“And if you touch me again like that, I’ll have you arrested for assaulting a Federal law enforcement officer. Trump you, Nick Bocelli. Now leave us alone so we can be on our way. Let’s go, David.” She opened her door and slid into the driver’s seat.
David tossed his pack into the back seat and joined her. She stared in the rearview mirror.
Nick stalked to an unmarked patrol car. He’d parked in the row behind her.
He glared at her as he lifted his phone to his ear.
A cold feeling washed over her.
Another headache, one brought on by exhaustion and her close-encounter-of-the-ex-husband kind, began building. She needed caffeine—and fast. Pinching the bridge of her nose helped.
David glanced at her. “Friend of yours?”
“Try ex-husband.”
“The plot thickens.” With that, he clicked his seatbelt into place.
“So it does.” She sighed and put the car into Reverse. “So it does.”
Raleigh, North Carolina
Frisco Montero had to admire Jonathan Ward. In the four days he’d been in their hands, Jonathan hadn’t yielded a single clue, not even with a menage of starvation, sleep deprivation, and beatings known to make lesser men confess. But this particular beating? The most savage by far.
Jonathan lay on the floor, bound at the wrists and ankles by cable ties. Cal loomed over him, pool balls knotted into an athletic sock. He swung the makeshift club in a wide arc and slammed it into Jonathan’s bare chest.
Over his cry, Frisco could have sworn he heard a rib crack.
“I’ll…tell…you…nothing.” Jonathan panted to relieve what Frisco was sure was agonizing pain.
Cal cussed and repeated his move as Roy paced around their prisoner.
Frisco turned away as Jonathan groaned again. He had to contact his handler, had to tell her that Jonathan was now in grave danger.
“I can’t believe this!” Nicole stomped toward him.
He pretended to fiddle with his phone and tried to shut out Jonathan’s grunts of pain. “What?”
“He won’t say a word. Not a word! After everything we’ve done to him.”
Over the hammering of his heart, Frisco said, “You could kill him.”
“That would be useless.” She took a sip from the coffee she held and spewed it out. “Yuck! That’s it. I’m done with fast food coffee. Frisco.” She speared him with her gaze.
“What?”
“Go get us some coffee.”
He blinked in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“Real coffee. Something that’s not that swill we’ve been drinking. Like coffee from a coffee house.”
“Wait. You want me to leave here, take the van, risk exposure, all so you can get some fancy coffee?”
“No, I expect you to walk on foot, boost some transportation, and then find us some real coffee.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you man enough to do that, or should I have Cal do it?”
The woman was nuts. At least it gave him the out he needed for his call. “Cal’s not smart enough to avoid getting caught. All right then. But if I’m busted, this lands on you, not me. Got it?”
“Of course.” She smiled to show she’d gotten her way. “I know you’re the best at stealth.” Abruptly, she whirled. “Cal, that’s enough. String him up.”
Frisco watched as Cal clipped the ties around Jonathan’s ankles and wrists. Using a pair of handcuffs, he secured their prisoner’s hands in front of him before dragging him over to where they’d looped a rope with a hook through a pulley hanging from a rafter of their hideout. He slid the hook over the chain of the cuffs and hauled on it.
As if he were some sort of an apparition, Jonathan rose until his toes barely touched the concrete floor. He moaned, most likely from his rib injuries.
Frisco fled into the night. He hated the warehouse where they’d hidden. The neighborhood was dangerous, and he dared not let his hand stray too far his pistol in his jacket. His head swiveled as he kept watch for anyone who could jump him.
Industrial turned to rundown residential. He peered at the first house. No transportation obvious, and a television flickered in a front room as if someone watched the late news. At the second house, a dog barked. Frisco lengthened his steps. At this rate, he’d be walking all night—if he didn’t get mugged first. The third house had a car, but again, someone appeared to be home. Same thing at the fourth house.
Finally, he arrived at the driveway of a small bungalow. The lights were all out. No car in the driveway, most likely meaning that the occupants were away, hopefully out of town. A motorized scooter sat near the back of the carport with a helmet on the seat. He wasted no time in hot-wiring it. As the engine purred, he peered around him. No one seemed the wiser. He pulled on the helmet and beat feet to a better part of town.
Once the buildings changed from rundown houses to more of a university setting, he pulled over to the side of the road and removed his helmet. He wasted no time in dialing a number.
A female voice answered. “What is it?”
“Jonathan Ward is in trouble.” His slight accent drifted away as he spoke to her.
A sharp intake of breath rewarded him. “You told me he was kidnapped. Is there more?”
“They’re beating him. It’s only a matter of time before they kill him.”
“That cannot happen. You understand, yes?”
“It’s a bit out of my control. I—”
“I don’t care.” Her own accent flared as she continued, “I know your primary duty was to stay close to him, but now, you must get him out of there.”
“How?” Frisco closed his eyes. Her demand was crazy dangerous. “If I free him, I blow my cover, and we lose everything. We can’t have that, now can we?”
Silence reigned for a few interminable seconds. “I always hate it when you’re right. But you must, Frisco. He cannot die. He cannot!”
