Page 29 of Daddy's Oath
Setting the beat-up red metal toolbox on the ground, Ace reached back and grabbed the ladder he’d hauled up with him. Once it was inside, he closed the door and got to work.
Inside the toolbox were pliers, hammers, screwdrivers, and other assorted tools that may or may not be needed when working on HVAC equipment. It didn’t matter. They were all just props, and he doubted anyone—if he even stumbled upon anyone—would look too hard.
In case someone was watching on camera, he whistled to himself as he moved the ladder beneath the large vent in the living room. Climbing up, he looked at the screws.
Flathead.
He went to the toolbox, got the corresponding screwdriver, then got back on the ladder. While he went about unscrewing the first corner with one hand, his other hand casually used the small bug detection device.
It didn’t beep.
So far, so good. But he was willing to bet they had cameras or microphones there somewhere.
If they didn’t, then perhaps this was just a case of a random break-in. The thought still made his blood boil. Anyone coming after his babygirl was going to have to answer to him.
She’s not your babygirl, Ace. Calm down.
“Damn. She needs to change her filters,” he said, once all four screws were off and the vent swung down, suspended on its hinges.
It wasn’t too dusty, but it had probably been over a month since the filter had been replaced. Ace did know enough to know you needed to keep up with that to get the best airflow.
He’d mention it to her.
But right now, he slipped his hand nonchalantly into his pocket, retrieved a microscopic camera, and positioned it.
One down, four to go.
He repeated the process four more times around the apartment, also keeping his eyes peeled for several things that were tellingly absent.
He was just finishing up, putting the few tools he’d gotten out away, when the door opened and someone yelled, “Freeze! United States Marshals!”
“Whoa there!” he said, standing up with his hands raised. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Two agents—a man and a woman—had guns out and aimed squarely at him.
“I don’t have a gun,” Ace stated.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m servicing the HVAC.”
“Who called you?”
“Building super. Chris.”
The Guard had done enough research to know the building manager’s name, in case something like this happened. Now, if the deputy marshals actually followed up with him to see if he’d called for HVAC, well… the cover would be blown.
“Stay still,” the female agent said. “He’s going to have a look in that toolbox.”
“Go ahead,” Ace said. He snorted, shook his head, and did his best to seem perturbed. “Gee whiz. It’s getting to where a hardworking guy can’t even do his job without the damn gov’ment always stepping in. We keep our permits and licenses up! There’s no need for this.”
He felt he was really giving a good performance. Maybe Harrison Trent would vouch for him to the studio and he could get an acting gig. Or maybe Stryker would just cast him in his next picture.
The thought nearly made him laugh, but he managed to keep it together and play his part.
“Sir, we are not interested in your permits. The United States Marshals office does not work in compliance. That’s between you and the city. We are here investigating another matter,” the deputy said, keeping her gun trained on Ace’s chest.
Hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches clanked loudly together as the other agent searched. “It’s just tools.”
