When he rounded the corner, sure enough the guy was waiting for him. That rifle case was over his shoulder, no visible weapon. “Why are you following me?”
It was risky, confronting your pursuer. Ben respected him for it.
“No trouble,” Ben said, shifting the gun so the man didn’t see it. He had a reporter ID in his wallet. “Just wanna know who you’re with.” He used his best “calm” voice. An attempt to corral any desire this guy might have had to draw and shoot, or simply flee into oncoming traffic. He didn’t need another dead body in his wake, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.
The man’s brow twitched as he looked around, nonchalant. “Who I’m with?”
“Who hired you. Your name. All the pertinent information.” He glanced at his watch. The connection between Remy and the device was open. He’d be surprised if Remy wasn’t using voice recognition to get an identity on this guy right now.
There was no familial resemblance to Eric Tiller. “What does it matter? Cops are here, job’s over.” His accent was American, no regional trace. “Did you call them?”
Ben didn’t answer stupid questions. “You put a scope on my team. Finger on the trigger. That means you explain to me who you are.”
“Who are you?”
Ben shook his head. “Start talking, or I pull out my fed ID and march you to the cops myself.”
The guy blanched. “Your…what?”
“Tick. Tock.”
“Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I’m Peter. Peter Bayleigh. We were hired to get an item from the safety deposit box in that bank.”
“And you’re all, what? Ex-military?”
“Four of us served together, now we’re a team.”
“Private security?”
Peter shrugged.
“Why are you watching us?”
Tiller had to have tipped them off, but what was the bigger play here? There was no way they’d beat his team here.
Ben could almost feel a red dot on his chest right now, but he had to shake it off. Loose information was the priority. “Who has the flash drive, and where are they?”
Peter lifted his chin. “You aren’t stealing it from us. We got it fair and square, and that money’s ours.”
If they were being paid for the job, then it wasn’t the government who’d hired them. Ben shifted the angle of his Colt again, but the guy didn’t even notice. Peter was too busy reaching for whatever was in his back pocket he didn’t want Ben to know about it.
Ben said, “Where are the others on your team?” Like he didn’t know Peter Bayleigh was about to strike.
“As if I’m gonna tell you.”
The knife flicked open and flew through the air. Ben ducked to the side, and it sailed over his shoulder. The guy was going to have to be quicker than that.
Ben lifted the barrel and squeezed the trigger. It was a lazy move, and he was kind of disappointed in himself, but the round hit the man’s left shoulder. Peter yelped and dropped his gun case to clutch the front entry wound. The bullet buried in the siding behind him.
Ben was going to have to retrieve that before he left.
“What did you do that for?”
Ben closed in. “Where are your friends?”
A breath hissed between his teeth, blood now visible between his fingers. His face contorted. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
Chapter 5
Oklahoma City. Saturday, 19:33hrs CDT
The low purr of the Jaguar’s engine rumbled in his chest as Ben put the car in park outside the house where the deal was to take place. Nice neighborhood. Upscale, but not Hamptons-worthy. These people had money they worked long days for and property they paid a guy to mow.
A dull thud from the trunk of the car indicated its owner had awoken. Ben wasn’t going to kill the guy. When he was done with his errand he’d leave the flashy ride—with the guy still tied up in the back—in long-stay parking at the airport.
Peter Bayleigh wasn’t dead, either. Ben didn’t want that kind of attention. So instead, he’d conked the man on the head and dropped him off outside a homeless shelter. He couldn’t drop bodies every step of the way just so no one remembered his face. It didn’t matter if they did. Ben Mason didn’t exist. Not anymore.
After Peter told him everything he knew, Remy had found the buyer from a series of instant messages on the dark web. The team had put the flash drive up for sale, and Mr. Jaguar wanted it. Enough he was willing to pay serious money to get it.
Ben slipped the man’s phone into his pocket and climbed out. Checked his tie in the tinted window. Everything was where it should be, but that niggling feeling from earlier hadn’t dissipated. His team now had targets on their backs, and it tied back to Eric Tiller. The urge to walk in and shoot whoever was inside, just to eliminate the threat, coursed through him. A blaze in his chest that flickered to his fingers and toes. So hot it was a wonder his hair hadn’t caught fire.
He walked to the welcome mat at the front door, beside which was a concrete tile. Painted handprints for Chelsea, age 4, and Tim, age 9. His nephew’s hand would be the size of that boy’s.
Ben knocked on the door.
The man who opened it was dressed much like Ben. The thieves had switched out their burglary gear for meeting attire. “This way.”
Two others waited in the kitchen. They only managed to look like gangsters. This was Kansas, after all. Ben hadn’t had time for tailoring, he’d simply undressed the owner and donned the suit. It fit well enough to the unknowing eye.
He set the briefcase containing two hundred thousand dollars on the mahogany dining room table. Whoever owned this house, he hoped they were on vacation. This crowd definitely didn’t belong here. They’d occupied the space long enough that empty pizza boxes piled up on the counter. It looked like every mug in the house was in the sink. Still, the pervading smell was burned coffee.
