Faithless by Steven Ramirez

Faithless by Steven Ramirez

Author:Steven Ramirez [Ramirez, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781949108118
Published: 2021-05-15T23:00:00+00:00


Chapter Thirty-Three

It took us forty-five minutes to reach the sleepy suburb of Simi Valley. We exited on Tapo Canyon Road and made our way to Wisdom Court. Instead of turning, I parked on an adjacent street. We walked in, wearing our black suits.

Harry Packard’s house stood at the end of the cul-de-sac. The white two-story structure was enormous, picturesquely set against the foothills. A black Volvo XC90 was parked nearby on the street.

The plan was for Raul to enter through the back and peacefully detain any family members while I dealt with Packard. When I gave my partner the signal, he jogged around the side of the house.

I stood in the driveway, facing the front door. Inside, a dog barked. It took less than a minute for the security chief to show up at the front door. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, he wasn’t surprised to see me. I expected him to walk outside. Instead, he left the door open and returned to the house. My Glock in hand, I followed him in.

My partner was in the foyer, his hands behind his head. A woman in a ponytail and yoga pants held a gun on him. I recognized her from the security chief’s phone. Also armed, Packard stepped forward and demanded my weapon. He waved us toward the kitchen.

“I should’ve mentioned,” Packard said. “My daughter’s a cop.”

We took seats and placed our hands flat on the kitchen table while our captors kept their guns trained on us. I wasn’t worried about getting shot. But there was no way the Colombian was dying in Simi effing Valley—not on my watch.

A wire fox terrier appeared at the door. When he saw me, he pranced over and gave me a friendly bark.

“What’s his name?” I said, scratching the dog behind his ear.

Packard side-eyed his daughter. “Max.”

“Hey, Maxie.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t come over to play with my dog,” Packard said. “What are you doing here?”

“I need answers. Where can we talk?”

He lowered his weapon. His daughter stared at him, her mouth falling open.

“It’s okay, Mags. This is…”

“Jane,” I said. “And that’s Raul.”

Reluctantly, the woman extended her hand. “I’m Maggie.”

“So, you’re a cop?”

“LAPD,” she said.

After an awkward silence, I followed Packard to a door off the kitchen. Inside was a spacious home office with a view of the hills. Framed pictures of jazz musicians performing at various clubs and concert venues filled the walls.

The security chief took a seat on the black leather sofa. I stood at ease, facing him. Hanging behind him on the wall was an award for outstanding service. It was signed by Eamon Trower, Chief Security Officer at Baseborn Identity Research and recently throatless.

“Why did you let me go the other night?” I said.

“We knew how to find you.”

“Yeah, about that.”

“You removed the microchip?” he said.

“You never answered my question. Why did you release me?”

“It wasn’t safe.”

“Because someone on your team is trying to kill me?” I said. “Well, are they?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.” I pulled up a chair.

Packard told me everything he knew about the Alpha program.



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