Green Berets had secured the perimeter of the house. Shadows moved across the windows, but the silence prevailed.
Captain Denny, the man in charge of the mission, strode from a set of double doors that opened onto a patio at the edge of the yard. “Booker?”
Gage lowered his weapon and puffed out a breath. The shout he’d heard before had been an all-clear signal.
He called back to the captain. “Over here.”
Captain Denny swore a blue streak as he marched across the patio. They met at the edge of the lawn, and Denny barked, “Put some light on this situation!”
From somewhere in the darkness, two powerful flashlights crossed beams, lighting up the patio. The light gleamed on the black stripes beneath the captain’s eyes, lighting his eyes on fire.
“They beat us to the punch, Booker. Except for those few pushovers on the outer wall, the place is deserted.”
Denny’s words landed with a sickening thud against Gage’s temples. They’d been double-crossed. He clenched his jaw against a flickering muscle. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.” The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Computers yanked out of walls, drawers dumped, closets ransacked and wall safes emptied.”
Gage swore and kicked at a lawn chair on the patio. It teetered on one leg for a second and then fell over. “Personal items?”
“Not much. Looks like this slimy SOB has eluded you again.”
Gage slung his weapon across his back. “I’m going in.”
The captain stepped aside and began shouting orders to his men. Not that he had many orders left to give. The Green Berets had successfully completed their mission—gain access to and secure the grounds and house. They’d done that.
It was Gage’s mission that had failed.
He entered the house through the double doors, his boots scuffing on the ceramic floor tiles. A sweeping staircase curved to the second floor and a tinkling chandelier hung from the cathedral ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls, objets d’art lined the shelves.
The weapons business must be good.
Trailing his hand along the built-in shelves, Gage scanned the items—no personal photos. He stepped over shards of glass on the floor—all that was left of the doors belonging to a mahogany case that had been cleared of most of its contents. Had pictures of Zendaris sans disguises once graced this cabinet?
He took a right turn into a cavernous dining room. The dining table reflected the image of a candelabrum centered on its gleaming surface. A vase of flowers nearby, the blooms fresh and buoyant, perfumed the air. Gage crossed the room and pushed through swinging doors to a kitchen, outfitted with enough accoutrements to please the most discerning chef. A kitchen table, tucked in a nook, overlooked the sprawling backyard.
The smell of grilled meat and garlic lingered in the air, and a half-empty wine bottle rested on the countertop. Someone had eaten a hearty meal tonight before abandoning ship.
He yanked open the Sub-Zero refrigerator—its shelves were stocked with enough food to feed a small army. Zendaris had probably employed a small army at this opulent abode.
Cursing, Gage slammed the door, rattling the contents of the fridge. By the look of things, Zendaris himself could’ve been in residence only hours before the raid.
He’d have to question the locals, but he knew he would hit a dead end there. The local inhabitants generally knew to keep their mouths shut when dealing with powerful neighbors like Zendaris. The man probably had a few of them in his employ—his eyes and ears in his absence.
And Zendaris’s absence from this location would be permanent now that it had been compromised.
Tomlinson, one of the Green Berets still occupying the house, called to him from the stairs. “Booker, you down there?”
Gage hit one of the swinging doors with the heel of his hand. “In the kitchen.”
“You need to see what’s on the second floor.”
Gage’s heart jumped. Had Zendaris left something behind? He sped through the dining room and took the stairs two at a time, his heavy boots pounding against the tiles, creating an echo in the empty house.
Tomlinson stood by a doorway and beckoned to him. Gage stumbled into the room and almost tripped over a low table scattered with picture books. “Son of a...”
Gage circled the room, the bright, cheery colors and patterned wallpaper of cartoon characters making him dizzy. “Zendaris had kids, and they stayed here, lived here.”
A sour lump rose from his gut. At least the kids hadn’t been in the line of fire. If the Green Berets had met resistance entering the house, they would’ve shot first and asked questions later.
No matter what their father had done, kids were innocents. He knew that better than anyone. He and his sister couldn’t be held accountable for the stunts their father the politician had pulled over the years.
Tomlinson gestured to the gaping French doors leading to a dark balcony. “The only doors in the house left open.”
“Maybe Zendaris spirited the kids away through the window.”
“Maybe he had to grab something from that balcony.”
On his way to the French doors, Gage trod on a book. He bent over to pick it up. He ran his index finger along the well-worn, gold-leaf cover. “Fairy tales. Yeah, those kids aren’t going to be living any fairy-tale life with that maniac.”
He tossed the book onto a deep-cushioned chair and spotted a gauzy pink scarf hanging over the back of it. He plucked up the scarf with two fingers. The gold threads woven into the material caught the light, and the scarf shimmered in his hands. Some instinct drove him to raise the scarf to his face. An exotic, musky scent tickled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply.
Definitely not a perfume for a young girl. Maybe Zendaris had a twentysomething-year-old daughter. Gage didn’t even know if Zendaris was old enough to have a daughter in her twenties. He crumpled the scarf in his fist and shoved it into the pocket of his fatigues.
A radio crackled and Tomlinson jumped to attention. Captain Denny’s voice boomed into the room. “Out of the house, Tomlinson. Now. We’re meeting at the front of the house.”
“Yes, sir!” He backed up to the door leading to the hallway. “I’ll leave it to you, Booker.”
“Thanks, Tomlinson. Good job tonight.”
Gage clumped onto the dark balcony. The border around the balcony was low enough to sit on—not the safest setup for kids. But then having an arms-dealing father wasn’t the safest setup for kids, either.
In an attempt to add a measure of safety to the low wall, someone had tacked up a wooden border.
Gage’s nostrils flared. A portion of the border had broken away. He crept toward the edge of the balcony and fingered one of the pieces of wood. This was a recent break.
He
