Colby Justice

He ignored her questioning look. There was no time for explanations or playing etiquette games. He reached into his backpack and removed the magnetic climbing holds. After a moment of hesitation, likely to banish her frustration, she did the same. Pulling his pack onto his chest rather than his back, he then gripped one hold in each hand and gestured into the metal tunnel’s opening. She would go first.

With a nod of comprehension, she moved into position. Taking care not to make any more sound than necessary, she pressed the round, magnetic surface of each climbing aid to the smooth, metallic wall inside.

Using body language and other noiseless methods of communication as much as possible would be essential since there was no way to know how or when the enemy would be monitoring a particular area of the building. Though the security system was of no use to those at the command center across the street, there was no way to be certain to what extent the enemy had access.

Slowly, Alexander scaled her way into the narrow space. When she’d moved upward far enough, Ben followed. Reaching the first floor wasn’t a problem. It was the bizarre turn and then the ten-to-fourteen-feet incline, depending upon where they were in the building, that presented the dilemma. A ninety-degree angle combined with the climb going up or the drop going down made the task undoable without assistance. He could reach the angle, but he couldn’t move past it without a climbing partner. The opening was too narrow for anything besides his body. There wasn’t a millimeter to spare.

Alexander would need to move beyond that point and then literally wrench him past it. He hoped like hell she was as strong as she claimed to be; otherwise, they had wasted their time.

And that of those inside.

He had briefed her on every aspect of the journey. She felt confident she could accomplish each physical task. He hoped that would prove the case.

There was no margin for error.

The soft glide of their bodies over the metal was very nearly soundless. Each time either of them settled their magnetic climbing assists onto the surface of the metal wall there was a pause in the whispering glide followed by the more distinct contact of the magnetic handholds. Small tap, extended slide. Over and over the rhythmic sounds echoed around them.

Ben’s forward movement stopped as Alexander reached the first ninety-degree angle. She pushed her backpack through first, then pulled and wiggled her way through the narrow opening.

When she’d cleared the angle, Ben moved into position, his head even with the opening. The seemingly endless tunnel widened at the point beyond the angle. On each floor, there would be such an angle and then a wider spot. A perfect place for a breather after the push to get him through this particular sharp and treacherously narrow turn in the metal tunnel. And before making the upward climb.

Shifting the weight of his body to one hand, he passed his backpack through the opening. Twenty or so seconds later, she threaded a rope to him. A powered lift would have negated the need for a partner, but the requirements to work optimally with metal would have generated far too much noise and ultimately too much risk of being overheard. This was the only option. He wrapped the rope she’d sent his way around one hand, then passed her first one magnetic climbing assist, then the other. His respiration escalated as nothing but the rope held him in place. He attempted to provide as much assistance as he could with no way to obtain reasonable purchase with his hands or feet on the slick metal walls.

His head and shoulders cleared the opening. A blast of air hit him in the face. Whenever the heat kicked on, the necessary air to fuel the push would flow through this metal tunnel. Alexander had positioned herself as a lever, feet planted against the wall on either side of her for added support. She pulled hard, the shaking of her arms a warning that she struggled to tug his weight through the tight squeeze. He hoped her strength held out.

Metal pierced the suit and the skin on his right side. The sensation startled Ben. The next drag on the rope ensured that the penetrating object tore through his skin. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t stop. He had to reach the next point.

One more hard pull and he scooted past the angle. He low-crawled onto the horizontal surface and allowed his muscles to relax. Mentally inventoried the injury as he attempted to reposition himself so that he could inspect the damage.

Alexander relaxed as well, allowing her visibly quivering muscles to melt with relief.

Ben removed a glove and checked his side with his fingers. Warm, sticky fluid. Blood leaked from the suit. He bit back the oath.

“We have a blip on the thermal scanner in the vicinity of the first floor,” Michaels informed him.

Blood wasn’t the only thing leaking through the suit. Damn it! Body heat was showing up on the scan. Adrenaline seared through his veins as he tugged the glove back into place.

Having observed his movements and then heard the same report in her earpiece, Alexander reacted. She slid her body over his, ensuring the main portion of her torso covered his injured side. Then she tapped her mic three times in question.

The seconds ticked off with Ben holding his breath.

“Clear,” Michaels responded. “No movement above.”

To Alexander, Ben whispered, “You’re going to need to patch this before we move forward.”

It would be impossible for him to get into the needed position to attend to it himself. Taking the risk of speaking directly into her ear, no matter how softly, was one he’d had no choice but to take. The flow of air helped camouflage any sound, but that wouldn’t last longer than a few minutes. Still, being caught on a thermal scan was by far the more likely and dangerous scenario, since it would alert the enemy not only to their presence but also their precise location.

