Untraceable Evidence

“What a great name for a brute of a cat,” Randee said. “I’d love to have a dog, except I’m never home. Maybe I should consider a cat. Does Rocko do dishes or laundry?”

Ace snorted. “He’s very self-sufficient, but I’m afraid he hasn’t mastered running the dishwasher.”

“Diego would love a pet. Perhaps when he comes home, we’ll look into rescuing an animal.” Yolanda set her fork down and exhaled.

The past year had taken a toll on the young mother and her son. Fritz had suggested PrimeRight pay her extra bonuses as compensation for covering Barry’s job. Ace hadn’t disputed the offer. They’d hoped to help relieve some of her financial pressure. She’d never asked for a handout and rarely missed a day of work. The woman was a gem. “How’s the little man doing?”

Yolanda’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Doctors say the same, but a mother knows. My boy will be back to his mischievous self soon.” She faced Randee. “You should’ve seen the mess Diego and Mr. Funny Man here created when they swapped all the labels on my canned goods.”

“Hey, that was his idea,” Ace said defensively.

Yolanda snorted. “I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you.”

Randee laughed, and the sound was nice. It fit her. Charming and classy. Ace jerked away his gaze, realizing too late that he’d been eyeballing her.

The trio finished their meal, making small talk, and when the last egg roll had been consumed, Ace leaned back. “My stomach’s too full for me to keep working.”

“Ugh, me, too.” Yolanda glanced at her watch. “Besides, I need to get home and do some laundry, or I’ll be in this same outfit tomorrow.”

“I doubt I’ll be wearing this again. Sewing isn’t one of my gifts,” Randee said, gesturing to her ripped skirt.

Ace studied her, then averted his eyes. He wasn’t Fritz, and romance wasn’t his thing. No romance. Ever. “Give me a few seconds to shut down here, and I’ll walk out with you.”

Within ten minutes, he escorted the ladies from the office into the nearly empty garage. Ace waited until the women had walked to their vehicles before bidding them good-night and moving to his twenty-year-old pickup. A vehicle Fritz teased him about driving. Ace liked the reliable and payment-free truck.

Randee climbed into the tan SUV he’d noticed earlier. Not elaborate but definitely nicer than Yolanda’s sensible and inexpensive compact car.

Yolanda was the first to leave. Randee appeared to be making a call. She smiled and waved goodbye.

Ace drove out of the garage and onto the road connecting to the highway.

PrimeRight was located in the country, away from the chaos of downtown Omaha, Nebraska, but close enough to be within the city limits. He flipped on the radio, singing along to an old song that reminded him way too much of his youth and the great times he and Cara had shared before her death.

A boat of a car with a lifted hood sat on the side of the road. Ace slowed, pulled up beside two men standing next to the vehicle, then rolled down his window. “Everything okay?”

The taller man’s red Husker T-shirt showed from beneath the accompanying plaid button-up. “Evening.” He pointed at the broken-down vehicle. “Got a few gallons of gas on you?”

Ace grinned. “No, but I’d be happy to drive you to a station.”

The man’s face broke into a wide grin. “Thanks! Name’s Jud. Let me talk to my boy, and I’ll be right back.”

Ace shifted into Park while the men conversed and the kid climbed into the car while Jud tugged on a jacket. A check in Ace’s gut had him second-guessing his offer. He shoved down the thought. Stop being paranoid. People help each other in Nebraska.

Jud slammed shut the hood, giving Ace a glimpse of the younger individual in the driver’s seat. See, everything is fine.

Headlights illuminated his rearview mirror, and Ace glanced up. Randee’s SUV rumbled toward them.

The man climbed in and closed the door. “Let’s get moving.”

“No prob—” Ace’s words were cut off by the gun aimed in his direction.

“You’re going to drive where I tell you. Go!”

THREE

Randee accelerated, desperate to catch up to the fading lights of Ace’s pickup. Why had she taken the extra minute to check her voice mail messages?

On a normal day, a broken-down vehicle wouldn’t raise her suspicions. Except today had been anything but normal, and as she approached, the driver repositioned the car, strategically blocking the road.

