by Jenna Ryan
“Off the top of my head, no. But something’ll come to me. It always does.”
Smiling, she hooked her arms around his neck. “So. Is this our last farewell?”
With a half smile playing on his lips, he searched her face with his eyes. “What do you think, Snowbird?” Lowering his mouth to hers, he took her far away from Owen Fixx and the horror of her life for the past several months.
Now, only James Mockerie remained.
Chapter Twenty-One
It didn’t end there. It couldn’t. Amber knew James Mockerie wouldn’t let the nightmare fade.
Owen Fixx was another matter. He was being held on too many charges to count. Although the evidence Amber had gathered was nowhere to be found, people were dead, and all fingers pointed directly at Fixx and his family.
Owen himself was under heavy guard in New Orleans. Prison would come at some point, but for the moment, strict surveillance in the county jail had to do.
Amber suspected Owen was more relieved than upset by the guards outside his cell. If he couldn’t leave, at least he’d have the comfort of knowing none of Mockerie’s people could get in. Not in theory, at any rate. They’d gotten into Luka’s hospital room long enough to kill him.
Upon further investigation, Gage had determined that the fasteners on all three of the bands Amber had used to secure her hair in a ponytail contained tracking devices. Amber still had no idea who’d done it, how, or when. It didn’t seem possible that Fixx could have been involved in that. And yet, if not him, then who?
Time crawled once they were placed in a New Orleans safe house. Amber hated to think what was happening outside. She only knew that being inside was making her crazy.
Finally, late Saturday afternoon, five days after the nightmare in the swamp, Gage appeared on the doorstep.
“Pack your bags and Amber’s,” he instructed Rachel. “You’ve got an hour. We’ll meet you at the airstrip. One of the agents will drive you.”
“We’re leaving New Orleans?” Rachel asked. Her disappointment was evident, but surprisingly, she didn’t complain about the decision. “Where are we going now?”
“I’ll let you know when we get there. You, too,” he said to Amber. “One hour, Rachel. Come with me, Snowbird.”
If Gareth and Owen hadn’t killed her, Amber figured curiosity wasn’t likely to send her to her grave, either. But it might eat her up if Gage didn’t tell her something, anything, soon.
“I’m not a fan of secrets, former Lieutenant Morgan.” She poked him in the back as he checked the grounds around the safe house. “I never was, and after six plus months of them, I can honestly say, secrets suck.”
“Yeah, they do.” He opened the passenger door of a super-cool Lincoln SUV and helped her in. “More than you know right now. We’re going to take a little ride.”
“Where?”
“I’ll explain later. We’re going to see a man about a thing.”
Well now he was being doubly secretive, which made her doubly curious.
Fortunately, the ride was short. He drove them to a small hotel in the vibrant French Quarter. Once inside, they took a service elevator to the third floor.
“Come on, Gage.” She shook her head as the doors slid open. “Tell me who we’re meeting here. Is it the famous McCabe?”
“No.” She noticed he checked his gun, but to her relief, he didn’t actually draw it. “We’re here to see a much more infamous man—one who currently works in the Witness Protection Program.”
Her eyes snapped up. “Sidney?”
“Not quite.” He held her gaze as the elevator door clanked open. “He’s a former FBI agent and, more currently, your WPP contact.”
“What?” Amber felt as though she’d been hit in the midsection with a sledge hammer. “Tom? My Tom? Why is he infamous?”
“You’ll see,” was all Gage said.
Tom was sitting by the window, overlooking the crowd on Bourbon Street. He didn’t turn as they entered through the unlocked door.
“Hey there, Snowbird,” he greeted her. “Gage.”
Slippery tendrils of fear slithered like snakes in Amber’s stomach. “Hello, Tom. Why are you in New Orleans?”
“Gage asked me to come. I wanted to come. It doesn’t matter. I’m a dead man anywhere I go. It’s only a matter of time. You fail, you die. I only hope my death is quick and painless.”
Gage’s gaze circled the room. “How much did Mockerie pay you to switch sides, old man?”
“I’m ashamed to say.” At last, he pivoted to face them. Amber saw the anguish in his expression. “I need you to understand I turned him down flat at first. Even when I finally caved in—I had bills and heavy debts to pay, Snowbird—I still didn’t tell him where you were. I lied. I told Fixx the devices I’d planted in your hairbands were malfunctioning. They weren’t, and in time, he figured that out. I’m truly sorry, Amber. I had to track you, but I didn’t have to tell him everything I knew. Of course, when his people couldn’t quite catch you, he started to threaten me. It’s what people like him and Mockerie do. Even though I was in the WPP, I still had access to FBI files. Illegal access, but it got the job done. I’d already gotten the information you’d collected back and given it to Fixx. I handed it right to him, but that wasn’t enough. It never is in their world.”
Amber sighed. “Mockerie wanted me back. So he could torture me?”
“So he could torture you and your sister. Mockerie likes to do things in twos, and you were the perfect pair.”
