The only contract that big is in Washington, DC. “What’s so important about the Blue Plains project?”
The guy shakes his head. “None of your beeswax.”
“Hey, I worked on the project. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.” A small glimmer of hope creeps into my heart when his eyes go wide, then narrow.
“What exactly, do you do for Patten Securities, Mrs. James?”
“Look me up online. My maiden name was Calliope Bradford-Clarke. I’m an expert in EMF technology.”
Lucky, where are you? Why isn’t the back door flying open with him busting heads?
He’s not here and you need to get a grip.
While Tony Soprano thumbs his cell phone, a wide grin spreads across his face. Then, he sits back on his heels looking pretty pleased with himself as he calls out to the driver. “Let’s take her home. We need to axe her some questions.”
Saved. At least for the time being.
Exhausted, my eyelids droop, then close. When I wake, I’m walked into an ancient, rundown, garden apartment.
Chapter 6
Lochlan
The detective’s apartment is pretty plush for someone on a government salary and I wonder if Colin O’Brien is legit. Then again, if his wife’s artificial intelligence is as good as Izzy says, she’s probably the one who brings in the bucks.
A very pretty woman opens the door, smiles graciously, and extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Jenna Jones. Please excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Toddler toys cover the living room floor and my throat grows tight. What about my baby and my wife? Are they alive? With every passing second, the odds of their survival decrease.
“My office is there.” The thirtyish redhead points down the hall.
Dressed in yoga pants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, she leads me into a converted bedroom. It’s as neat as the living room was messy. More like a home theater, two brown leather lounge chairs face a monitor covered wall.
An automatic camera buzzes, swivels in my direction, and a computer-generated image of a young man appears in the center screen.
Jenna beams. “Jason, meet Lochlan James.”
“Nice to meet you. How can I help you today?” The avatar crosses his arms over his chest in a creepy mime of my stance with my skepticism plastered across his face.
Jenna rushes to explain. “Jason is programmed to appear sympathetic. He will emulate your facial expressions and emotions.”
“Sorry, Siri and Alexa have never impressed me.”
Jason peers out into the room. “I am neither Siri nor Alexa. May I ask why you are here, Mr. James?”
“I need to find my wife. I think she was abducted by her ambulance driver after we pulled her from the rubble.”
“You are referring to Doctor Calliope James. Please view the center monitor.” The avatar disappears and images of my fucked-up day flash across the screen.
Some videos must’ve been recorded by cameras on nearby buildings, some from news helicopters, and some from police cruiser’s dash-cams.
One video slows where I punched the paramedic who refused to let me ride in the back of the ambulance with Callie.
Jason reappears in the left most display. “Why did you hit the man?”
“I wanted to escort my wife to the hospital.”
Jenna adds, “He was worried for her safety.”
“I understand.” When Jason blinks as if he doesn’t give a shit my fists clench and I grind my back molars.
“Well, do you know where the driver took her or not?”
“She is in New Jersey.” On the right-hand screen, an ambulance enters the Lincoln Tunnel. Then, it stops at a toll booth on the turnpike.
“This is a waste of time. I could’ve done better with a plastic laptop and Patten’s database.” I turn to go but Jenna puts her hand on my shoulder.
“Be patient. We’re just getting started.” She walks toward the avatar and asks, “Jason, who was driving the ambulance?”
A license pops up and Jason reads out the name. “Paul Grakos.”
She smiles encouragingly at me. “Good. Jason, find this man’s friends, family, and any associates in New Jersey. Then, give me the most likely places he would hide Calliope James.
A list of over a hundred people appears with low percentages beside them.
Jenna points. “Jason needs more data. Do you know why your wife was targeted?”
Jenna directs the question to me but the computer-generated man answers. “Patten Securities has signed a contract to protect the new Blue Plains Tunnel in Washington DC. With seventy-five percent accuracy, I conclude someone is using the tunnel for illegal activities. The EMF waves introduced by their new security system may interfere with their plans.”
