Plain Sight Read online

  MCINNIS SECURITY

  Book 1

  By

  Katherine Rhodes

  Contents

  Plain Sight

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Welcome to McInnis Security

  Read More…

  About

  Also by Katherine Rhodes

  J. Rose Alexander

  S.A. Sommers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PLAIN SIGHT

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2019 © Katherine Rhodes

  Cover: JRA Stevens for Down Write Nuts

  Formatting: Down Write Nuts

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher

  The author acknowledges the following brands, copyrights, and trademarks:

  Quaker Steak and Lube; McDonald’s; Burger King; Apple, Inc., Android, Primanti’s, Bojangles’, Arby’s, Flying J Rest Stops, Toyota, Chevrolet, KFC, plus codes Google Maps, Toast-Chee.

  Created with Vellum

  Plain Sight

  Even secret agents get fired.

  Bridget McInnis never thought she would be dismissed. So when her boss at MI5 showed her the door, she was left aimless, homeless and drifting--and suddenly winging back to Pittsburgh. A bored agent was a bad thing.

  Her brother Killian asked his friends at Walsh-Tyndale if there was a job she could do while she figured herself out. She finds herself as a temp secretary for Vaughn Willard, a newly promoted manager--and a newly made widower.

  Vaughn didn't expect to be a widower. Finding a laundering scheme in the Walsh-Tyndale books was a fluke. The launderers didn't see it that way and Vaughn's wife paid with her life. He simply wants to get his life back on a track and Bridget was there to help.

  Especially when the bad guys come back to try and make sure Vaughn can't testify against them.

  Everything Bridget learned from her agent days comes rushing back when Vaughn's life is threatened. They have to run and with Vaughn's son in tow, they make their way through Midwest trying to figure out to keep themselves safe, how to bring the launderers to justice-- and how to deal with the dangerous attraction they feel for each other.

  Chapter One

  Bridget

  The porsche hugged every curve and hill on the Autobahn, even at the ridiculous speed I had pushed it up to.

  I could see the limo ahead of me, cruising in the center lane at 160 kph. In a hurry, for sure, but stuck in a vehicle that couldn’t pull the power.

  Popping open the case on the seat next to me, I pulled out the Beretta APX and dropped it on my lap. I dug out the suppressor, and spun it on to the barrel.

  Who knew how many times I’d done this—I’d long lost count of the iterations of this exact move, all without taking my eyes off the road.

  The mag was locked in, and I slid back the barrel to load the first bullet.

  I had exactly one shot at this.

  Leaning back in the seat, I rolled the passenger window down. My arm rested on the back of the passenger seat behind the headrest, holding the gun firmly but as casually as I could.

  Watching the signage above the road, I started counting and timing. I had to make sure I was between the cameras—closer to the last and far enough away from the next so the resolution sucked.

  After another 10 klicks at this speed, I had everything timed out.

  Changing over to the high-speed lanes, I kicked the Porsche up to 200 kph and maneuvered the car into passing position. I pulled up the half mask and made sure the hoodie was in place.

  Red hair was a dead giveaway and I hadn’t had time to dye it or grab one of my wigs.

  I pulled alongside the limo, and stared straight ahead until I passed the back windows and the pillar blocked the view of the person in the back.

  There was no way the driver saw the gun hiding behind the headrest, or had any idea that I had shot him directly in the temple.

  The dead man’s hand flopped to the side and pulled the whole car to the right. The few cars on the road with us swerved out of the way, and were racing away. I followed across the lanes until the damn thing hit the dirt on the side, spun and wound up facing oncoming traffic in the grass.

  Perfect.

  I pulled the car to a stop just ahead of them and hopped out. Trotting to the back door of the limo, I held the gun out at the ready. No one seemed to be getting out. Could I really be that lucky? Jorgen Wittesberg bit the dust in a low speed spin out?

  Nope.

  The door swung open and a man spilled out, coughing from who the fuck knew what. I stood at the trunk of the vehicles, just waiting for him to see me, gun in hand.

  It took him a good twenty seconds to realize I was there, and reach for his own piece.

  I shot his foot.

  “Das Miststück!” he howled.

  “Piss off,” I answered.

  “What do you want?”

  “You, dead.”

  “Hol dich der Teufel!”

  “Whatever. Where’s the drive?”

  “Up my ass.”

  “Jesus, you probably did stick it up there, didn’t you?”

  “You really think you can get away with this?”

  “I already have.” I pointed the gun at his head, and pulled the trigger. He dropped to the ground, dead.