He winced. In the years they’d worked together, he’d never been able to tell her no. Why? ’Cause I’m a fool. That’s why. “Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do. But no guarantees.”
“Do what you must. It is critical.” She disconnected.
Frisco expelled a sigh. She was right. Jonathan had to live. Yet to let him live might mean he, Frisco, might have to die.
Raleigh, North Carolina
David watched Abigail out of the corner of his eye as they wound their way along the interstate and into downtown Raleigh. Once they neared Hillsborough Street, home of North Carolina State University, they crept past the Half-Moon Coffee House. The parking lot was so full that cars parked on the grass separating it from a dry cleaning business. “What’s going on that’s making it so crowded?”
Abigail smacked her forehead. “I forgot. It’s Mother’s Day weekend, and State and other colleges are probably having graduations.”
“We could go somewhere else.”
“No, we’re already here. Besides, they have some of the best coffee around.” She cranked the wheel to the right and turned onto a side street. After meandering down the road, she pulled to the side in front of a fire hydrant, which was the only open spot on the street.
“Stay here, and I’ll get it. What do you want?”
“A large Kona coffee.” She reached for her purse.
“My treat.”
“David—”
“It’s not like I’m destitute anymore. My treat. Call me if the cops show up to make you move.” He shut his door and strolled down the sidewalk in the silky spring air. He paused and inhaled the sweet smell from some rose bushes of a nearby house. Only the tiniest hints of the humidity that would overtake the area rode upon the airwaves. All in all, a perfect night. Suddenly, he yearned to have Abigail walking beside him.
The thought hit him with such force that he paused. Where had it come from? That and a feeling of peace? Returning to Raleigh hadn’t rattled him as he’d feared it would.
He reached the lights and noise of the coffee house on Hillsborough Street and s
tepped inside. People crammed into two lines. Something about it looked familiar. Was it the specials scrawled on the blackboard above the counter in colorful chalk? The NC State knickknacks everywhere? Or the hum and laughter of conversation? He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the rich coffee scents. It hit him. He’d been to this very shop not six months before Kyra had found him.
It was late winter of 2013, March, to be exact. Late winter meant cold, and he had worn every stitch of clothing he still owned. All of it smelled. His body stank as well, enough that the patrons in the shop that day gave him a wide berth. He clasped three dollars of the meager fifteen he’d collected that day. Who cared if he needed it for food? Coffee would warm him and help prepare him for the cold night ahead.
“May I help you?” The barista, a brunette with sweet blue eyes, smiled at him.
“A…a large peppermint hot tea.” His words came out as a rasp.
She filled his order. When he tried to hand over the bills, she shook her head. “Sir, it’s on me.”
“But—”
“It’s on me.” She offered a gentle smile. “Go buy yourself a hot meal.”
“Sir, may I help you?” Those words snapped David back to the present.
He blinked. A redhead with green eyes now stood across the counter from him. From the impatience showing behind her smile, she must have asked the same question more than once. “I’m, uh, sorry. One large Kona coffee, and one large hot tea. Earl Gray if you have it.”
Her fingers danced across a cash register. “Coming right up. Four dollars, eighty-five cents, please.”
He handed over a five and got his change, then stepped back and surveyed the rest of the interior.
Business thrived that night. In a corner, what appeared to be two or three families in town for graduation had pushed a few tables together. Laughter emanated from the group. At another table near the front, a guy with headphones clamped over his ears slouched over his laptop and pecked at the keys. A couple of young women huddled together and chatted near the counter where the baristas placed their delectable brews. They took their orders and wandered outside.
“Frisco!” the barista called out.
A man a good six inches shorter than David strolled to the counter.
Something about that dark hair, the five o’clock shadow, and the heavy eyebrows seemed familiar to him. On the flight from Salt Lake City to Midway in Chicago, Abigail had read him fully into everything she’d found, including the four perpetrators Jonathan had named as part of the gunrunning ring. One of them was Frisco Montero, former Spanish army mechanic. She’d shown him their pictures, which he’d committed to memory.
Frisco took the order of four coffees and headed toward the door. He stepped into the evening air.
David shoved his way through the line. As he reached the exit, a gaggle of four college coeds blocked his path. Heedless to his need to grab the man in question, they slowed when they saw the line.
“Excuse me,” David muttered. He nearly bowled them over in his desperation to stop Frisco.
He rushed outside.
Frisco bent over a motorized scooter and placed the coffees in a crate. He moved something around to secure them, then straightened.
Their gazes locked.
“Stop!” David shouted. He tried to rush toward him, but another group of families blocked his path.
Frisco cranked the scooter’s motor.
David bulled through the group and earned a few dirty looks in the process.
Frisco spared him only a glance before dropping the clear visor on his helmet and pulling onto the street. He merged into traffic.
David could do nothing but commit the license plate to memory. If he’d acted quicker, they might have had a direct line to the kidnappers. Now, he collected their drinks and returned to the car to report his failure to Abigail.
She jumped as he slid into the car with their brews. “What took you so long?”
“It’s as packed in there as it is out here. Are you okay?” he asked when he noticed the way she yawned.