My mouth drops open. No one except a select few in the FBI have access to that information. “My God, how does it know?”
“Am I wrong, Mr. James? That would be most unusual.” Jason’s way too human and too creepy for my liking but I answer because I need him more than ever.
“Hell no, you’re not wrong. We’re using EMF to keep the tunnel clear of rats, both the four-legged and two-legged kind.”
I turn to Doctor Jones. “What kind of clearance does your AI have?”
She shrugs. “Jason can access anything, anywhere.”
Jenna’s husband steps into the room, bouncing a baby on a hip and holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Detective Colin O’Brien. Find what you need?”
I nod. “Almost.”
“Dad?” Another youngster, maybe five or six, peeks into the room.
O’Brien rolls his eyes. “Out Sean, you should know better.”
“Yes sir, but Julie is getting into the peanut butter.”
“Excuse me. She’s allergic.” The harried man bolts away while his wife shakes her head slowly. “I do apologize.”
“No worries.” I turn back to the avatar, his brows now creased, as if deeply worried.
“Jason, if Callie is alive, where will they bring her?”
“Washington DC. I am sixty percent certain they will want to deactivate the control system and override the remote controls. To improve those odds, I must access Patten Securities.”
I call Gray to explain and thankfully, he is willing to share our information with one caveat. “Jason, nothing from our database can be shared with anyone outside of this investigation.”
“Understood. I am accessing the information now.”
The fact he doesn’t ask for a username and password freaks me out. However, once he comes back, the probability Callie’s on her way to Washington DC jumps to eighty-five percent and that’s good enough for me to call Gray back with the good news.
“I need your jet to DC.”
“It’s all yours. Good luck.
Normally, I’d call Suds and ask him to meet me on the tarmac. My gut twists as I remember him all banged up in the emergency room.
This is all my fault. The presents should’ve waited.
Chapter 7
Callie:
The inside of the small, dark apartment smells of mildew and mold. The furniture probably has been here since the sixties. My two kidnappers walk me over a dirty-green shag carpet and pass me off to a mousy, middle-aged woman. She rises out of a mustard chair and leads me to one of the bedrooms. There, she opens a drawer and hands me an oversized flannel shirt, huge sweat pants, and a towel.
“Clean yourself.” Frowning, she opens a bathroom door, turns on the light, and unveils pink toilet, pink sink, and pink tiles. The lime green shower curtain dotted with Florida seashells is the pièce de résistance.
When she leaves, I peel off my filthy clothes, step in the dirty tub, and shake. Dirt rains from my body and out of my hair. When done, I twist both cold and hot ceramic handles, pull the mildewed curtain across the length of the tub, and lift the shower knob.
Trying to keep water off my head wound, I wash gently with a harsh soap until the water runs clean. My mind wan
ders to all the times and positions me and Lucky made love in the shower. Will his hand ever again caress my breasts while he whispers in my ear? Will he tickle me and tell me funny jokes in his Aussie accent?
“Hurry on.” The woman knocks on the door.
I turn off the shower and barely have time to dress before she enters. Sadly, I glance down at my ruined sandals and slip them on as well. Those will be the least of my worries if I don’t soon break free.
“Come with me.” She sits down at a Formica table pushed against the kitchen wall. The time on the microwave reads six pm.
Less than twelve hours ago, I was laughing and opening presents with my friends. It seems like a lifetime. I pick at the slice of pepperoni pizza set in front of me but force it down. When finished, I’m led into a white van with tinted windows, the license plates so dirty they’re unreadable.
Again, my hands are tied behind my back. The two men exit the building and again, we take to the road, but this time with the woman sitting next to me.
“Stay quiet and you’ll be fine. Sleep or something.” She searches her purse, pulls out a pair of wide metallic-framed sunglasses, and places them on my nose.
I moan internally at the facial-recognition blockers. Even if there’s an Amber alert, no toll camera will be able to match me.