  Taking a second to spin the suppressor off my gun, I shoved it in a pocket and shoved the gun in my waistband. I patted the piece of shit down, hoping that the data drive was in a pocket, or a wallet, or shit, I’d take a shoe or an armpit at that point.

  Shaking my head, I ran to my car and grabbed the latex gloves I kept in my kit. I pulled them on as I ran back, and with no finesse or care, I cut his pants open in the back.

  True to his word, Jorgen Wittesburg had shoved the drive up into his actual ass. After extracting it, I could only be grateful the bastard had wrapped in plastic wrap. I didn’t want an unusable shit covered drive to be my prize on this one.

  Pulling off one glove at a time, I wrapped the drive in more latex and would deal with the crap later. I dropped the whole thing in an evidence bag and stuff it in the other pocket.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the flashing lights of the police and that was my cue to get out of there. From the front waistband of the pants I was wearing, I pulled out a flare gun and shot the flair into the limo.

  The fabric caught immediately. I didn’t care if they found the two dead guys with the bullets in their brains. That was the cost of business. But I wanted to make it as hard as possible for them to get anything good out of the limo.

  I r
an back to my idling car, and on the way around, I pulled the quick release for the license plate to reveal the new one underneath. I slammed the door as I yanked on the seat belt, and pulled away.

  I was about to pull my mask down when I saw the movement in the back seat.

  Fuck. I hadn’t even considered there would be a third man.

  My gun pressed against the small of my back and it would have been a really unsubtle move to pull that out. The flair gun also was out as I had to physically reload the thing.

  The cold metal of the gun pressed against my head and I swore. Out of time and options.

  “Did you really think you were going to get away with that?” The voice was gravelly and deep.

  “I was kinda hoping, yeah,” I answered.

  “You got the drive?”

  “From his literal asshole.”

  “Hand it over.”

  I risked a look in the mirror at this guy. “Really? I’ve got two hands on the wheel and we’re doing 160. Reaching in my pocket would really dumb right about now.”

  “I want the drive.” The gun clicked and the safety was off. “I want it now.”

  “Men in Hell want ice water,” I mumbled.

  “Now, bitch. Now!”

  “Well, all right, hang on.”

  I jerked the wheel hard to the left and next thing I knew we were tumbling wheel over roof down the road, being bounced around like rag dolls in a dryer.

  Problem was, I had my seat belt on. He didn’t.

  The motion of the car was making me sick, but finally, it hit the grass on the driver’s side. It took me a hot minute to get my brain back online.

  It had been a long time since I ditched on purpose.

  I unbuckled myself, and looked around. The other guy was gone, probably smeared on a few of the lanes. I could feel cuts and bruises everywhere, but I had to get out of the car and disappear.

  I snatched up the go-bag and the small case for my Beretta. There was nothing else in the car. I had planned on returning it in the morning to the rental place, but now Mister Bug Smear was playing the part of Dana Doroff, and I was out of here.

  The window was shattered, so I climbed through, I reached back in and grabbing a piece of glass, sliced the seat belt. I pulled out the passport I had in the name Dana and quickly burned the bottom of it to destroy the picture of me inside, but leaving the name. I threw it randomly into the car.

  Fingerprints didn’t matter. Kalen would handle that once it popped up on the radar.

  Dropping the go-bag on my back and clutching the gun case. I checked to make sure I had my gun, quickly chambered a round to be safe, and made a break for the trees on the side of the road. Wearing everything black, no one was going to see me. And I was about to disappear again, anyway.

  “What in the bloody fuck were you thinking, McInnis!” The director’s hand slammed down on the desk again. “Do you know how long it took me to clear up your mess with the Germans? They want your head.”

  “They want everyone’s head.”

  “You were specifically told not to go after Wittesburg!”

  Was this pompous bag of fat really going there? “Are you pissed that I finally did what every other fucking agent hasn’t been able to do?”

  “You arrogant fucking Yank, did you stop to think that maybe we ordered everyone to back off?”

  I stared at him. Of course it had, but no one else in the damn agency had the balls to realize what the director was doing. He wanted the data drive, and he didn’t know where it was—so he kept pulling people off Wittesburg.

  “He murdered one of your best agents. You were going to let him go again.”

  “The drive is gone!” He slammed the folder and held up a hand to stop me from talking. “I’m done with you, McInnis. Done. You’re terminated. Get your shit and get out of here. Go back to the States.”

  My mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead. Spoiled rich American needs to go back to her world. Fired, McInnis.”

  I threw the chair back out from under me and I heard it hit the wall. “That is fucking rich coming from you, Lord Harding. How many generations of entitled assholes are in your family? Twenty? Forty? Fuck off, old man.”

