Centurion Corporation Training and Recovery was a five-acre property tucked into the northwest corner of the Cougar Mountain Regional Wildland Park just east of Seattle. Heavily wooded, the acreage didn’t offer any clear line of sight for potential onlookers, but hidden cameras were installed all over the property in addition to the more obvious perimeter fence and no-trespassing signage for normal passersby.
The men and women stationed at the training center and barracks were responsible for surveillance over the main perimeter and training grounds. The recovery cabins were set apart and to the edge of the property to give people on R & R space. Almost always having returned fresh from hot spots overseas, the Centurions staying there were operating on a high level of awareness, so they maintained their own second-layer surveillance of their section of the perimeter. Mostly for the structure of scheduled watches and for peace of mind.
It did a person a lot of good to fall into a familiar routine.
Lizzy would see any intruders long before they got anywhere near the guest house or main building. He’d have plenty of time to get to Maylin if there was trouble, and she’d be surrounded by the rest of his team too. None of them were heavy sleepers, if they slept at all.
He didn’t. Not much anyway.
The kitchen in the main rest and recovery house was dark, but indirect lighting came on as motion sensors detected his entrance. A quick search of the commercial-sized refrigerator scored him some leftover Beefaroni and stir-fried broccoli. Not a winning combination, but it’d do.
Damn. He should have made her eat something. Slight build like hers, she probably burned up calories just thinking too hard. But there had been no waking the woman, even as he’d carried her into the guest house and laid her on the bed. She’d probably have slept through him trying to force-feed her. As it was, he’d removed her shoes, spread a blanket over her and left a note next to a bottle of water for her, letting her know to come up to the main house when she woke. Hopefully not too creepy.
Gabe headed down a second hallway, past the kitchen and a couple of other rooms. He nudged the door to his own open with his foot and took a good look before entering. In the middle of his safe zone, where the chances of an intruder were slim to none, and he still couldn’t relax.
Nobody would blame him. His teammates didn’t ease down from the heightened state of awareness they all lived in either. It kept people alive overseas. He’d done three tours already, two on active military duty and one as a private military contractor. He planned to go out on a fourth as soon as his team had enough time to rest and recover. That’s what the Centurion base in Washington State was for: training new recruits and recovery for teams recently returned. It was a good setup.
Setting down his dubious meal, he opened his laptop and jabbed the power button. While it booted, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and pulled his tie out of his pants pocket. Belt, shoes and socks came off next. He sighed. Something close to heaven when the damned dress socks were peeled off. He had no idea why the things were so uncomfortable. They didn’t breathe.
He snorted. Tough Gabe Diaz, luxuriating over the chance to wiggle his toes. What. The. Fuck.
He sat down and shoveled a mouthful of Beefaroni before logging on to his laptop and bringing up the VPN. Once he was on Centurion’s private network, he quickly scanned his email for urgent messages. One from headquarters caught his eye. The subject read “Safeguard Project” but it wasn’t marked at high priority so Gabe flagged it to look at later and focused on the task at hand.
He shot out a couple of inquiries to see who might be active in the area. Mercenaries followed the jobs, and people in his line of business tended to bump into each other again and again. Somebody he knew probably had an idea of who was after Maylin or had gotten wind of the job involving her.
One net cast, he started the first of the information searches he had planned to catch other fish. Lizzy would verify Maylin was who she said she was and that her sister really was missing.
Not that he didn’t believe her, but Maylin was emotionally compromised. Too close to the situation to think clearly or evaluate circumstances objectively. Even if he wanted to believe her, he needed to confirm the veracity of her story via third-party sources. Meanwhile, he wanted to get an idea of what this missing person looked like.
An-mei Cheng was a fairly easy-to-find person, at least on the internet. First-generation Chinese American, born and raised in the Seattle area. Her father’s family was from northwestern China. Her mother had been from Beijing. She was a few years older than the little sister he’d pictured from the way Maylin spoke about her. Regardless, both sisters looked young in the way most people of Eastern ancestry managed, with smooth skin and ageless eyes. He was betting a lot of people mistook them for way younger than they really were. Maylin’s maturity came from her air of competency and the confidence she exuded. At least, when she didn’t have to deal with assholes like him.