Julie Miller - Nanny 911

The team of mercenaries watching alongside had done their job well. The boss lowered the binoculars and watched it burn, feeling the heat even at this distance.

The satisfaction was intense.

Payback had begun.

7 Days until Midnight, New Year’s Eve

“Someone is trying to destroy me.”

Quinn Gallagher touched the temple of his dark-framed glasses, an ingrained habit left over from his youth, when he’d been a four-eyed brainiac from a rural Missouri trailer park who’d learned how to defend himself and his mother from the respective bullies who’d preyed on them. He was no longer poor, no longer had his beloved mother—and up until the murder of his wife, Valeska, nearly three years earlier, he’d believed that he no longer feared anything.

Now three employees that he’d never met, but for whom he certainly felt responsible, were dead in a foreign country. And the office building that he’d closed for the holidays, with paid vacations off for all but the skeleton crew of security guards receiving overtime pay, was being searched from basement to rooftop by a team of black-uniformed cops, armed like the special-ops security details his company outfitted for wealthy individuals and companies across the country. The captain of KCPD’s SWAT Team 1, Michael Cutler, often served as a consultant to GSS when they were developing new weapons, protective gear and security technology.

He was also one of the few men in this world Quinn Gallagher trusted without question. He strode into the penthouse office suite with a disturbing yet unsurprising announcement. “Thus far, we’ve found no sign of forced entry into the building or your office. I’ve got my team checking the top floor here now. Of course, this place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Whoever got in had to have the same kind of talents you possess.” It was a wry compliment. An enemy with Quinn’s technical skills would be a formidable opponent, indeed. The SWAT captain turned toward the small, unwrapped Christmas present Quinn had left on his desk. “Don’t let me or my men interrupt your meeting.”

“Come and go as you need, Michael. Thanks.” Quinn adjusted the knot of his silk tie and paced the length of his office. The men and woman in suits on the matching sofas waited expectantly for some sign that he was ready for their problem-solving input. But none of them dared offer any personal condolence or sympathetic look. He paid them exceedingly well to be the best at the jobs they’d been hired to do, not to be his friends. That was a bonus he rarely bestowed on the people around him. Caring had cost him dearly—when he’d lost his mother, and three years ago when he’d lost his wife.

He didn’t need the distraction of emotional ties to interfere with the efficiency of this Christmas Eve meeting. And his people knew that. Keeping an eye on Michael Cutler and the furtive movements of the rest of his five-man team through the chrome-and-glass partition separating his office from the rest of the floor, Quinn turned his attention back to the executives who’d been able to report on such short notice.

Louis Nolan, his vice president of operations and Quinn’s eyes on every aspect of Gallagher Security Systems, was speaking. “I’ve already been on the phone with Nikolai Titov, our primary investor there. He wants answers.”

“He’ll know them as soon as I have them,” Quinn promised.

“The Kalahari plant hadn’t even begun production yet,” Louis continued. “We were still in the hiring process with the locals. I know we were building there to save money, but now we’re posting a loss on GSS’s bottom line and facing speculation from the press. Titov’s already putting the pressure on to let him reopen and expand the St. Feodor plant in Lukinburg. The last thing we need right now are nervous stockholders. I think we should entertain his offer before this unfortunate incident turns into a catastrophe.”

As Quinn suspected, his security chief, David Damiani, wasted no time pushing to his feet and confronting the older businessman. “Unfortunate? I lost three good men in that explosion. Try making that phone call to their families when Christmas is tomorrow.”

“I’m not denigrating the loss of life.” Louis was a cagey old salt who had no problem defending himself. “I’m pointing out that this could be an environmental or political attack on GSS’s expansion into South Africa. I know our base of operation here in Kansas City is thousands of miles away, but this could snowball into a real tragedy if we don’t spin some control over the situation in the next few days, if not the next few hours.”

David raked his hands through his hair, the movement exposing the Beretta he wore holstered beneath his left arm. “It’s already snowballing, Lou. How do you explain someone breaking into GSS headquarters when we’ve got the best damn techno-security on the planet? I can’t. As far as I can see, we’re already under attack.”

“Gentlemen,” Elise Brown intervened. Quinn knew his executive assistant could be counted on to keep everyone focused and moving forward. “None of us are thrilled to be taken away from our families and vacations at this time of year, and certainly none of us are pleased to hear about sabotage and the murder of GSS employees, but you’re missing the point. Quinn said someone was trying to destroy him, not GSS.” She turned her soft brown eyes up to him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” That was the painful distinction he’d made. Going after his business empire was one thing. But the gift-wrapped package he’d received on his desk this morning…

His gaze drifted over to the shiny red paper and white tissue decorated with candy canes, of all things—his daughter’s favorite holiday treat. Quinn seethed inside, momentarily experiencing that same helpless fury that had plagued him growing up, before he’d learned to use his brain as a weapon to outsmart the kids who’d picked on him and the men who’d thought his mother didn’t have anyone to protect her.

He forced his gaze away from where Michael Cutler was processing the unwanted gift with his gloved fingers. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows, over the stone-gray parking lot, highways and wintry fields around the modern building he’d erected near the Kansas City International Airport north of the city center. The isolation he felt made the glass windows, marble tiles and Oriental rugs seem especially cold and sterile today. He’d mistakenly thought he’d left the users and abusers of the world far behind him in that small-town trailer park. Instead, after the destruction of his South African plant two days ago, Quinn realized that he’d simply graduated to a more ruthless, more covert class of users who wanted to hurt what was his.

He wasn’t so naive to think he hadn’t made a few enemies over the years. At forty, he’d already earned and lost one fortune. But now that he’d established himself and his company as a world leader in high-tech security support and management, he was sitting on an even bigger fortune and had enough influence across several different industries that only a fool—or one very sick, very cruel bastard—would dare to defy him.

Judging by the message he’d received this morning, he was opting for the latter.

“What? Now? I’ll be right there.” Elise had pulled her cell phone from the coat she’d tossed over the sofa beside her. The distress in her tone was enough to divert Quinn’s attention. Her eyes darted to him, then just as quickly looked away. More trouble? “Excuse me.”

“Ma’am.” An oversize SWAT cop, carrying one of the electronics-scanning devices Quinn himself had invented, stepped aside to let Elise exit the door into the privacy of her office. The big man, who answered to the name Trip, settled in behind the desk to run a check on the phone and computer for any hint that someone had downloaded entry codes to the building and offices.