When she hesitated, he added, “There’s tape in my pack.”

Alexander nodded, then dragged his backpack to her. She sifted through the items inside, dredging up the special tape needed to seal the rip in the shielding suit. She located the injury and quickly applied layer after layer of tape over the wound. The pressure she applied sent pain shooting down his leg and up his side. Just his luck to have something as stupid as this happen right off the bat.

He’d ignored a hell of a lot worse than this. All he had to do was focus on the goal.

When Alexander had moved up alongside Ben, Ian reported via the communications link, “The blip has disappeared.”

They were in the clear…for now.

“How bad is it?” Alexander asked, her face close to Ben’s ear, her voice scarcely audible above the drone of airflow.

He wanted to shake her for speaking when, in his opinion, it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He would survive. Truth was, the injury stung like hell. He could feel it continuing to ooze blood inside the suit. Since he couldn’t see it, he wasn’t sure just how bad it was. He shrugged and, though she might not be able to see the movement very well, they lay against each other so she’d definitely felt it. He turned his face toward the dark tunnel ahead and jerked his head in that direction.

Time to move.

She hesitated but only for a second.

Even in that slight hesitation he felt the fear radiating off her in waves. That worried him…or maybe it was just the idea that her body was practically wrapped around his and she was trembling.

The forward movement along the horizontal portion of the route provided the needed time to rest his tense muscles. And allowed for some physical distance from his new partner. A few more feet and the straight-up climb would begin again. She would go first with a boost from him, then she would provide the needed hoist for him to achieve that same goal.

Three more floors to go.

Ignore the burn…ignore the pain.

There was no way he could stop for anything other than a life-threatening injury. No turning back. The lives of those inside depended upon the success of this mission. Having the police rush in would no doubt result in casualties. This had to be achieved covertly and quickly.

Ben focused on covering the distance directly in front of him. Alexander’s soft breathing and her soundless forward movement helped keep his mind off the pain. Mostly he stared at her shapely legs and rear end. What could he say? They were right in front of him. His eyes had adjusted to the degree possible in the near absence of light and maybe he couldn’t actually say that he could see her form, but he’d gotten a good look before they’d climbed into this dark hole. His memory and too vivid imagination were providing a stream of sweet details. The woman was all sleek curves and lean lines.

Just a little farther and they would be at the second floor.

“Two enemy personnel are headed down the eastern stairwell.”

Ian’s warning in their earpieces caused both Ben and Alexander to freeze.

The enemy was headed down. If they’d seen that blip of heat on a thermal scanner.

They would know they had company.

They would know he and Alexander were in the building.

Chapter Three

Temporary Command Center, 9:40 a.m.

Jim Colby held his breath as the two glowing forms on the scanner moved swiftly down the stairwell to the third floor…then the second.

“Damn it,” he growled. “They must have seen the heat trace.” Which could only mean that the enemy had a thermal scanner, as well.

“Don’t move, Steele,” Ian ordered.

Jim glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? They have to get out of there.” As Victoria’s son, Jim had thought he’d made himself clear twenty-four hours ago. He was in charge.

“Anything they do now,” Ian Michaels said, in that too-calm voice, “could result in their being captured. Until we’re absolutely certain their presence has been detected making a move that will certainly announce their presence would be a mistake.”

Neither Simon Ruhl nor Lucas Camp said a word, their silence shouting loudly and clearly that they were with Ian on this one.

Jim planted his hands on his hips and turned away from the screen tracking the movements of the enemy…growing closer and closer to the only hope for the rescue of Victoria. Jim’s gaze landed on Leland Rockford. Rocky was the only other member of his team here. He, too, kept quiet.

Maybe this was too close for Jim. Maybe he couldn’t keep emotion out of the scenario. God knows he’d never had that problem before.

Fear tightened in his throat. He’d allowed that thin line to stand too long. He had permitted Victoria, his mother, to give far more than he ever allowed himself to grant. Last year’s attempt on his daughter had set off long-buried emotional ripples deep inside him. Those ripples were still evoking changes in him—changes he wasn’t fully able to control.

Changes he should have allowed long ago.

“We’ve got company at the front entrance,” Ted Tallant called out from his position at the window. “White, nondescript panel van. Tinted windows, no way to tell how many occupants.”

Jim moved to the window, as did the others, except for Rocky, to observe the arrival of the van. Two men, dressed completely in black including ski masks. The two were likely part of the team Jim had seen when he’d attempted to bargain for the release of his mother.

“I believe it’s safe to assume that those are the two from the stairwell.”

“That could mean they don’t have a thermal scanner or didn’t catch the blip we did.” Jim’s knees threatened to buckle with relief. If Steele and Alexander were caught… Jim’s mother would likely be the first victim of retaliation.