“Mockerie threatened you,” Amber assumed. “With your life or your family’s?” Disappointment rained down on her.
“Oh, both.” His hound dog eyes drooped even farther. “It was no less than I expected by then. Best I could do when it started was keep them a couple of steps behind you. Then he took my youngest boy, and I had no choice but to become more specific as to your whereabouts.”
“That’s when Luka caught up with us,” Gage told Amber.
“I’m sorry, I truly am.” Tom looked away. “I want you to have this.” He produced a thick packet in the form of a heavy manila envelope from the window seat. “You take it where it needs to go, or have Gage do it. It’s a copy of every scrap of information you collected on Fixx and his operation. You take it and leave, now, before someone shows up and stops you.”
Stunned, Amber accepted the envelope he shoved into her hands. “So you’re just going to sit here and wait for Mockerie’s people to come for you?”
Tom’s smile bordered on tragic. “Something like that. Now go, both of you, before…” He ended on a shrug of defeat.
With one last look around, Gage drew Amber from the room. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do.”
“But…” She gestured to the door he closed behind them. “Why doesn’t he take his family and run? Or does Mockerie still have his son?”
“Probably. It’s too late for Tom, and he knows it. We need to do as he said and get out of here.”
Although the hotel walls and doors provided a certain amount of soundproofing, Amber still heard the gun go off. A single, telling shot fired from inside Tom’s room.
Closing her eyes, she murmured a soft, “Oh, God.” Once they were in the elevator, she forced herself to ask, “What about his family?”
“McCabe will deal with them, if he hasn’t already. They’ll be as safe as they can be under the circumstances.”
Amber struggled to regulate her breathing. “And Owen?”
“Good as dead.” Lowering his mouth to hers, Gage gave her a bolstering kiss. “It’s up to you, me, and Rachel to make sure he doesn’t have a chance to do the same to us.”
“Us?” Uncertain, Amber regarded him. The barest trace of a smile appeared. “You’re coming with us?”
Tipping her chin up, Gage looked into her eyes. “You love someone, you face the same demons she does. And I don’t mean Rachel.”
In spite of everything, Amber’s smile blossomed. “I guess that puts me in my place. I love
you, too, Gage, and God knows I’m willing to face your demons, as well. Somehow I doubt they’ll be as monstrous as mine.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you a story or two once we’re on our private plane bound for the land of wherever. Trust me, my demons have never even heard of the Yellow Brick Road.”
Resting her forehead on his shoulder, Amber managed a quiet, “Neither has James Mockerie.”
Epilogue
Owen Fixx listened to the sound of a prisoner across the corridor snoring his way through a bad dream. Jail was the safest place to be, though experience told him nowhere would really be safe where James Mockerie was concerned.
Officers stood guard down the hall. He couldn’t see them from his cot, but he knew they were there.
He stared blankly at the untouched food on his plate and tried not to think. His son was dead. His nephew was dead. His brother was injured. And he himself had hurtled halfway down the rocky road to hell.
He didn’t hear the cell key turn so much as sense it. There was no squeak of hinges, only a subtle movement of shadow as the big door swung outward.
Standing, he glimpsed the figures of two officers. They were lying on the floor far down the corridor. His stomach pitched into his bowels when Mockerie strolled in.
“Silencers.” James nudged the brim of his hat upward with the tip of his gun. “One of the best inventions ever. Not very many guards watching over you, Owen. I guess McCabe doesn’t consider you worthy of his full attention.” His teeth appeared shark-like and sharp in the muted light. “So, how are you holding up? Have you made any arrangements for Gareth’s funeral? Or Luka’s? Or your own?”
Owen swallowed, remembered he had water and downed all of it. “I don’t care for funerals.”
“That’s a shame.” Still smirking coldly, Mockerie raised the gun. “It could have been a triple burial. Good-bye, Owen.”
He squeezed the trigger; Owen saw him do it. Squeezed it once, then a second time as was his habit.
And then he saw nothing at all.
…
It was done, McCabe reflected. In as much as he could protect any of the people involved, he’d crossed the last T. Owen Fixx was dead. Fixx, his son, and his nephew. He hadn’t brought Mockerie down, but that end would come. Someday, somehow, some way.
McCabe drove his truck to a vantage point overlooking the Las Vegas strip. From there, he watched the lights glitter and dance and shine like a beacon to the heavens. Picking up the cell phone beside him, he held it up to the night sky. Maybe the owner of the device would see him, maybe she wouldn’t. He didn’t know what he believed in that area. But he knew more would happen before Mockerie fell.
And he knew some of that more was secreted inside her phone.
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About the Author
Jenna began creating stories before she could read. Over the years, she has worked in several different industries, including modeling, interior design, and travel, however, writing has always been her passion. She earned a degree in Creative Writing from the University of Victoria in British Columbia and currently lives in a semi-rural setting fifteen minutes from that city. She loves reader feedback. You can visit Jenna Ryan any time at http://www.jennaryanauthor.com or leave a comment on her Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/jenna.ryan.5201.
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