“Yeah. I fell asleep while waiting for you. Thanks for the coffee.” She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.
“I saw Frisco.”
She jammed on the brakes. “What?”
“He was there.”
“In the coffee house?”
“Right. I tried to stop him, but he recognized me.”
“How could he?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was the fact that I keyed in on him. He made it outside, and I got stuck inside by a bunch of coeds.” He slammed his hand into the dash. “Dang it! I was so close.”
“Did you get any information?”
“He’s on a moped, and I got the plate number.” He rattled it off. “You know this means the kidnappers are here in Raleigh.”
“I’m calling Nick. He wanted me to cooperate with him, so I am.”
As they wound their way through Hillsborough Street’s traffic, she made her report to Nick. He clicked through what he knew. Kidnappers in town meant that Jonathan was nearby, and after four days of being in their clutches, they’d probably beaten the location of the safe house out of him. “We need to get down to the beach ASAP.”
“Ya think?” Sarcasm dripped from Abigail’s words as she accelerated and slipped around some slowly plodding cars. She sped onto the Beltline that looped around Raleigh toward I-40 and the beach. “The scary thing? Something tells me that Jonathan’s got a lot less time left than we think.”
David tightened his seatbelt. “Then let’s get down there and get that drive.”
25
Raleigh, North Carolina
Four days of hiding. Four days of living like criminals on the run. Four days of interrogating Ward with beatings, starvation, and other methods. And what did they have to show for it? Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Nicole paced the interior of the dilapidated warehouse near downtown that they’d claimed as their hideout.
Where was Frisco? He’d agreed to her demand for coffee. Not just coffee but something better than the horrible, awful stuff from the nearest all night fast food joint.
She returned to the pool of light emanating from the construction lamps they’d set up. Thanks to some thoughtful soul who’d left the power on, at least they had light.
“Where is he?” she muttered.
“How should I know?” Irritation pushed at Cal’s voice. He sat on one of their coolers, running his K-bar knife across a whetstone just like he’d done since he’d finished beating the snot out of Ward with his pool ball club.
Roy lounged on a camp chair and played with his phone.
Nicole turned her attention to her most convenient target—Ward. He still hung suspended from a hook between his cuffed wrists so that the toes of his bare feet hardly touched the crumbling concrete. His head drooped forward. She stopped and examined his face. A good layer of blond-going-to-gray stubble coated his jaw, as did dried blood from a cut they’d opened up on his left cheek during another beating. Scabbing from numerous cigarette burns covered his chest. Her gaze raked the tattoo on his right forearm. Sola gratia. Her lip curled. By grace alone. Really?
Roy’s phone chimed. When he glanced at it, his feet hit the ground. “Darius.”
Nicole kept her attention on Ward. “Tell him we need more info than the crap he’s been handing over, or no ten grand.”
Roy grumbled as he stepped away.
Ward’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing a gaze vacant from dehydration, starvation, and probably a concussion.
“You want to tell me something, Ward? Like where you put that drive?”
He licked his lips as if priming them for a retort.
She slapped him with her left hand. The ruby commitment ring Roy had given her a couple of years before opened up a cut on his right cheek. Blood ran down his face in a scarlet line. He moaned, but he didn’t say a word.
Behind her, Frisco stepped through with a carrier containing four cup
s.
“It’s about time,” she almost shouted as he joined the group.
“So shoot me,” he muttered in his accent-tinged English.
“Does it really take an hour and a half to get coffee?”
“It does when I have to find, to quote you, ‘Something that’s not that swill we’ve been drinking. Like coffee from a real coffee house.’ I had to walk to find some transportation to boost. Then I had to find a good place for coffee. Then wait in line for almost half an hour. Then I had to return my transportation.” He dumped the carrier onto another cooler. “So where do the words ‘thank you’ come into play? Or do you lack those in your vocabulary?”
“Thanks,” she muttered. She took her brew and walked away as her phone began chiming.
A wolf avatar popped onto the screen.
She shivered. If she didn’t answer the call, he’d keep calling. She brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Nicole, Nicole, Nicole.” El Lobo’s deep baritone chilled her. “I understand things have gone awry. Am I correct in this?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“Oh, I know you do. You see, I was in North Carolina for business when I happened to hear a news report about Jonathan Ward’s kidnapping. And his sister has gone off the grid when she should have been on vacation seeing him. It didn’t take me long at all to piece things together.”
She whipped around and stared at the circle of light. Ward still dangled, his head once more drooping forward. “We had to do it. He knew too much about—”
“You are to let him go.” El Lobo’s voice hardened.
“How can we? He has…” Nicole crashed to a stop. She’d almost blurted out information about how Ward had stolen the drive.
An ominous pause filled the line. Then came a slight whisper of breath as he inhaled, most likely on one of the Cuban cigars he brought back from his extended family’s hometown of Chihuahua. “He has what, Nicole? A jump drive? One with a file on it that I explicitly asked you to deliver to Shamal Khan?”
Nausea filled her. She crouched and hung her head. “I’m not sure—”
The Athena File Page 21