Jim could not let that happen.

He should have gone in himself.

But he did not possess the lean body frame necessary for the infiltration.

Guilt and frustration gnawed at him.

Ian relayed the update to Steele and Alexander.

All in the room relaxed marginally.

They were still in the clear.

For now.

At the front entrance of the building across the street, two men from the van handed off rectangular boxes to the two men in black. Six boxes total. The boxes were stacked in the lobby by the members of the enemy’s team, then the van drove away and the entry doors to the building were locked once more.

“More case files,” Tallant explained as he peered through his binoculars to read whatever lettering was stamped on the boxes.

“Probably the files on the Reginald Clark case,” Lucas surmised. “Or the personal ones belonging to Gordon. Those disappeared from the county’s official storage facility, as we know.”

Less than twenty-four hours ago, Slade Convoy, posing as an official courier for Cook County, had picked up six boxes of files from former District Attorney Gordon’s personal residence and transported them to the county storage facilities. They had learned mere hours later that the boxes had been given to Gordon’s head of security.

Evidently Thorp was aware that Gordon’s personal work files contained evidence he would need to carry out his mock trial.

Reginald Clark, The Prince, was the reason all of this was going down. How the hell could the justice system let criminals like him continue to escape punishment? Jim knew the answer…because of equally filthy scum like Gordon. Only, in Jim’s opinion, Gordon was far worse. He had been entrusted with a position of power—one that was supposed to protect the citizens. Instead, he used that power for personal gain with no care as to the protection of those under his jurisdiction.

Ian and Simon moved back to the screens providing their meager view into the building. Tallant resumed his monitoring of the front of the building.

“Jim.”

He turned to face Lucas, too preoccupied with ending this to wonder what his stepfather might have on his mind at this point.

Wise gray eyes searched Jim’s. “You’re tired. You haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll stay on top of things here. If anything at all changes, I’ll let you know.”

Jim forced air into his lungs, reminded himself that Lucas was only concerned for his welfare. “You haven’t had any sleep yourself,” he reminded his mother’s longtime friend and husband. A man who had been his father’s closest friend…a man who had helped Jim to survive emerging from the depths of sheer hell. Another person in Jim’s life to whom he had failed to show proper gratitude.

“That’s true.” Lucas smiled sadly. “But, truth is, I can’t close my eyes for more than a second…that second could be the one that would have made a difference.”

Jim summoned a similarly miserable smile. “How about some coffee?”

“I do believe we’re in the right place to see to that request.”

Chapter Four

Inside the Colby Agency, 9:55 a.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp reached up with a shaky hand to check her forehead. The dull ache beneath the lump roared at her touch. She bit back the moan that accompanied the horrendous pain. Her vision was still clear, no more dizziness. Perhaps it wasn’t a concussion. She was strong. She could endure the pain…the uncertainty was another matter.

Hours ago her stomach had stopped the unsettling roil. She moistened her lips, wished for a tall glass of water. But the bastards had refused her water or any sort of nourishment. Terrorists. They could be called nothing else. These men had taken control of her agency, abused her staff and dragged others into the nightmare.

The man brought here in shackles and with a sack over his head, Reginald Clark—aka The Prince, had been beaten again. Former District Attorney Timothy Gordon now shared the conference room with her and Clark. Gordon had received a share of the mistreatment, as well. A black eye and split lip reflected his own physical abuse.

One of the enemy stood at the window, alternately monitoring their movements and keeping an eye on things outside. The weapon in his hand was warning enough to keep Victoria as well as the others still and quiet.

She rested her head against the wall. After her son had been forced to leave her here, she’d been dragged back to the conference room where she’d resumed her defeated vigil on the floor. The guard refused to allow them to sit in the chairs around the table. How much longer could this go on? She had felt the escalation of tension between the masked intruders since Gordon’s arrival. She’d heard a new voice she hadn’t recognized in the corridor outside the conference room door around one hour ago.

Or had it been several hours?

Soon after hearing the voice, she and Gordon had been ushered into chairs at the conference table. Clark, still shackled, had been hauled into one of the chairs positioned around the table as well. Then Leonard Thorp had come into the conference room and introduced himself. Victoria had recognized that the voice she’d heard outside the conference room had been his.

After a brief announcement that justice would prevail this day, he’d walked out beforeVictoria could demand any answers. The masked men had forced both Victoria and Gordon back to the floor, against the wall in a corner where their every movement could be easily monitored. Clark had remained shackled and seated at the table. His own tension had been visible in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Victoria understood now what this unholy operation was about. Vengeance. She vividly recalled the case against Reginald Clark. He’d walked away a free man because of the district attorney’s inability to prove his case…and the jury’s conclusion that guilt had not been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. She had served as one of the jurors who’d had no choice but to comply with the rules assigned in determining innocence or guilt.