  He stood slowly. “You seem to think I’m running a Mickey Mouse James Bond outfit here, McInnis. I’m not. This is MI6, and your employment here is terminated.”

  “I just took out one of the dirtiest underworld businessmen and you fire me.”

  “You took him out on a personal vendetta, Bridget! You think that falls in line with this agency?”

  I wasn’t even in the room anymore. I was walking out the door into the hall. Fine. I’d go home. Home-home, to Pittsburgh. My stride hitched. I hadn’t been back home in seven years.

  This place, these halls had been everything for me since I was eighteen and Director Corwin had recruited me from college.

  Fuck.

  “Don’t bother trying to get in with the FBI, either, McInnis. I’m flagging you.”

  I spun on my heel and walked back to his desk. I yanked the evidence bag out of my pocket and threw it at his face. “Drop dead, you rotting bawbag. You’re a waste of space who doesn’t even want to think that an American, let alone a girl, could ever do this job and get it done right. What the fuck is the point of IT in Intelligence if you can’t smooth the issue over with the Germans.”

  “What the hell is this?!” Harding held the rancid smelling bag away from him like it was going to bite.

  “That, you cunt, is your fucking data drive. The one you and all your superiors have been sweating over a like a whore in church.”

  His mouth dropped open. “But…we’ve…”

  “Apparently, no one in your employ managed to think to actually ask him where it was.”

  “Where was it?” He was flabbergasted and I was reveling in it.

  “Up his ass. I shot him in the fucking head and pulled it out. Remember that next time you think one of your agents does something on their own as a vendetta, Harding. Have a nice fucking life.”

  I spun and walked back out.

  “McInnis!”

  I paused, turned, and calmly flipped him the British style bird that had become second nature to me. Headed back out the door, and down the hall and into whatever fucking unknown future Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania held for me.

  Chapter Two

  Vaughn

  My hands shook. I couldn’t stop them. My legs were pretty much jelly, too.

  But Nathaniel’s pretty wife, Emmy looked up and saw that I was a wreck, and offered me water and some Toast Chee crackers. They helped to steady me a bit, but when I saw Nathaniel and Victor round the corner, I wanted to puke up the crackers.

  This was my job on the line. The job I had worked really fucking hard to get to and excel at.

  “Hey, Vaughn!” Victor smiled and offered a hand. “I saw you on the schedule. What’s up, man?”

  “Can we…talk in your office?” I swallowed loudly.

  They both sobered instantly, and I didn’t like it. The brothers were shockingly convivial all the time, and seeing them serious freaked me out even more.

  Emmy smiled and motioned me to the door. “Go on, Vaughn. Everything is fine.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured and followed the brothers into Victor’s office.

  The nerves I had managed to secure were shot again when I spied Victor’s hot-as-hell husband sitting at the desk. I was as straight as straight got, but Franz Dorn-Walsh was undeniably good looking.

  “I didn’t realize you had a meeting,” Franz said, pulling his feet off the desk and grabbing his suit jacket. “I’ll go—”

  “Please, stay,” I said. “I just ask that this not leave the room.”

  “Done,” Franz said, moving to one of the chairs by the bar. “Drink?”

  “Whiskey. The whole bottle,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Victor raised an eyebrow. “Sit, Vaughn. Before you fall down. Your knees are locked. You
know damn well we don’t bite.”

  I swallowed and sat in the massive leather armchair. “I know. I just…”

  Unfurling my arms, I finally released my death grip on the folder I was clutching. I placed it on the desk between Victor and myself and took a deep breath. It wasn’t helping me that—

  “Nathaniel, will you sit?” Franz said from the other side of the room. “This poor guy looks like he’s about to shit in the chair and you standing there isn’t helping.”

  “Oh, crap. Man, I’m sorry.” Nathaniel quickly pulled the other chair around to the side of the desk and sat casually.

  It did help. A little.

  “So, what’s going on?” Victor pulled the folder closer.

  “I found something in my audits that…I don’t like at all. I didn’t want to say anything when it started coming up about eight months ago, in case it was a blip, but the blip keeps happening. I…” I pushed the folder closer to Victor. “I think I know what’s going on, but I want to show you the blip, first.”

  He nodded and flipped the folder open. I had been hiding these reports from everyone in my department, and I felt a little exposed as the owner of the corporation looked over the data.

  “A spike…” Victor said, tracing the line. “Influx of cash starts on Thursday morning, peaks on Friday afternoon, and then it all sits over the weekend and starts trickling out on Monday and Tuesday.”