PART 2
“Harriet. Away from them.”
She heard something in my voice and moved immediately. The nearest agent caught her sleeve. I swung my case into his forearm. His hand opened, and she tore free as he drove me backward into the luggage cart. Metal crashed against marble. “Get down!” Harriet shouted. Emily disappeared behind the desk. Reyes shoved Tmaine away from the fallen cart and reached for his radio. The second supposed agent pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket. He kept it low, hidden from the guests near the lounge. “Nobody needs to get hurt,” he said. “Mrs. Okafor comes with us.” “Director,” I said, breathing through the pain in my shoulder. “And no.”
Harriet pulled me behind a stone column. Walsh stayed beside the open elevator, one finger holding the doors. Inside stood a broad man in a gray suit. I recognized him before he turned fully toward us. Adrian Bell, executive vice president of Cresswell Defense Systems. At nine the next morning, I was supposed to brief a review panel about his company. He was supposed to be in Washington. “Adrian,” I said. “You’ve made a serious mistake.” He stepped into the lobby. “You brought allegations to a business meeting. I’m trying to prevent a catastrophe.” “Then explain yourself to the actual federal agents on their way here.”
He looked at Walsh. That was all. Walsh hurried toward the reception desk. “Emily, trigger a medical assistance call. Tell them a guest is confused.” She remained crouched out of sight. Reyes spoke into his radio. “Police emergency. Armed men in the main lobby.” Tmaine lunged for it. They collided against the luggage cart, and the radio skidded beneath it. “You said this was an unauthorized removal,” Reyes shouted. Tmaine looked toward Bell. “That’s what he told me.” Bell’s face hardened. “Dale. Be quiet.” There it was: the connection nobody had wanted spoken aloud.
“Keep talking,” Harriet murmured beside me. Her phone was in her palm. An emergency call was connected. I raised my voice. “You hired hotel security to take a classified case from me.” Bell shook his head. “Walsh agreed to delay you. Dale was told to recover stolen company records.” Tmaine stared at him. “You said she wasn’t cleared.” “I am,” I said. “And your partner asked you to verify it.” For a moment, Tmaine looked sick. I wanted to feel satisfaction. Instead, I felt his fingers on my arm again. He had needed no proof when the lie suited him.
Bell glanced toward the doors. “Nardia, the originals disappear tonight, and we can still handle this privately.” “The originals?” He hesitated. I finally understood. “Your attorney told you destroying my case would destroy the investigation.” Behind him, Walsh went pale. “Adrian—” “Three hundred pages,” I said. “Not three hundred unrepeatable pages.” Bell’s jaw slackened. The case contained the approved briefing set. The underlying records were already secured elsewhere. He had risked everything because somebody had convinced him the evidence existed only in my hands. Walsh began backing toward the corridor.
The armed man saw him move. “Stay where you are.” Walsh ran. The gunman grabbed Emily as she rose behind the desk and pulled her against him. She screamed once, then went rigid. His weapon lifted beside her shoulder. Harriet stopped moving. So did I. Outside, sirens grew louder. The other impostor staggered upright, cradling the arm I had struck. Bell whispered, “This wasn’t the agreement.” The gunman ignored him. “Put the case on the floor.”
I lowered it carefully. The chain drew taut between its handle and my wrist. “I need the key,” I said. “Slowly,” he warned. Then Emily looked at me over his arm and mouthed two words: My father. Walsh had stopped at the corridor door. In his hand was Emily’s phone, its screen glowing with an incoming call. “Do what he says,” Walsh told her, “or your father doesn’t leave the loading dock.”
PART 3
“Your father’s name,” I said to Emily.
The gunman pressed her closer. “No talking.” “You need me to unlock this. I need her breathing.” Emily swallowed. “Luis. Luis Mercer.” Harriet repeated the name quietly into her open phone. Walsh heard her and jerked the corridor door shut behind him. For a second, I thought he had escaped. Then someone slammed against it from the other side. A heavy crash followed, and a man shouted, “Phoenix police! Hands where we can see them!” Walsh stumbled back into the lobby with his palms raised. Behind him came a uniformed officer and a gray-haired maintenance worker holding a broken mop handle.
