The Fallen

LIZ

The rear entrance in the alley also had their name on the door, and when she approached it, it opened by itself and closed behind her, activated by some sensor on the bike.

Her parking spaces were clearly marked among the ten other cars in the private garage. Liz’s “other car” turned out to be a red Mustang with tinted windows, racing mags, slicks, and a black leather interior.

She took a moment to appreciate the sleek lines of the car her sister would simply see as pretty, but after working with guys, Liz knew at least five detectives who would give their left testicle to own one of these.

Liz walked over to the connecting door, pressed her palm against the pad, and stepped into a plush set of offices. She hadn’t taken two paces before Avery joined her to give her a tour.

Thirty minutes later, she closed her office door and stood with her back pressed to it, taking in the large office, bookshelves, leather and wood furniture, elegant carpets, potted plants, and a state-of-the-art computer system.

The longer this day got, the more surreal it seemed. Ten people worked for her, including Avery. Four private investigators, two skip tracers, a forensic accountant, a cleaner, and a desk clerk.

All of them seemed more than their titles suggested.

Every part of this building whispered money, elegance, and luxury, from the boardroom and bathrooms to the kitchen. They even had an armory filled with things she doubted were all legal. Liz pinched herself and flinched.

Earlier, Avery put Liz’s bag on the floor beside her chair, and Liz removed the money pouch.

She glanced at the portrait Avery had shown her, slid it back as she’d demonstrated, pushed in her security code, and grew still when the door silently slid open.

It wasn’t a tiny safe, and she expected it to be empty. A silky, matte-black nine-millimeter Parabellum with a shoulder holster lay beside a snub-nosed twenty-two with pearl inlays gloved in an ankle holster.

A small army-issued dagger, also matte black, shared a space with a tiny crossbow, industrial mace, and a stun gun that could take down a rhino.

Either her life was in danger in ways she didn’t realize, or someone was living out their childhood fantasies.

She opened a leather folder to discover several black credit cards in her new name, that of the business, and an alias, Beth Howard. Shaking her head, she removed a credit card in her name and one for the company.

She placed the money on an empty shelf, adding the documents and folder. Liz hesitated with her hand hovering over the nine-millimeter. She was used to wearing a gun and took the smaller one, slipping it into her bag.

Liz sat behind the spacious desk, and as she stretched her arms, the large, elaborate tattoo on her upper left arm caught her eye. Despite the beauty of the artwork, she despised the desecration of her skin.

She’d chosen never to get a tattoo, and it angered her that she had no choice in any of this. Then again, she could have been lying in a shallow grave in the desert, and no one would be the wiser.

“Fuck.” Liz wasn’t one for cursing, but she’d never felt as helpless. Barely two seconds passed before the door opened, and Avery peered around the edge.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, and for a second, Liz fought the childish urge to throw the cordless keyboard at Avery. Instead, an insincere smile pulled at her stiff lips, making her face feel like it would crack.

“I’m fine.” The words sounded hollow. Avery visibly hesitated before nodding and then closing the door.

Liz could imagine her calling Muriel or Caleb and telling them she wasn’t adjusting well. Well, fuck them. She wasn’t adjusting well.

She’d lost her family, friends, colleagues, and everything that made her who she was.

All this opulence could not give her back her unblemished skin, freedom from this farce of a marriage, life as an upstanding citizen, or the job she loved.

And sorry, playing PI didn’t measure up. She considered swiping the keyboard off the desk, but such behavior didn’t appeal to her.

“May I bring you some coffee?” The crackle of the intercom almost startled Liz into swearing again.

“Yes, please.” She needed the caffeine and hoped she wouldn’t be getting any of that decaffeinated crap people drank.

She’d barely finished the thought when the door opened again, and Avery arrived with her favorite coffee. She handed Liz the mug and left.

Liz carefully sipped the scalding liquid and nearly sighed with pleasure. Sugar, cream, and hot, just the way she liked it. She had to hand it to these people. They were frighteningly thorough.

The past had blinded her to anything but finding out how her father had ended up involved in this cartel and why only he went to jail for what had happened.

So many people warned her that she was out of her depth, but she had grown cocky on the back of so much success in her job.

Would she have acted differently if she’d known what she knew now? Probably not. She would have believed none of this was possible. No one had that much power.

How wrong she’d been. She reached out and powered up the screen, needing something to occupy her thoughts.

The active case files for the day showed on her desktop, and she reviewed what her so-called employees were doing. It didn’t take long for her to realize they were good at their jobs.

Liz opened a tab named personnel and read through each of their files. Caleb was thorough and knew more about these men and women than they probably realized.

The only thin file belonged to Avery, as if she wasn’t vetted for the position, affirming Liz’s suspicions.

“It’s near lunchtime. Do you want to order in or go out?” Avery asked from the door, and Liz frowned. Where had the morning gone? Her empty stomach growled with her nausea finally gone.

“I just want a light chicken salad,” Liz said, and Avery nodded.

“I’ll order it. Anything else?”

“Yes, an energy drink.”

Avery didn’t have to say a word. She disapproved.

“Yes, boss.” She didn’t ask what kind, but Liz suspected she didn’t have to ask. It was somewhere in that Rolodex of facts about Liz Howard…Rayburn.

After six months of studying every scrap of information about these people, she hadn’t learned much. Avery brought her lunch, and she’d just finished eating when she opened a file marked “private.”

It asked for her password, and she typed in the same numeric code from the safe.

She blinked as files opened on every member of the Rayburn family. This wasn’t exactly their business dealings, but the type of personal details she found telling.

Someone wanted her to know enough about the family to answer the usual questions people asked. From food likes and dislikes to allergies and the personal lie of her “relationship” with Caleb.

Her ability to remember random facts was infinite and irritated her colleagues.

If she read a case file, she didn’t have to refer to it again. She recalled everything suspects or witnesses told her, word for word. Her mind functioned like a steel trap.

“It’s almost five. Will you be working late?” Avery asked from the door. It was a habit Liz didn’t find endearing, but it disturbed her less than the intercom.

Liz glanced at her watch, shut down the computer, and stood. “No, I still have to find my way home.”

“Oh, you can follow me, and I’ll take you there. It’s no bother,” Avery insisted before Liz could even argue.

“Fine.” The tired tone of her voice caught her off guard. She followed Avery out to the cars, and like before, the door opened by itself and closed after them.

She didn’t expect the drive to take almost twenty minutes, but enjoyed the power and luxury of the car. She’d never even been inside such a vehicle, but it drove like a dream, even in heavy traffic.

She could only stare when they finally stopped outside the double-story glass and stone edifice. Knowing someone was obscenely wealthy and being exposed to it was something entirely different.

If only she didn’t know where the money came from, not that there was any real proof of criminal wrongdoing. These people were far too clever.