by J. M. Madden
The rest of the world could go fuck off.
He heard buzzing nearby as he was scanning for Tate’s poop plot he’d want to clean up later in the day. He thought it was an overgrown mosquito at first because his cell phone never rang. Never gave him updates. He’d punched a guy’s lights out one day in a bar when he explained he only kept it in case his dead fiancé called him from heaven, and the guy laughed at him.
Brady bent over and stuck two hundred dollars into the guy’s shirt pocket as the stranger splayed out on the barroom floor, unconscious.
“That’s to take care of his teeth,” he said as he pointed to the bloody puddle containing a couple of pieces of white ivory floating like sailboats on the San Diego Bay. He guessed later the bartender warned the poor victim not to seek further compensation because Brady would more than likely kill him next time and wouldn’t care.
It buzzed again, and yes; it was a call. But it wasn’t from Heaven. It was a woman’s voice, but it wasn’t Maggie’s.
“Chief Rogers?” she said, sounding too familiar for her own health.
“Don’t fuck with me. The answer is no. I don’t want it.”
“Want what?” she asked.
“Whatever it is you’re peddling.”
“Oh, I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to say, Chief.”
“Do I know you?”
“Hell no.”
She swore like she wasn’t used to doing it. Brady wasn’t impressed. He hit the disconnect and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
But the phone rang again.
“I said no the first time. There isn’t anything you can say that will make me—”
“We found Esquivel Rohas.”
Brady thought he was hallucinating again. He wasn’t having a good time this time, either.
“I’d like to see a picture of his body please, riddled with holes, perhaps an eye or two carved out of his skull, Miss, what’s your name?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that he’s alive and living in California. Less than a day’s drive from you.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“You have a black Doberman named Tate who—”
“Shut up and quick fucking with me.”
“I’m giving you a second chance to complete a mission, well, perhaps not the mission the Navy sent you on before, but the mission in your mind, Chief Rogers.”
The way she called him Chief made his skin go prickly. It was like the skin of his old dead Navy SEAL body he had to wear as camouflage to defy detection.
“Go on,” he said.
“Good. I’m glad I have your attention.”
“Lady, don’t assume anything about me or I might just find out the name of your dog and come kill him.”
“Teddy.”
“What?”
“My dog’s name is Teddy. But I doubt you’ll find me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Only one you’d be stupid to follow, and, Chief, you’re not a stupid man. In fact, you’re a very smart man who was wronged. I’m about to make that right. And I’m about to pay you a bounty for delivery of this cretin to us for a—”
“Who’s us?”
“Don’t you want to know how much I’m offering?”
“Are you kidding? I’d do it for free. Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? No, the important thing is who you represent. Are you government or private, and if you’re private, are you part of a criminal organization or rival gang?”
“I’m the one who is offering you a million dollars for his return. And, I can guarantee you’ll never serve time for the “crime”, if you want to call it that. There are some out there who don’t feel kidnapping someone who has caused so much tragedy and pain to so many people a crime. I represent a group of individuals you will never meet, never know, but who will pay you to do it.”
“Why me?”
“Because you have a good reason to do it. He was the one responsible for Maggie’s kidnapping and ultimate murder. You have what we call passion for the job, on top of your skill level, your focus, your reputation and because you have a score to settle. I’m betting you like to settle scores cleanly. This is the way you can do that. We’ll be allies for a short period of time, and then we’ll never hear from each other again.”
“I won’t do it unless I know who the “we” is.”
“Then, I’m sorry. But the job will be given to someone else.” The silence felt like a movie theater in pitch black with no one else in the room. Just Brady.
The old Brady would have hung up. She probably knew that. Maybe she half expected it. She was smart enough not to make a sly comment about it.
“What’s my guarantee I’m working for the good guys?”
“There is only my word. My bond. But you’ll have the satisfaction of finding him and settling the score with your past.”
“I don’t care about myself.”
“That’s the lie you tell yourself Chief Rogers. But there is one catch, if you accept the job.”
“Here it comes.”
“Yes. Here it comes. My only condition. You notice I said kidnap. He can be bloodied, beat up a little. He can’t have missing arms, legs or eyes, even ears. You can perhaps take a trophy tat or two, but that’s all. He has to be delivered alive.”
Brady wasn’t sure that feat was even possible.
To order Sharon’s Shadow SEALs book, the next in line of this fantastic series, you can place your preorder right here:
Shadow Of The Heart
Launches 10-12-21