When the driver turns south on I-95, I figure we’re headed to DC. Hopefully, by then, I’ll have some kind of plan. In the meantime, perhaps I can learn my kidnapper’s agenda.
I direct my question to the woman in charge. “What do you want with me?”
Her brows raise. “To turn off the EMF in Blue Plains. Can you do it?”
Sweating profusely, I steady my voice and lie. “Yes, but the entrance is well guarded. The control panel even more so but that’s the only place I can override the remote controls.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the panel. After, it’s up to you whether you live or die.” She turns her head out the window, ending our conversation.
Despite my vow to stay awake, the unending thruway lulls me to sleep.
Again, I dream of Lucky. When he makes love, he has so many flavors it’s hard to pick the one I like best. Playful Aussie is my favorite, I think.
The last time we made love, he tickled me until I cried uncle. When he stopped, I waited until a critical moment and counter-attacked under his armpits. He rolled on top, pinned my arms overhead and spread my legs wide with his knees.
“Give up, luv?”
I giggled. “For now. Until you have your guard down.”
“Then, pretty sheila, I’ll have to hold you in place forev-ah.”
Deeper into the fantasy, he bends his elbows until his mouth covers mine and his tongue demands entrance. I open, he explores, then I suck hard.
Eyes merry, he nips my lower lip, his hands cup my naked breasts, and it gets serious real fast. My hands can’t get enough of his skin. I love the feel of his pecs, his back, and his cock which I wrap my fist around.
The black centers of his eyes grow wide. “I fookin’ love you so much.”
He rolls onto his back, taking me with him. On his stomach, I kiss down his chest until I reach the silky tip of his hard, swollen length.
I take as much as I can into my mouth, holding his base, enjoying pleasing him so much my sex swells in hot juices. When I try to bring him to his release, he gently slips an index finger into the side of my mouth.
“Let me do this for you, Loch.”
“No.” His voice grows cross.
“Please.”
Suddenly, his eyes glow red, like some horrible hell hound and I scream, sharp edges of plastic tearing at my wrists.
My eyes pop open, heart racing and the woman smirks. “Bad dream?”
I don’t give her the satisfaction of answering. Instead, I cross my legs and say, “I need to pee.”
“Hold it.”
“Ever been pregnant? Not going to happen. Believe me, it won’t smell pretty in here.”
“Fine.” She taps the driver on the shoulder. “Pull off at the next exit.”
I was hoping for one of the nicer thruway stops, complete with restaurants and a clean bathroom. No such luck. The driver pulls off in the middle of nowhere and picks the worst sort of gas station. The bathroom is unisex, outside, and you have to ask for a key.
“Free me?” I turn, lift my hands off my lower back, and she cuts the ties.
As the van door slides open, the tip of her knife cuts my chin. “Try anything and I split your pretty face. Understand?”
I nod but doing nothing will result in death for both me and my baby. When I get to the control panel and can’t turn off the EMF, she’s going to be pissed.
Inside the sordid bathroom, I work fast. Using the blood dripping down my neck, I write on the toilet lid.
REWARD! Call 212-PATTENS.
I’d write more but Ms. Mousy knocks and shouts. “Unlock the damn door, now.”
“Just a moment.” Praying, I pee and close the cover while she pounds harder.
Slowly, I wash my hands, then open the door. Mouth tight, brows scrunched, the red-faced woman pushes me aside. Nose to the wall, she studies the graffiti, no doubt wondering if I added mine.
“Seriously? I’m not stupid.” Besides, there’s so much, what would be the point?
When she glances at the closed lid, my heart thumps and I’m sure she’ll hear. However, I’ve been scared shitless since the gas exploded so I guess, to her, I seem normal.
But what if she has to go, too?
She takes one step toward the toilet and I pinch my nose. “Sorry. Diarrhea. It wouldn’t flush.”
Please don’t lift the lid. Please don’t lift the lid.
