Untraceable Evidence

“Frangible ammunition—”

Fritz lifted his hands. “Don’t use technical terms on me. Remember, I’m just the PR guy.”

“Frangible ammunition is the correct term for disintegrating bullets. It was created for training purposes with the promise of low-impact damage at close range. I’m charged with creating the exact opposite. Disintegrating with high-impact damage at close range.” Ace lowered his voice. “If criminals get a hold of Ghost, think of the unspeakable damage they’d possess. The gun’s undetectable. If they smuggle it into airports, schools or courtrooms, the carnage will be on me!”

“You’re delusional if you don’t believe crooks are working on weapons exactly like this right now. We’re giving our government an advantage by developing it first. We’re protecting the public. You’re the best, and you can do this. When it’s finished, you’ll be a hero.”

“As if that matters one iota to me.”

“Our employees need this contract. PrimeRight needs the money and recognition.” Ace didn’t miss the hint of desperation in Fritz’s tone and his dramatic sigh.

Ace’s plea had fallen on deaf and unwavering ears. They’d had this conversation a hundred different ways and gained no ground. Fritz only spoke in dollar signs.

A long moment passed between them. Would his partner finally surrender? A microscopic portion of hope hovered in Ace’s mind.

Fritz planted his expensive black leather shoes on the linoleum floor and rested his hands on his knees. “I didn’t want to mention this, but the agreement you signed stipulates if we fail to deliver, the ATF will prosecute us for violating the law. They’ll deny any involvement, and they won’t pay us.”

Ace pushed up from his chair, thrusting the seat back so fast it slammed against the wall. “What? You never told me any of that. I’d never have agreed to the project!”

“Actually, I did. It’s in the contract.”

Ace paced around his office. “You tricked me.”

Fritz snorted. “Hardly. You signed the same documents I did.”

“I trusted you.”

“And I trust you to do what’s right.” His friend’s tone deepened and took on a hardness Ace didn’t recognize. “Without this contract, PrimeRight will go under, and we’ll be forced to lay off all our employees. They’ll lose their health insurance.” Fritz paused.

His words sank in; Ace was being manipulated by his friend, again. He turned and caught a glimpse of Yolanda and Randee through the small window in his door. The women’s timed appearance emphasized PrimeRight’s predicament. Yolanda smiled and gave Ace a slight wave, which he returned.

“Diego’s treatment is going well,” Fritz said, tone softening.

Yolanda’s seven-year-old son, Diego, had a myriad of medical issues that had kept him hospitalized most of his young life. As a single parent, she worked hard to provide for them, and her insurance benefits were essential. Dread swarmed Ace. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I understand your reservations, but we owe our employees to do everything possible to keep our doors open.”

Ace shuffled to his chair, slumped onto the seat and held his head in his hands.

“You’re not just my business partner, you’re my best friend. Think of all the great things you’ll be able to do for women like Cara. By keeping guns away from the criminals, you’re saving innocent lives.”

Once again, Fritz’s precise aim bull’s-eyed Ace’s guilt right in the jugular.

Frustrated at himself for relenting, Ace studied his friend. Everything about Fritz was etched out of a fashion magazine. Not an out-of-place strand in his perfect haircut framing his blemish-free face. Why had he chosen this man to befriend? Fritz was nothing but trouble, from their childhood antics to this project nightmare. He was also the closest person to a brother Ace had ever known, and their thirty-five-year history spoke for itself.

Ace groaned. “Fine. But for the record, Ghost isn’t complete. I need an extension.”

“Everything looks great on paper.”

“Paper and invention are two different things. Once I’ve got the prototype completed, I’ll let you know.”

“How much time are we talking?”

“Weeks. Maybe a month.”

Fritz shook his head. “Negative.”

“I can’t make it come together any faster than I already am. I need to eliminate the bugs.”

“Like?”

“The bullets haven’t passed testing yet, and the removal of metals like tin or copper for the binding agent to the nylon 6 polymer—”

“Whoa, you’re talking way over my head.”

Ace sighed. “There’s no proof Ghost will sustain firing. My experimental tests explode the frame after the first shot. That’s unacceptable.”