A young man stepped out of the run-down behemoth of a relic and leaned against the driver’s door, sporting a challenge on his adolescent face. Had to be one of Titus Malte’s militia members. Was the man recruiting kids straight out of high school?

Randee’s gaze ricocheted to where Ace’s pickup turned north, increasing the distance between them. Worry tightened her chest with each separating second.

She honked and waved her arms for the driver to move. He responded with raised hands in a pitiful attempt at helplessness. Skidding to a stop, Randee rolled down her window. “Get out of the way. Now!”

The young man shrugged and moseyed over to her. “Sorry, car keeps dying.”

“Get out of the way!” she repeated.

“Can’t, lady, this ol’ hunk of junk won’t start.” The smirk on his face said everything his lying lips withheld.

Randee thrust the transmission into Drive and barreled around the rear of the vehicle, descending into the ditch, then bounding back up on the road.

If the headlights beaming in her rearview mirror were any indicator, the supposed stranded motorist was coming after her.

With the pedal to the floor, Randee’s motor roared, but she lost sight of the pickup’s taillights as Ace turned again. With one hand on the wheel, she withdrew her gun with the other and continued driving as fast as she could safely go, maintaining visual on the car behind her.

The man made a sudden turn and disappeared. Where did he go?

The sun had already set, and the rural landscape lacked streetlights. Rows of harvest-ready cornfields surrounded her, concealing anything in the distance.

“Where are you?” Randee’s whispered question referenced both men.

At last, she spotted tiny red illuminations from the parallel road opposite the river. Since Ace wasn’t driving a boat, there had to be a way across the water somewhere close.

Reflectors—on what she hoped was a viable bridge—flickered, beckoning Randee. Without contemplating the possible consequences, she shot over the rickety construction, holding her breath and praying it didn’t collapse under the weight of her vehicle.

At last her tires met the road again, and with a sigh of relief, Randee closed the distance between them, flickering her brights.

Ace responded with the glaring red of his brake lights. She veered to miss him. Was he out of his mind? He sped up again, then swerved across the single-lane dirt road. Was he fighting the man inside while driving?

The vehicle straightened and this time, he tapped the brakes. Some kind of silent caution to back off? Too late. Her attention was fixed on the shadowed gun barrel pointed at his head. She’d disregard the warning, though she understood his reasoning.

Randee palmed the steering wheel, frustration oozing through her, but she didn’t back off. Malte’s men had evolved from the morning’s tactics. Apparently, trying to take the briefcase wasn’t enough—now they had resorted to felony kidnapping.

The truck fishtailed in an unpredictable dance across the road as Ace increased his speed. In the dim light a flurry of movement occupied the cab.

Blinded by the headlights of an oncoming car, Randee shielded her eyes with her gun-wielding hand.

The kidnapper’s partner was barreling straight for her.

She slammed on her brakes and yanked the wheel away from the vehicle. He shot in front of her, spewing rocks at her windshield.

Malte’s cronies had done their homework learning this area. She’d give them that, but there was no way they’d get Ace and Ghost. Fueled with a new fury, Randee advanced.

The driver reduced his speed, then centered the car on the single-lane road and continued to slow until they were moving along at a snail’s pace.

Randee moved to the right. He did the same. She swerved to the left, and he again blocked her.

“I’ve had enough of you.” Randee accelerated, then angled her bumper against his and gave it a nudge, sending the jalopy into a spin. She revved past the car, catching up to Ace.

His truck continued skidding wildly ahead of her. An overcorrection resulted in the vehicle’s nosedive into the bordering ditch. It caught air and rolled out of control. Randee watched in horror as it tumbled side-over-side, crushing the rows of ripe soybean plants.

After three revolutions, the pickup bounced to a halt on its tires in the open land across from her SUV.

She slowed in a cautious approach, spotting the kidnapper’s extended gun. Randee ducked just as a bullet impaled her headrest.

She stayed low using her opened door as a shield, and crept along the side of the SUV, Glock trained on the shooter.

“If you come closer, I’ll kill him,” the man warned.

Good. Ace was still alive. “Let him go.”

“Can’t do that.” He fired again, hitting the SUV’s hood. “That’s your last warning. The next one goes in his head.”

She contemplated her options. The shooter was slouched in the front seat, preventing a clean shot. “I won’t leave without Ace.”