While she ponders, I take a deep breath. Finally, a small growl comes out of her, she shoves me out the door, and I’m so relieved, I stumble.
“Pick up your feet, for Christ’s sake.” She pokes me toward the van, and once inside, reties my wrists.
The rest of the way is spent with me praying madly. Ah, God, hi. Callie here. Remember me? I really could use some divine intervention. Make someone find my message. Keep me and my baby safe.
I close my eyes and in my dream, I’m back in the safe house where Lucky and I first made love.
“I never did this before.” I bite my lower lip.
“Sex?” He chuckles, the centers of his eyes almost black with want.
“No. Jeesh, I’m no virgin. I never, ah… you know… jumped into bed with someone I just met.”
“If you want to stop, we can. I’ll go out in the snow and roll around naked until me cock shrinks.” When he grins and winks, I giggle and slip my palm over his rough beard.
“Don’t do that. I want this. I want you.”
Our kisses grow heated and unlike last time, he thrusts inside me. “Cum for me luv.”
I wake, the dream fades, and my heart races when I see the signs for DC. We exit the thruway into a section of the city where houses are boarded up, streetlamps are broken, and dim blue lights flicker behind darkened windows.
The van stops in front of one of these and I’m tugged inside.
Having slept most the way, I’m wide awake. While the house quiets down and the lights go out, I plan.
Whether Lucky finds me or not, I will be ready.
Chapter 8
Lucky
When the fasten-seatbelt light goes off in Grayson’s jet, I pace between the lounge chairs and stretch. I’ve poured through mounds of data yet nothing adds up.
Suds stares into his laptop. Like Frankenstein, long rows of angry stitches lace his forehead and jaw. He’s also got a through and through bullet wound in his waist, wrapped in gauze. I was shocked when I got to the airport and he was there.
Still, it’s better I keep him with me and out of trouble. Slate told me he tried to resign and I feel bad. More than anyone, I know this isn’t my pal’s fault. The people who blew up the restaurant and kidnapped my wife are experts. No one saw this coming. We both
missed the signs. It’s going to take him, everyone at Patten, and the AI unit to find and arrest these motherfuckers.
Suds growls, “Sit the fuck down. You’re making dizzy.”
“I can’t. What if something happens to her? She’s my whole fookin’ world.”
“I know and I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head and looks so damn miserable, I wish I’d kept my trap shut.
The time on my cell phone reads 6:00 PM. Bloody hell. If I don’t get a sign of life soon, she’s probably gone.
Suds puts his laptop onto a seat near his leather lounge chair and rises with a deep wince. “Why couldn’t the Jason-application find Callie?”
My hand scrubs across my short beard, then I wander over to the galley to make coffee. “It uses facial-recognition software. They must be taking back roads or have some way to block it.”
He grabs a Patten logo mug and places it on the counter next to mine. “Does it know why these bastards want access to the tunnel?”
“Ask it.” I click on a thirty-two-inch monitor hanging on a side wall and Jason-the-Avatar appears.
He stops typing at his desk and blinks at us with brows raised. “Hello Sebastian.”
My mouth drops open as I turn to my old pal, Suds. “You always said your first name was Steven.”
He shrugs then glares at the screen. “If you tell anyone else, I’ll format your hard drives.”
“Is that a threat or are you being funny?” Jason cocks his head in a way-too-human-like manner.
“Neither. But call me Suds, okay?” My buddy shakes his head back and forth.
“Before I can do that, I need to check with Doctor Jones.”
“Do it.”
“She is laughing. Why is your name funny?”
“Forget it.”
“I’m sorry. I cannot forget anything.”
“Okay, this is fucking creepy.”
Suds grimaces at me while Jason blinks out at the screen, face neutral again. “If I have offended you, I apologize.”
“It’s fine. I’m just having a hard time interacting with you.” Suds lifts his mug and I pour while Jason speaks on.
Lucky II (Patten Bodyguards Book 6) Page 4
