Page 100 of Controlled

“Your father taught you that?”

“Hell, no. A teacher did.” I took the stairs two at a time, wondering whether or not the culprit believed Bella was still alive. It all depended on whether someone had been told to wait and see the outcome, although the soldiers who’d set the bomb in the two boats had only been covering all the bases. They’d placed bombs under every vehicle as well, the cheap and easy method.

While I regularly made sweeps of the house and grounds, I’d rarely bothered with the boats, or the vehicles locked inside a garage that could be considered Fort Knox.

It would seem I’d been lax in my methods of security.

No more.

When I was standing just outside Gregor’s door, I studied the hallway and the door jamb as well as the lock. It would appear nothing had been tampered with. Perhaps Gregor was merely enjoying a few days off and nothing more.

I grinned at the thought while taking the time to pick the lock myself. When I carefully opened the door, I was greeted by silence. The warehouse space was surprisingly well adorned, the furnishings and artwork both beautiful and expensive. As my men piled inside, I immediately headed for the kitchen, which was off to the side.

I noticed a still open bottle of bourbon and a single glass, which was telling. Gregor had enjoyed the company of a recent guest. Where was glass two? However, my gut told me while the conversation had started off friendly, something unexpected had occurred.

I pulled out my weapon, holding it in both hands as I led the men through the apartment. I wasn’t worried about being ambushed unless Gregor was hiding in a closet. I almost snickered at the thought. From what I’d read about the man, he was gruff around the edges.

There was no one in the bedroom and the bed had either not been slept in or the man was meticulous in his cleanliness. The bathroom and practice rooms were also empty, which left one room at the end of the hall.

As I headed for it, Kane tried to prevent me from going in first. I had a bad feeling I already knew the outcome. I gave him a quizzical look and he grinned. That was seconds before I took my time pushing open the partially closed door.

The room was set up as an office, complete with the typical storage drawers and printers. The desk had been placed in front of an oversized window that allowed in the beautiful early morning sunrise. The chair was similar to mine, leather with a tall back. And I had a feeling Gregor was sitting in the seat, as if watching the sun continue to rise high in the sky.

My four soldiers moved in formation on either side as I walked closer. I often hated it when my instincts were spot on. When I sighed, Kane finally moved closer.

“What is it?” he asked.

I spun the chair around, allowing him to see Gregor’s vacant eyes. He’d been killed with a single bullet hole between the eyes. What a pity I hadn’t been able to work him over for an hour or so.

“Jesus. Christ. What the fuck is going on?”

I backed away by a few inches, Kane giving the dead man a quick examination.

“Cleaning up a possible mess,” I said as I eyed the computer. Gregor had a nearly full drink in front of him, the ray of sun and light dust on the surface of his desk highlighting a ring where another glass had been, the visitor sitting in the chair opposite Gregor’s for a friendly little conversation.

Until it had turned into an execution.

“I’m no forensics expert but he might have been dead for two days.”

I glanced at Kane before pressing my finger down on the keyboard to the man’s computer. “About the time of Armand’s death.”

“Are you thinking both were killed by some unknown assassin or that Armand offed this dude before getting killed himself?”

“I’m not sure what I’m thinking.” When I noticed the files had been locked down, I wondered if Gregor’s fingerprint would work. I turned him around, the macabre act nothing I hadn’t done before.

I’d been right, the files he’d been working on pulling up. I navigated to the man’s emails, taking a few minutes before I found what I was looking for.

Emails between himself and Armand over the course of a few months. But there was something else. An email to an address that intrigued me enough to open it.

“Well, well. It would seem the South American dancer betrayed Armand, a man whose employ he’d been in for years.”

Whoever it was with had a tremendous hatred of Armand. Fascinating.

Kane glanced over my shoulder. “Armand was still controlling the drug trade from South America to his sources throughout the United States. All through the dummy corporation owned by Gregor Santiago’s father. Why betray the man?”

Now I had to laugh out loud. “Why else, my friend? Greed? It’s a dog-eat-dog world between crime syndicates. It could also be something very personal that we’ll never know about.”

“Once the philosopher, always the philosopher,” Kane huffed. “That doesn’t answer what we need to know.”

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