The rush of an engine approached, and Randee turned, disgusted to see the jalopy pull up behind her SUV.

“Seems we’re at an impasse. My compadre’s driving us out of here.”

“And why would I let that happen?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m gonna kill your friend.”

A gunshot sent Randee diving to the ground.

The kidnapper cackled. “Little lady, you’re surrounded, so just—” His comment was cut off, and a stillness filled the air.

Randee dropped to a squat, ducked behind her SUV’s door with her back to the seat and prepared to fire.

Ace’s pickup door creaked open.

She steadied her weapon.

Ace’s shoulders emerged as he pushed out the unwanted passenger. The kidnapper tumbled onto the dirt, unconscious.

Randee barely had a chance to process the scene when a blast behind her sent her twisting around. She returned fire, then hollered, “Your partner’s out. Give yourself up, kid.”

The muted accomplice appeared to consider his limited choices, then jumped back into his behemoth jalopy and sped off.

Ace ran toward her. “Let’s get out of here.”

Randee met him and moved to the kidnapper. “Not until the cops arrive.” She tugged her blouse sleeve over her hand and snatched the gunman’s Ruger from the ground.

Ace trailed behind and gestured at the still-unconscious man. “He’s out for the count. Got anything I can restrain him with?”

“Yes, I—” Randee paused. That was close. She’d almost blurted she had handcuffs in her tote. That’d be hard to explain without compromising her undercover status. As it was, she’d be justifying her gun. “Rope!” she exclaimed. “Back of my vehicle, in my toolbox.”

“You have a toolbox?” He quirked a brow. Randee gave him a steely gaze, and he shrugged. “Be right back.”

Ace returned with the rope and secured the man before dragging him over to Randee’s SUV. “Sit here,” he said, propping up the kidnapper against the front tire. “There, doesn’t he look relaxed?”

She laughed. “Other than his drooping head and hands bound behind his back.”

Ace tilted his head and gave a satisfied smile. “Yeah, can’t change that, though.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“After the damage he did, I should do worse.”

She studied the handsome scientist, immersed in his navy eyes. “Amazing he didn’t break your glasses.”

“I turned my head in time so he struck my temple instead.”

“May I see?”

Ace leaned down.

Randee gently fingered the developing goose egg. “He got you pretty good.”

He winced.

“Sorry about that.” What was she doing? She jerked back her hand. “I’ll call the police.”

Eager to put distance between them, Randee moved to the vehicle. Her driver’s-side door was still open, and she ducked inside to withdraw her phone. She dialed 911 and gave a synopsis of the situation. The operator advised her that a unit and rescue were on the way.

Randee disconnected and typed a quick message to Sergio. Major development. Second attempt on Steele. Waiting for PD.

His reply was immediate. Are you both okay?

Yes. Will need cover for my gun.

Go with CHP. Contact as soon as you can.

10-4. Randee reached into her tote and removed the concealed handgun permit, prepared to show it to the officers. She placed her weapon and the permit on her seat, then shut the door and faced Ace.

He stared beyond her. “I’ve had that pickup since high school. Not sure it’s reparable. The rear axle is broken.”

Guilt assuaged her. Better a damaged truck than a dead scientist. Ace trekked to retrieve the briefcase and returned, his voice somber. “Think the PD will give me a ride?”

“I’ll drive you.” Maybe Sergio would dip into the ATF’s funds to help pay for the repairs. Yeah, right. She leaned against the door. “What happened back there?”

He ran a hand over his head. Something Randee noted he did often when stressed. “The guy looked normal. Said he’d run out of gas. I was trying to be a kind Samaritan.”

“For anyone else, it would’ve been a great gesture. At least I got the make, model and most of the jalopy’s license plate.”

A groan below beckoned.

“Good evening, sunshine.” Randee stepped back.

The kidnapper glared before spewing a few choice words.

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Ace replied. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Or what?” the man growled.

“How’s your headache?” Randee asked.

He clamped his mouth shut.

“Your compadre abandoned you. That can’t be a good sign,” she pressed.

“Save your breath. I ain’t talkin’ to neither of you,” he groused.

