Page 62 of The Devil's Embrace

“Give it to me,” another voice, this sounding more frantic and impatient, growled a moment before he spoke to Cal. “This is Rhett Elliot, Detective. Currently, I have a blaster to the director's head. Are you willing to come see him now?”

His blood went cold. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Five,” Rhett said. “I know you’re in the building. Five minutes and Director Mercer won’t have to leave here with his brains splattered all over the carpet.”

There was a derisive snort and then a loud cracking sound that had Calix and the others in the room with him tensing.

“What was that?” he asked, but the line went dead.

“This is a trap,” Troya stated the obvious as Calix and he headed for the exit.

“Call the station and get backup,” he ordered. “We need to secure the area in case he slips past me.”

“There’s a hotel next door,” he divulged, already typing on his device to send the commands. “Titus’s office faces it. I’ll see if I can get a sniper up there. If there’s a good enough vantage—”

“Tell whoever you get if they can find a clear shot,” Calix stepped into the elevator, “take it.”

“Understood.” Troya followed him inside, but Cal stopped Mitri when he went to do the same.

“You stay here. I want answers about Bruce when I come back. I need everything you can possibly find,” Calix said.

Mitri wrung his hands but ended up nodding just as the doors shut on him.

“You thinking he might be in on it?” Troya asked as soon as the elevator began to rise. “He and Amory seem pretty close.”

“They went to the same college for a bit before she switched career paths,” Cal told him.

“Didn’t he just say being an officer has always been her dream?”

“Yeah, but apparently her dad didn’t approve. She went to college for a year before dropping out.”

Troya eyed him. “I didn’t realize you two had also gotten this close.”

“We haven’t.” He shrugged. “It’s my job to ask questions, you know that.”

“Pry, you mean,” Troya grunted. “That’s what you do, Cal. You pry. For a quiet guy, you’re pretty good at opening people up.”

He scowled, not sure why he’d felt the need to word it that way, but they came to their floor and the doors dinged. Both of them placed a hand on their weapons as they headed down the hall where a crowd was already beginning to gather.

“Clear these people,” Calix said.

“I’m going in with you.” Troya stuck close to his side. “We’re partners.”

“We’re I.P.F. agents,” he corrected. “Protecting the public comes first.”

They stopped in front of the closed office door and both unholstered and raised their weapons.

“Back up, people!” Troya waved at the crowd, putting himself between them and the door as Cal placed his hand on the control panel set in the side of the wall and opened it. “Shit, Cal, don’t!”

He stepped inside, gun aimed, and allowed the door to swish shut behind his back.

Rhett was standing on the other side of Titus’s desk with a blaster pressed against the director’s temple. The man was about a foot shorter than the director, and he didn’t seem nearly as put together, which was odd, considering their positions.

“Hello, Detective,” Titus greeted him in a breezy tone, as though he wasn’t currently at risk of dying at the hand of a madman. “I see you were rushed this morning.” His gaze lingered on Cal’s pajama shirt, a mint green color with a single yellow star stitched over his left hip.

“Shut up!” Rhett warned, shoving the tip of the gun more firmly against Titus’ forehead before turning to address Calix. “I didn’t do it, you have to help me, Detective.”

He quirked a brow. “Kind of hard to believe you’re innocent when you’ve got a weapon to the director's head like that.”

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