He let his gaze move through each of them, like they were nothing to him. Ben allowed a tell-tale shakiness in his hand to betray the fact this man he pretended to be wasn’t used to making deals. “I want to see it.”
The man who’d answered the door crossed to his buddy and handed over the flash drive to him. Not Ben. Man number two sat at the breakfast bar with a Rockstar in his hand and four empty cans on the counter beside his Mac. Computer guy shifted the laptop so Ben could see the screen; a list of names, locations and aliases. This was far worse than he’d expected.
“I buy this, I want your guarantee it’s the only copy.” Ben let his voice ring out against white walls, chrome appliances, and the marble counter where Chelsea and Tim probably ate pancakes in their PJ’s on Saturday mornings. Were they dead? “I don’t want anyone else knowing what I know. Or moving on this intel before I get the chance.”
Two of them glanced at each other. One hung back by the wall oven. Yes, he’d said, “intel.” Let them think he was either military, or a former intelligence officer. The guy in the trunk was American, from the state department. He could conceivably be a disgruntled NSA analyst. It tracked with who Ben was supposed to be that he’d use that word.
At first he’d figured the man currently in the trunk of his Jaguar was simply trying to reobtain the flash drive, to turn it back over to the US government. Until Remy had done some digging.
His last duty in Paris, a CIA agent had been stationed with him. State department guy had married the CIA agent. They’d had a good thing for a while. Whirlwind romance. Then she’d taken files from his safe and turned them over to a crime lord in Ireland in exchange for a part in his operation. The CIA had no qualms about how they got results, and his career and personal life had suffered in the fallout. This sale wasn’t about doing what was right, or even getting ahead. It was about revenge against his ex-wife and the CIA.
Ben didn’t like it. None of the information Remy found answered the question of how the state department employee had even known about the flash drive. Or who’d hired these guys to steal it. Shame Eric Tiller was no l
onger available for questions.
Computer guy said, “Exclusive access costs more.”
“I pay more and I take your word for it. That it?” Ben lifted one brow. “How do I know you didn’t upload it already and start piecing it out country by country to the highest bidder, trying to make extra on the side.” He didn’t give them a chance to reply before he said, “This entire list is mine. I give you cash, and you give me not only the flash drive but proof it hasn’t been sold to anyone else.”
“Proof?” The guy who’d handed the flash drive to his computer friend addressed him now. “We got that?”
Computer guy worked his jaw back and forth. “It’s do-able.” He turned to Ben. “Give me an email, and I can send a report of all the flash drive’s activity.”
“I hear even a whisper that someone is sniffing around, making a sale for the contents, and I’ll be all over you guys. I don’t care who’s paying for this op. Far as I’m concerned, it’s you who’s responsible for this sale.”
The one by the sink shifted. The other two were distinctly unimpressed by Ben’s bravado. Had he lost his touch, or were they not threatened by a dirty state department employee looking to get back at his ex-wife? Did it matter?
Ben touched the side of his watch, depressing the button twice in short succession.
The window above the sink shattered and the man in front of the refrigerator jerked. His brain matter splatted the leftover slice of pepperoni and hit the Mac’s open lid. The computer guy reared back, stumbled off his stool and onto the floor, but managed to get his gun out.
Like his friend.
Ben stared at one Sig Sauer, then the other. “Exclusive access. I pay the asking fee and no more.”
“Fine,” the one still on the floor yelled. “Whatever, man. Just take it and go.” He glanced at what remained of his friend, yanked the flash drive from the computer port and tossed it over.
Ben used a handkerchief from the inside breast pocket to wipe off any prints he’d left on the briefcase.
Two steps into the hall, a phone rang behind him.
“Yeah.” The man paused. “Right.”
Ben reached the front door.
“Hey! Not so fast.” The man’s voice betrayed a slice of nervousness.
Ben turned back, one eyebrow raised.
“Where did you say you worked?”
“I didn’t.”
The second man stepped into the space behind his friend. Both took aim with their weapons. Again. What was it with mercenaries and their firearms? Ben would happily settle things in a more peaceful manner. Shame so many thugs in the world left little room for gentlemen’s arrangements.
He knew he was a throwback to an era that had probably never existed. What was wrong with trusting a man’s word? He’d rather every encounter didn’t end in a gun battle. There was no glory in bloodshed.
The computer guy said, “How about your internet handle?”
His watch buzzed. Text on the screen. Remy was more than happy to verify that credential, but instead Ben said, “We’re done here.” He reached for the door handle.
The guy motioned with his Sig. “Not so fast.”
“Root beer.”
The door from the garage was kicked in. The sound echoed through the house, followed by a burst of footsteps. Daire came into view at the top of the stairs. “Guns down.”
Both men raised their hands.
Mei stepped from the kitchen behind them. Her entrance had been through the tiny garage window to the interior door. “You heard the man.” Her voice rang with authority. “Put ‘em down.” She sounded like an old-time gunslinger.
Ben half-smiled. “Guns down. I take the flash drive—”
“And the money,” Mei said.
“And we part ways.”
The computer guy’s lips thinned. “You killed my friend.”
His other friend, still alive, was no happier.