“Doesn’t matter, the cops will be here soon. Of course, if I were you, I’d consider talking to them. Give up your partner and you might reduce your own charges.” She bit her lip. That sounded too much like cop talk.

Sirens in the distance warned that the police were nearing. Two life-threatening incidents in one day were more than she cared to deal with. Not to mention another belabored conversation with Officer Paulson. But the events were sufficient proof Ace required more than an undercover agent overseeing the project. The man needed a bodyguard.

She’d be both, further complicating her job.

“Thanks again, Gus,” Ace said, shaking the man’s calloused hand. Gus Yale owned the shop the Steeles had used for as long as he could remember. The guy was ancient but still managed an honest and thriving business.

Gus gave him an affectionate and vigorous slap on the back. “We’ll get her taken care of. Give me a call in the morning.” He turned and headed to his tow truck.

Ace joined Randee in her SUV and snapped on his seat belt. “Sorry that took so long.”

“I’m glad you have someone you trust to do the work. Will he be able to fix the damage?” Randee started the engine and pulled away from the accident site.

“Gus says anything’s fixable.” He sighed, not wanting to think about how much the repairs would cost. “Do you always carry a gun?” The question escaped Ace’s mouth before he realized he’d spoken. Exhaustion apparently brought out his bolder side.

His sister, Cara, would’ve carried a gun out of fear thanks to her violent, obsessive ex-boyfriend. Prior to his incarceration for stalking, the creep’s threats kept Cara and their entire family on edge. Was that Randee’s reasoning? If so, who was she afraid of and why?

“Yes.” Randee gripped the wheel.

Something told him the weapon-toting accountant didn’t possess a fear molecule in her body. Had she once been a CIA agent? He grinned at the silly idea and studied the pretty brunette. She’d experienced every part of his crazy day with her impeccable timing. Randee exuded confidence that complemented her already attractive persona.

Ace averted his gaze. Whoa. Totally inappropriate thinking. They were coworkers, nothing more. He leaned back in the passenger seat. The weight of the day descended on his shoulders, adding to his exhaustion. And with it, the guilt-tainted memories of his failure to protect Cara.

Randee reminded him so much of his sister. Had it been twenty-five years since her murder? A lifetime ago and yesterday all at the same time. They’d missed out on every great adulthood rite of passage, like her wedding and motherhood. She would’ve had several amazing kids, and they’d have called him Uncle Ace and…that would never happen. She’d died because of him.

His life wasn’t the only one at risk. Randee—an innocent party tossed onto this insane battlefield—was also in danger. How would he protect her?

“If you’re determined to continue these deadly situations, we might want to establish a distress signal. Although tapping your brakes was satisfactory.”

Ace sighed. “Actually, I did that to throw off the guy. It worked until he clocked me.” He rubbed the tender spot. “Then I saw you in the rearview mirror. I’m certain he didn’t realize you were following us at first.”

“Probably figured his loser partner had caught up. He’d blocked the road with that monstrosity of a car.”

“Somehow I’m guessing that didn’t faze you.”

“Nope.” She shrugged.

He considered confessing gratitude that she hadn’t backed off. Though he hadn’t meant for her to come to his rescue, he’d hoped she’d interpret the warning and call for help. And he hadn’t a single clue what to do after that. Ace Michael Steele possessed a doctorate and had the student loans to prove it, but surviving mad kidnappers hadn’t been one of his courses.

“I need to talk to Fritz,” he mumbled.

“I’d agree. Is he on someone’s list, too?”

“Doubtful.” Because Fritz wasn’t Ghost’s developer. No, completing the exasperating project wasn’t worth dying for. He couldn’t continue dodging maniacs at every turn.

Yet someone wanted Ghost, and it appeared they’d do anything and everything including kidnapping and murder to get it. What would happen if he refused to comply with their demands?

He shivered at the unpleasant consideration. The faster he finished Ghost, the safer everyone would be. But what happened after that? Did the ATF provide protection, or did that fall under the responsibility of another government agency? Perhaps he should’ve negotiated his future in more specific terms.

“You’re awful quiet,” Randee said.

“I’m contemplating the stupidity of agreeing to this project.”

“Are you thinking of backing out?”