“I’ve seen the gun and the bullets. They all work.”

“I won’t release Ghost until I’m sure it’s the best product I can create. Do not rush me.”

Fritz held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But the delivery date is scheduled, and we’ll celebrate at the anniversary event tomorrow night. I don’t want to disappoint. This invention will put us on the map. You’re going to be a rich man.”

As if he cared about money. “I’ll do my best.”

“There you go, thinking like the innovator you are.” Fritz pushed up from the chair. “Guess I’d better meet this ninja-fighting Randee accountant. And you’ll have to give a report to the cops.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “Thanks, Ace.”

“For what? Giving in to you all the time?”

“For having my back. You’re the best.” Fritz gave a quick slap to the wall, emphasizing his words, before exiting.

Ace removed the thumb drive from the briefcase, booted up his laptop and inserted the device, pulling up the specs for Ghost.

The gun defied the Undetectable Firearms Act by mere existence because it was developed entirely out of plastic. Even the bullets were made from a specially formulated nonmetallic powder binding agent that disintegrated into tiny fragments upon impact. It was impossible to locate via a metal detector.

Innovative in the ATF’s hands.

Mass destruction in the hands of criminals.

TWO

Randee forced patience into her response to Officer Paulson’s repetitive questions. Ace’s irritated expression reflected his equally tedious conversation with the second cop on the other side of the room. Maybe it was wrong to criticize the officers’ methods, but their interview process had lagged to an excruciating level of ridiculous and once more, she repeated her rote replies.

No, she didn’t know who the men were.

Yes, she’d defended herself.

No, she didn’t know why they were attacked.

Three assailants failed to take the briefcase. Did that speak to their inexperience?

Randee glanced at her watch, anxious to talk to Sergio. The morning’s ambush only solidified the need to protect both Project Ghost and the scientist from Titus Malte and his cronies. And that meant Steele might be in more danger than they’d anticipated. “I guess that’s all I need for now,” Paulson announced. “We’ll be in touch if we find anything.”

The cops sauntered out the door, and Randee heaved a sigh of relief before excusing herself to the restroom at the far end of the building.

She cringed at her reflection in the mirror, then finger-combed her chestnut curls and attempted to repair her ripped skirt with the safety pin Yolanda had provided. Snatching her cell from her tote, she called Sergio twenty minutes past her check-in time.

“I was about to drive down there and storm the gates. You’re late. What’s going on?” Sergio barked in greeting.

“Sorry, had to do a report with the local PD.” Randee launched into an abbreviated version of the morning’s events, concluding with, “I believe the assailants work for Malte. There were no license plates on the van, and the men were masked. Doubtful we’ll get any leads.”

Sergio dived into command mode. “Ishi will get the security camera tapes.”

Given the opportunity, Ishi Haramoto, the ATF’s technology expert, could’ve found the lost city of Atlantis. If there were clues on the footage, she’d uncover it.

Sergio continued, “Zimmer and I will handle protection detail for Steele outside his apartment tonight.”

“I’ll swing by on my way home.”

They disconnected, and Randee exited the restroom. She passed through the double doors separating the smaller lab from the main area and noted the setup.

Floor-to-ceiling windows served as the external walls for the two-story PrimeRight building, filtering in natural light from every direction. The laboratory was centered among the surrounding offices in the restricted access section.

Yolanda glanced up as Randee entered the accounting office. Overflowing file boxes lined the walls and floor, and the modest desk held piles of folders.

“I’ve tried balancing Barry’s job and mine. As you can see—” she gestured toward the massive mounds of paper “—he lacked organizational skills.”

The accountant’s recent resignation due to his illness had created the perfect undercover position for Randee. Yolanda’s comment opened the topic for discussion.

“What happened to Barry?” Randee busied herself straightening the files before they cascaded off the desk.

“He had many medical issues and an ongoing debilitating disease, but he was such a trouper and a hard worker. The last round of treatments really did him in. He kept to himself a lot. Such a nice man—it was awful to see him miserable. Barry moved to Phoenix to be closer to a specialist there. I saw him just before he was transferred from the University of Nebraska Medical Center.”

“Had you visited him often?”

