re convening at your place. Better tidy up.”
He handed the headset back to DeFries, who had released their prisoner’s feet, hoisted him up, and shoved him out of camera range.
Fozzie, Rambler, and Townsend marched toward the elevator.
Lexi glanced around the command center. “Are we going to meet in here or the living room?”
“I think they chose to meet in the apartment because it’ll be easier than setting up feeds in three different places. The living room makes sense. Bigger screen, more room.” The tension poured off Lexi, so he smiled. “Aren’t you going to whip up refreshments for our guests?”
She flipped him off.
“That’s my partner,” he said.
A knock on the door, and she went to answer it.
She placed a hand on the knob.
“Check the entry camera,” Fish said. “A precaution.”
There he went with that damn P word again.
***
LEXI VERIFIED THEIR callers were who they were supposed to be and opened the door. Marv had switched on the television set and was doing whatever needed to be done to turn it into a teleconferencing screen.
Fozzie, Rambler, and Townsend paraded into the apartment. Fozzie paused, extended a hand. “Foster Mayhew, ma’am, but everyone calls me Fozzie.”
“Lexi,” she said.
Fozzie continued with the official introductions, concluding with, “Let’s do it.”
Everyone found a seat, and the screen showed the same conference room as before, with Emiko, Manny, and Dalton seated at the table. Emiko frowned as she worked her laptop.
“Mr. Townsend. Your report, please,” Dalton said.
The man, visibly shaken, straightened his spine. “Wakelee, my partner, had gone to interview Nelson Riggs in his apartment. I was monitoring the garage feed, watching as your men arrived.” He gave a brief nod in Fozzie and Rambler’s direction. “I verified my assistance wasn’t needed in securing the man they’d found in the garage. When I hadn’t heard from Wakelee, I attempted to reach him via our Nextels.”
Townsend paused, took a breath, glanced at Lexi. “I didn’t get a response. My first reaction was that he was in the middle of an interview and felt responding would be inappropriate. The normal action in such a situation is to key the radio so whoever’s on the other end knows the message has been received.”
He took another breath, and Lexi darted to the kitchen to bring the man a bottle of water. He accepted it and drained half the contents.
“Take your time,” Dalton said.
“I apologize, Sir. It was ... unexpected.”
“Did Mr. Wakelee tell you what happened?” Dalton asked.
“Negative, Sir. I heard him say ‘Oh my God,’ and then ‘Gun.’ That’s when I went to the lobby and your men accompanied me to Mr. Riggs’s apartment. When we got there, Wakelee was unconscious and bleeding heavily. Mr. Riggs was dead.”
Emiko appeared to be more interested in her laptop than in Townsend’s report. Lexi wondered what the rainbow-haired blonde was looking for. And, no doubt, finding.
Townsend continued. “I told DeFries to call an ambulance, and did what I could to stop the bleeding. Your men searched the apartment.”
“Thank you,” Dalton said. “Mr. Mayhew, you’re up next.”
Fozzie’s eyes rolled, and he gave a quick headshake. “You’ve gone bloomin’ formal since you moved upstairs ... Sir. Mr. Mayhew’s my dad. I’m still Fozzie.” He tapped two fingers to his forehead. “Cowboy.”
Dalton, despite the gravity of the situation, grinned. “You come up here one day and see what it’s like. Meanwhile, what did you find?”
Fozzie reached into a pocket of his coveralls and dropped a handful of small plastic cards onto the coffee table. “I’ve already taken the liberty of sending pictures to Emi. It would appear our Mr. Nelson Riggs wasn’t who he claimed to be.”