That sounded as bad as quitting. Steeles never quit. “No. I’m committed until the end. I just didn’t realize I’d need to have a black belt in karate because I’d be tested daily on my physical abilities.” His flippant reply exuded whine over humor.

The delay in Randee’s response had him wondering if she agreed. “At least Officer Paulson wasn’t as determined to ask us the same questions for thirty minutes straight.”

Ace smiled. “Definitely. Turn here.” He pointed to the off-ramp from the highway. He continued to guide Randee to his apartment until she pulled up to his building. “This is it, number five.”

“This is a nice area. Very quiet.”

Six buildings with four units each made up the complex. One-bedrooms with two-bedrooms on either side.

“The complex is older. The managers keep it clean, rent is reasonable and they allow cats.” Important requirements for Ace. Fritz forever teased him about wasting money in rent, but Ace preferred the freedom of living unbound by debt. The same reason he drove the old truck.

He sighed. Had driven. He prayed Gus really could fix the damage because Ace hated the thought of having to buy a new vehicle. A thing he dreaded almost as much as his annual dental appointment.

Randee shifted into Park and swiveled to face him. “I hate to ask this, but would you mind if I used your restroom before I go?”

“Oh, sure. I should’ve offered.”

They exited the SUV and approached his building, climbing the three cement steps to his unit. He inserted his key and paused. Randee stayed behind him. Who could blame her? After their adventurous day, she probably assumed he needed twenty-four-hour supervision.

Was there someone in his apartment? He shook off the thought and turned the dead bolt. No. He was fine.

Ace shoved the door wide and stood in the entrance. He flipped the switch, turning on the table lamp beside his sofa and scanned the open-concept main floor, half expecting to see two armed men waiting for him. Instead, embarrassment at the lack of furnishings in his simple home had him apologizing. “Sorry for the bachelor accommodations. Come on in. Bathroom’s upstairs.” He gestured toward the stairs at the back side of the room.

“Great. Be right back.” Randee hurried up the steps.

Ace clutched the albatross of a suitcase and proceeded to turn on every light, highlighting the worn carpet in desperate need of replacement, but he didn’t require much. He’d never had visitors, didn’t date, and Rocko was low-maintenance.

As if on cue, the black-and-gray tabby sauntered out of the kitchen, meowing his welcome before hopping onto the single couch. Ace lifted him, sending the animal into a rendition of vibrating purrs. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Thank you,” Randee said, descending the stairs. “And this must be Rocko.”

Ace smiled and pivoted to provide her a better view. She scratched under the feline’s chin, and Rocko responded with lazy, adoring eyes. “I’ll swing by in the morning and give you a lift to the office.”

He grimaced. “I forgot about that. Sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I don’t live far from here. It’s on my way.”

“Thanks, Randee, that’d be great.” He set Rocko down and exchanged phone numbers with her.

She moved to the door. “Good night.”

Ace nodded, feeling as though he should say more. Fritz would be charming, but exhaustion overrode his desire to be anything other than his boring self.

He stood in the doorway, ensuring Randee’s safe departure. The vehicle’s headlights bounced off the other buildings as she reversed and drove out of the parking lot.

Ace double-checked the dead bolt and window locks, then carried the briefcase up the stairs, flipping off the lights on his way. He inspected the bathroom, then did the same in the bedroom and closet. “Stop being such a chicken. What would you even do if you found an intruder? Smack him with the briefcase?” he mumbled to no one.

He set the impenetrable case on his bed and applied his fingerprint, then typed in the seven-digit code. The lock released with a click. The prototype prints lay inside, along with the thumb drive loaded with every file needed to create Ghost’s image. He studied the blueprints again. Where did the malfunctioning component—that exploded the gun into pieces—exist?

Rocko jumped onto the bed and made himself comfortable in the briefcase, sprawling out on the papers. His amber eyes blinked at Ace.

“I take it you’re in need of attention?”

The cat yawned.

“Or implying I’m too consumed with this stupid project?” Ace sighed and lifted the cat—meowing his impatience at the intrusion—and closed the briefcase.

Tomorrow he’d find the mistake and complete Ghost, finishing the horrific project once and for all. Dread clung to his shoulders, because after the day he’d endured, he worried tomorrow’s danger would be worse.