Yolanda shrugged. “My son Diego’s in the same hospital, so I’d stop by Barry’s room, too.” A hitch in her voice captured Randee’s attention.

The office manager waved her hand. “Sorry, I’m too emotional for my own good sometimes. Especially when I talk about my baby boy.” She chuckled. “Oh, he’d be embarrassed if he heard me call him that. He’s almost seven and very mature.” She withdrew her cell phone, swiped the screen and passed the device to Randee.

Though she was aware of the child’s medical issues, the sight of oxygen tubes trailing from his nose caught her off guard. Nothing dissuaded his sweet smile. So much like his mother’s.

“Diego has a rare form of leukemia. A name I can barely pronounce, with expensive and unpredictable treatments. He’s a fighter, though.”

“I’m so sorry.” Randee passed the phone back. “He’s handsome, certainly gets his good looks from you.”

Yolanda’s low ponytail accentuated her high cheekbones. Pride and joy filled her large brown eyes, tainted by a hint of sadness. “He’s my everything.”

Randee’s heart squeezed, and a pause hung between them.

“Are you married? Do you have children?”

And there it was. The words Randee hated most in the getting-to-know-you conversation. She shook her head and steadied her voice before responding. “Not yet.” More likely, never. Randee’s chance for a family was dwindling, as her mother often reminded her.

Yolanda took the hint. “Forgive me. I’m a talker and too nosy. It’s nice to have another woman to connect with. I’ll help you get started, then leave you to this treasure trove.”

Grateful for the change of subject, Randee attempted to gain additional information. Did Yolanda know anything about the attackers? “Thanks again for the safety pin. I’m not sure it’ll save the skirt, but I appreciate it.”

“I am so sorry you had to endure that horrible incident this morning.”

“Has anything like that ever happened here before?”

“No.” The talkative woman grew quiet. “This pile is a good place to begin.”

A knock on the open door interrupted the conversation, and Fritz Nelson strolled in wearing a Cheshire grin and an expensive tailor-fitted suit. “Randee, glad to see you’re settling in. I apologize again for your awful first encounter with PrimeRight.”

“It was an interesting way to start the day,” she agreed. “Is the area high crime?”

Fritz shook his head. “No, I’m sure it was an isolated incident. I see Yolanda is getting you acclimated to your new digs.” He leaned against the wall, brushing off Randee’s question.

“Actually, we were just getting started. Thought I’d show Randee the computer system first,” Yolanda said, moving around to the laptop.

Fritz’s smile broadened. “Our brilliant Yolanda is a storehouse of wisdom.” He stepped toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

The woman glowed from his praise. “I was confessing my lack of accounting experience. I’ve only done the basics, paying the regular bills and payroll.”

“She’s too modest. Yolanda keeps this place running smooth as corn silk. Whatever questions you have, she’s got answers.”

“You’re too kind.” Yolanda practically beamed. Turning to Randee, she said, “I feel guilty leaving you with such a mess.”

Randee grabbed a stack off the desk. “No problem. I’m up for the challenge.”

Fritz turned on his heel and headed for the door. “I’ll let you ladies work. Welcome to the PrimeRight family, Randee.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nelson,” Randee responded.

“No mister, just Fritz.” He drifted out, whistling, and his pungent cologne lingered in the air.

Randee dived in for more information. “You have a tight community here. Not sure I’ll get used to calling the partners by their first names.”

Yolanda shrugged. “PrimeRight is a family. Formalities aren’t a big deal.”

“It’s nice. Do Ace and Fritz work a lot of hours, too?”

“They’re the perfect pairing. Fritz is the face of PrimeRight, gifted in public relations and negotiations.” The woman’s voice dripped with admiration. “Ace is the brains of the operation. Quiet. Kind and keeps to himself. But the guy might as well live here. He’s single and has no children. A total workaholic.” As if sensing the power of her words, Yolanda’s cheeks reddened, and she looked away.

The comment stung Randee’s heart afresh. She had no relationships outside the ATF, either. Her career was her entire life, and she wondered if it was possible to change that trajectory. Not that it mattered. In her mother’s judgmental view, Randee chose selfish ambitions and ridiculous dreams of being promoted to bureau chief over a family.