Gordon suddenly leaned closer to Victoria. “This is your agency’s fault,” he murmured. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll make sure that you pay for this renegade behavior.”

Victoria turned her head to face him. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear and denial. His face, as she’d already noted, was bruised, indicating he’d taken his share of punches before being forced into the conference room with her and Clark. Despite the reality of the situation, Gordon still refused to own his part in the actions that had culminated in this travesty. That was too bad.

“Perhaps,” she confessed. “But we’re both here for a reason. I would wager it’s safe to presume that we’ve committed some perceived wrong against Thorp.” She shifted her gaze to the shackled man on the other side of the room. “As did he.” She turned to Gordon once more. “I’m certain if you really think about it, your alleged part in that wrong will come to you.”

Gordon clamped his mouth shut instead of hissing his argument, but his lips trembled with the effort. Like her, he feared the worst.

“If we survive this,” Victoria whispered to him, “I’m certain we’ll both be well aware of our sins.”

The door to the conference room abruptly swung inward and Thorp, who didn’t bother concealing his face or his identity, entered, followed by two of his hired thugs. One of the followers was the man in charge. Victoria recognized not only his voice and eyes when he got closer, but also his body language as he moved into the room. His bearing was far more composed and proud than that of the others. This was not the first siege he’d planned and executed.

Another man carried a box into the room, placed it on the floor at one end of the conference table. This same man made another trip to the corridor and returned with yet another box, then another and another. As the number in the stack mounted, Victoria recognized the boxes as those used to store office files. Official office files.

Next to her, Gordon swore beneath his breath. She turned to him.

“Some of my work files,” he murmured, his attention glued to the movements around the table.

Thorp pulled the chair next to the boxes away from the table. “You’ll sit here, Gordon.”

The former D.A. shared a look of sheer desperation with Victoria before one of the masked men yanked him up and all but dragged him to the table.

Victoria’s pulse skittered with the adrenaline now searing through her veins. So it began.

“Juror Number Eight,” Thorp announced as he pulled a chair from the other side of the long conference table.

Victoria stood of her own accord before the man headed toward her could reach her. She sidestepped around the bastard and moved to the middle of the long table and took the offered seat. That put her directly across from the accused, Reginald Clark.

Thorp took the seat at the head of the conference table, the one Victoria usually occupied. He stared down the long expanse of mahogany that separated him from Gordon. “Now, Mr. D.A., you have a second opportunity to make your case. It would be in your best interest to do it right this time.”

Two of the masked men, including the one she’d recognized as being in charge, sat down, one on either side of Victoria.

Thorp gestured to those seated on Victoria’s side of the table and said to Gordon, “All you have to do is convince your jury in the next few hours.” Thorp smiled. “As judge, I’ll levy the sentence and see that it’s carried out. Any questions?”

Gordon shook his head adamantly.

Victoria turned to Thorp. “Just one.”

Thorp eyed her for a moment. “Speak your piece, Victoria, because once this trial has begun, nothing or no one is going to get in our way.”

Victoria held his gaze. As determined as he clearly was, there was no way to mask the agony in his dark eyes. “Do you believe that justice will be served—” she gestured to the man across the table “—that executing this man, will bring you peace?”

Thorp simply stared at her. In that moment of silence, Victoria urged, “I know exactly where you are, Mr. Thorp. I’ve been in that very painful, dark place. But nothing you do today will change the fact that someone you loved is dead. Surely you understand that this is not going to change that reality in any way.”

Thorp nodded. “I fully understand that what you say is correct.” He glanced at Gordon before resting his full attention back on her. “I’ve worked for months and months to try and get someone to do the right thing.” This time the look he arrowed in Gordon’s direction was cold and lethal. “But they all ignored me. Still, I didn’t give up.” He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. “Until two months ago.”

Victoria prompted, “Two months ago?”

“I have advanced pancreatic cancer. It’s too late for any sort of treatment that might make a difference. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so caught up in trying to guarantee that those we trust to carry out justice were doing their jobs, I might have sought medical attention sooner.” He gave his head a little shake, then leveled a look of pure determination on Victoria. “At any rate, I will not leave this earth without seeing that the man who brutally murdered my sweet Patricia has been punished. So you see, there’s no more time for doing this the so-called ‘right way.’ It has to be done now. And this is the only way it will get done properly.”

Victoria turned to Gordon. She hoped he comprehended what this news meant. Thorp had nothing to lose. Unless her people could find a way in without detection and could stop this. they would all surely die.

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