Ben shrugged. “We all understand the rules of this game. When you win it’s big, but losses are hard to stomach. Today the outcome was this. Next time, who knows?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Could be totally different.”
“There will be a next time.”
Ben opened the door. “I look forward to it.” He took one step. Bang.
He glanced back as the computer guy cried out, clutched his hand. Daire had shot him before he could shoot Ben. The friend fingered his trigger. Determined to suicide for the honor of his fallen brothers?
Mei fired. The man dropped. On the way down he pulled off a shot of his own.
Fire raced along Ben’s hip, the bullet off trajectory but still close enough it grazed him. He grunted then fired at the man. Caught him square in the chest at the same time Daire’s bullet hit the man’s head from above.
“Really, you guys?” Mei planted one hand on her hip. “I think my bullet would’ve done it. You didn’t need to add your own.”
“Yes, we did.”
Ben didn’t disagree with Daire’s assessment. His hip stung. He needed to get out of there before either of them realized he’d been hit.
Mei surveyed the scene.
Ben said, “This is going to be more difficult to fix.”
Mei cocked her head to one side. “I was jogging past, officer. Saw the flash of the gunshots. Home invasion. They got bored, decided to shoot each other.”
“Red flag.”
“What red—”
“The officer checks your ID, realizes you don’t live local. Starts asking questions about what you’re doing here.”
Mei shrugged. “I can handle myself.”
Ben didn’t doubt that. Her mother was deadly, and she’d taught Mei most of those skills. What she hadn’t taught her to be, was cocky. It was going to get both of them in trouble.
Daire’s attention shifted away from them. Listening. “Shadrach hears cops.” He glanced at Ben. “You have the flash drive?”
Ben shot his friend a look.
“It was just a question.”
Mei trailed back into the kitchen. “I got the money,” she called out.
“I’m going to take our friend from the state department home.” Ben turned. Pain flared in his hip with the movement.
“You okay?” Mei said, back in the hall with the briefcase in her hand. “I thought he might’ve hit you.” She surveyed him. Making sure he wasn’t lying?
Ben shrugged. “Guess I was lucky.”
Each step shot fire into his hip. Not more than a graze. When he settled in the front seat of the Jag he took off the suit jacket. If he hadn’t had his left hand raised to hold the gun, the bullet would have torn the material of his suit jacket as well as his pants. He’d never have been able to hide it from Mei or Daire.
He used a handkerchief to wipe away what blood had pooled across the graze. Not bad at all. It was little more than a hot scratch of raw skin. The foreign particles that had travelled with the bullet burned in the wound with infection. A second or two later, it returned to normal temperature.
A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. Ben wiped it away with his shirt sleeve and watched the edges of the scratch knit themselves back together. The wound turned to dark red, raised skin. Then lightened.
Moments later it was gone completely. The only evidence he’d been injured was the rip in his pants. A few drops of blood soaked into the threads.
He started the car and pulled away.
**
Nine hours later he stepped off a Greyhound into the heat of the New Mexico sun, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. If it was this hot already, today was going to be a scorcher. Ben rubbed a hand down his face. Rolled his shoulders beneath the weight of the backpack.
No one gave him a second look. He might return it, and these people didn’t invite attention.
Ben headed east on foot toward Central Ave. Crossed under the freeway then checked into the motel under the ID Alex Boudreaux.
He slept for a solid six hours before he went out for a loaded omelet an
d coffee. Paid for a day pass to a local gym to run twelve miles in an air conditioned environment. A pair of college girls came in around mile four and stared at Alex until mile seven. Eventually they gave up and moved to the recumbent bikes, where they pedaled at one-mile-per-hour and stared at their phones.
Alex Boudreaux showered at the motel before he checked out and, under a different ID, took a flight to Chicago with a layover in Denver. He walked out to the taxi stand at O’Hare just after eleven in the evening.
His office was less than two blocks from the airport, but he gave the cab driver an address downtown. He got out and walked four miles south. There Ben checked into another hotel—a nice one this time—under the name Emmett Pierce.
Emmett had trouble sleeping.
CORRUPT is available now on Kindle, Nook, iTunes and Kobo!
Dear Reader-Friends,
Because if you’ve read all four Sanctuary books, and now this final installment, then let’s face it—we’re friends.
If you don’t want to hear from me, you just want to read the book, then swipe to the next page, because it starts there. This letter is also at the end of the book, if you want to wait to read it.
First I want to thank you all for the wonderful emails I’ve received. The series so far has been a rollercoaster of highs and lows, and all of your warm words of encouragement have brought us this far…
To the final book!!
I’m so excited for this story. It belongs to Dan and Gemma, but it’s about Sanctuary as a whole. The fate of every resident was part of this story’s journey and it was a wild ride to write. I sincerely hope and pray that you enjoy reading it.
I learned so much through this series, some of it about Amazon pre-order uploads and the truth of keeping a series Bible so all your character names/hair color/ages are straight and don’t keep changing inexplicably. So yeah, Terrence (from Sanctuary Lost) did become Andy in Sanctuary Breached, but you’ll have to just go with the flow as I rectify that in this book. And some other things.
Sanctuary Forever WITSEC Town Series Book 5 Page 36