Randee shook off the thoughts and focused on Yolanda’s directions in accessing the accounting system. After an extensive morning of training, she left Randee to excavate the mess.

Within a few hours, she had the hang of the software and was digging through the bank reconciliations and payroll records. Yolanda appeared to have several large transactions marked as bonuses. Not unusual, but interesting the other employees didn’t have similar payments.

Yolanda entered, purse in hand. “How’s it going?”

Randee glanced up, startled. The clock on her desk read seven o’clock. “The day flew by.”

“Everyone except Ace has left. Thought you might need rescuing, and we could walk out together.”

The mound of paperwork Randee had delved into was still insurmountable. “Who do I ask for approval to work a little longer?”

“Approved. I have few areas of authority, but I can grant your request.” Yolanda placed a Chinese takeout menu on the edge of Randee’s desk. “Best place to order from if you decide to get dinner. Number three’s my favorite.”

“Thanks.” Randee lifted the item. She needed to find out when Ace would be leaving.

“By the way, Herman is always willing to escort us to our vehicles after hours.” Yolanda gestured toward the elderly gentleman pushing a mop in the hallway. He appeared to be over seventy, though he didn’t look frail.

“Good to know,” Randee said with a grin.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you. He was a marine and a professional boxer.”

“Impressive. Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“Could you use some help?” Yolanda hugged her purse. “Diego sleeps a lot, and I hate going home to an empty house.”

Randee’s heart tugged at the pain in the young mother’s eyes. “If you’re willing, absolutely.”

“Great!” Yolanda set down her purse. “Let’s order food first. I always work better on a full stomach. What sounds good to you?”

“I’ll take your advice with the number three.”

“Good choice. I’ll ask Ace what he’d like. Be back in a sec.”

Maybe a little bonding over Chinese would have Yolanda divulging more of her history. Why hadn’t she mentioned a husband? Divorced? Widowed? Neither?

Were the bonuses legitimate?

Dread weighed on Randee’s shoulders.

Oh Lord, please no. Arresting a desperate single mother for embezzling money to cover her son’s medical care would be the worst assignment ever.

Ace lifted the prototype, inhaled and aimed into the firing barrel. Please work. He pulled the trigger, releasing the anticipated pop.

One down. One to go. The second shot was the doozy. The minor success up to this point became irrelevant when the gun deteriorated on multiple fires. If he failed this time, he’d be facing the 3-D printer for the thirty-third time since taking on Project Ghost.

Ace placed the gun on the table and procrastinated pulling the trigger by strolling around the laboratory. When he couldn’t hold off any longer, he took four long sips of his soda and returned to the prototype.

He sucked in a breath and repeated the procedure. The expected blast emanated, but the cracked frame he held immediately extinguished his gratification.

Test fire thirty-two, failed.

“Fantastic.” He slid onto the tall chair beside the table and dropped his head into his hands.

Over thirty blundered attempts. What was he doing wrong? Just as well. He’d never wanted the responsibility of this stupid project, anyway. Fritz would have to let him off the hook if he couldn’t get the specifications to work. The ATF would be forced to release him from the obligation. Right?

And PrimeRight would go out of business. Yolanda’s boy would lose his health insurance, and the single mom would be unemployed, along with forty-nine other people, including him.

There was no wonderful outcome. Either way, the results and consequences rested on his overburdened and under-talented shoulders.

Even Jesus doesn’t come to pity parties. Grandma Steele’s words echoed in his head.

“Ugh! Yeah, well, Jesus was smarter than me!” He startled at a knock behind him. Irritated, Ace spun around, facing the intruder, and barked, “What?”

Randee stood in the doorway extending a white take-out bag toward him. “Sorry to interrupt. Our dinner’s arrived.”

Warmth radiated up his neck. Had she heard his tirade? He shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall, avoiding her eyes—7:45 p.m. “Um. Thanks.”

He surveyed his work space, littered with plastic remnants and shattered bullets. She hesitated, and he forced a smile in a pathetic effort to hide his grumpiness. “I promise not to bite.”

Randee stepped in, and he shoved aside the prototype blueprints. “Might as well take a break since there’s not much more I can do with this hunk of junk.” He chucked the broken remnants into his overflowing container labeled Losers.

She grinned, drawing attention to her flawless teeth. Braces or blessed with good genetics? “That looks interesting. What are you working on?”

“Meet Ghost. Or rather, its failures.”

Randee set the bag on the table, delicious aromas wafting from it. “This is the top secret project?”

“Yep, so remember you’re sworn to silence, or men in black may show up and haul you away.”

She glanced down and smoothed her torn skirt before crossing her arms over her chest.

Ace gave himself a mental slap for bringing up the subject of the morning’s danger. “Sorry, that wasn’t—”

“It’s okay.” Randee’s eyes softened with understanding. “What happened wasn’t your fault. So, tell me, what’s different about this gun other than it looks fake?”

“Everything is plastic and produced from that.” He gestured toward the 3-D printer.

“Could anybody create one?”

“Anyone with access to a 3-D printer and my specifications. The difference lies in the fact that Ghost also shoots plastic bullets. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to keep them from melting or exploding the frame during multiple firings.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only if you want to shoot more than a single round. Which the prototype agreement with the ATF requires.” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Saying it out loud made his incompetence more pronounced.

“Perhaps sustenance will increase your creativity.”

“There you are. I told Randee she needed to drag you from your brilliance and join us for dinner.” Yolanda swept into the lab, exuding her joy and encouragement.

“Yes, ma’am.” Ace lifted the blueprints and cleared off the massive table consuming a large portion of the room. Then he dragged over a few chairs.

Yolanda cleaned the surface with a bleach wipe. “How did today’s testing go?”

Randee dished out the food, and the three sat down to eat.

Ace bit and ripped apart his dumpling, taking his frustration out on the meal. “Pathetic.”

“It’s all part of perfecting the development,” Yolanda encouraged.

Ace laughed. “Spoken like a true optimist.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to see the forest with all the discouraging trees. Or something to that effect.”

“Fritz is pushing me to finish before the gala, tomorrow night.”

“What’s that?” Randee inserted.

Yolanda forked a piece of chicken. “This year is PrimeRight’s tenth business anniversary. Fritz has wonderful plans for the event, and we’ll secretly celebrate Ace’s exceptional invention.”

Randee frowned. “But I thought you said the project was confidential.”

“It is, but the gala is to commemorate the company. He wanted to have the added behind-the-scenes hoopla for the finished contract.” Ace sighed and took another bite. “The way things are going, I doubt that’ll happen.”

“You’ll figure this out. I just know it. Between your revolutionary development and Fritz’s brilliant party planning, the gala will be off the chain.” Yolanda had a warped sense of his abilities, but her idealism brought something special to the lab.

He’d never describe himself as revolutionary, but Ghost was a game changer. And brilliant wasn’t how Ace would refer to Fritz. Smart. Charismatic, for sure. They needed more investors, and completing this project might put them in a favorable place for future government contracts. Of course, that also required a successful completion of the job.

“Good company makes food taste so much better,” Yolanda remarked, pulling Ace back to the present.

“Agreed,” Randee said, scooping a forkful of rice.

“Honestly, Rocko and I skip dinner a lot.” Ace munched on an egg roll. Observing the question in Randee’s expression, he explained, “He’s my cat.”

She grinned. “I sort of pictured you with a Doberman pinscher.”

Yolanda sputtered and coughed. “Boy, did she misjudge you.”

Ace feigned annoyance. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not a big-dog sort of guy.” Yolanda took a bite.

“I think I’m offended.” Ace frowned.

Randee leaned back, quirking an eyebrow, and her lips curved. “Actually, now that you mention it, I can see your point, Yolanda.”

Ace crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, if I wanted to be abused, I’d take it from a professional and hang out with Fritz. I’m eating my food alone in the conference room.”

Yolanda guffawed. “Aw, don’t get your beakers in a bubble. We’re only saying you’ve got more cat tendencies. A loner. Unhindered by others.”

Ace chuckled. “I guess that works, although Rocko would go whisker-to-whisker with any Doberman.”

“No argument there.” Yolanda scooped another portion of sesame chicken from the box.