Jake (In the Company of Snipers Book 16)

by Irish Winters

  “I really am sorry,” she murmured as she brushed past his bruised ego on her way inside.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered as he shut the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Lacy? Jamaal?” Jake whispered into the burner phone he was now holding close to his lips so as not to be heard. Poindexter was back all right. So were Rocky Rabbit and Ferret Face. He’d forgotten their real names, like it mattered anyway.

  Neither Jamaal nor Lacy answered. All he got was static. Not good.

  He was holed up in Poindexter’s coat closet, standing on his toes just inside the door. If Poindexter had been smart enough to look to the right when he’d jerked it open, he’d have seen Jake sucking in his gut and trying to make himself invisible in the one-foot corner of the closet. But Poindexter hadn’t done anything more than to reach inside for a wooden hanger to hang his trench coat on. He’d shut the closet door not realizing he’d already found the intruder he was reaming the Rabbit and Ferret’s butts for losing. The intruder’s backpack, too.

  “You guys make me sick. You bust up one stupid black guy who can’t tell me shit cuz you hit him so hard. Where is he? He gonna live?”

  “In the basement with the rest of ’em,” Rocky Rabbit mumbled. “It’s all Leo’s fault. He’s the one that hit ’em.”

  “He’ll live,” Ferret Face, aka Leo, declared over Rocky Rabbit’s finger pointing accusation. “Gawd, I just gave him one little tap to his chin. The guy’s big, but he must be a lightweight.”

  Poindexter kept ranting. “I’ll tell you what. That piece of shit nurse is sitting out there watching us right this very minute. Mark my words. If one of you doesn’t catch up with her and slit her throat by six tonight, I’m putting a contract on the two of you. I’m calling Manny. He’ll clean up this mess.”

  “No, Boss,” the Ferret rasped. “We’ll find her.”

  “See that you do. Now get out and send Annette in.”

  The door opened and closed. Rocky Rabbit and Ferret Face must’ve left. By the sounds of it, Poindexter was shuffling papers. He let out a deep sigh. “Good. At least she didn’t get this. I’m safe.”

  Jake allowed himself to breathe. He’d been extra careful to not disturb the paperwork in the secret compartment of the desk any more than he’d needed to. He’d replaced the metal pipe beneath the vanity in the bathroom. The only thing that could ruin everything was the damned cordless screwdriver still clutched in his hand. There hadn’t been enough time to put it back under the desk.

  He swallowed hard past the dry patch in his throat. At least he’d gotten the last text off to Lacy. With Jamaal caught, she now had everything to go to the police and bring Poindexter down.

  Poindexter had grown quiet. Too quiet. Jake cocked his head to listen. There was no way to know where Poindexter was in his office or what he was doing, but Jake knew what he’d be doing if he were Poindexter. He’d be covering his tracks and double-checking everything that mattered, his gold stash, his secret compartment, hell, everything. He’d also be pounding the shit out of Jamaal for information. He’d be dissecting every last call and text on Jamaal’s cell phone if he’d still had it on him when he was taken down. And Poindexter would be looking for his damned screwdriver.

  Relax. Zack’s calm tutelage came back to him. It aint over ‘till it’s over.

  Well, it sure as hell feels like it’s over. Any minute now, Poindexter would open his closet door and the proverbial jig would be up. Jake wedged himself in nice and tight. Let Poindexter come. Jake had a weapon. The screwdriver wasn’t much, but it was something. If he got in the first hit....

  His gaze drifted through the dark to the backpack at his feet. He’d stand half a chance of winning if he had Lacy’s nine-millimeter Ruger in his hand instead of a Black and Decker with a pivoting handle grip. Slowly, he sank to his knees without making a sound. He’d left the zipper on the backpack halfway open in case he needed the gun in a hurry. Keeping his ears trained to the room outside the closet, he set the B&D down on the carpeted floor while he slid his other hand into the backpack. The second his fingers touched cold steel, he calmed.

  “Manny. Rafe,” Poindexter’s curt voice declared from the direction of his desk.

  Jake pulled the loaded pistol to his chest.

  “We got trouble. Yes. You know what to do. Did I say I couldn’t take delivery? Hell, no. Tomorrow night, ten p.m. as planned. Right.”

  Someone knocked at the door, but Jake couldn’t tell for sure if the door opened or not.

  “Of course. Same fee as the last time, but I need you to do her today. She’s been a pain in my ass for too damned long, and Clayton and Shunck ain’t getting it done fast enough.”

  Rage filled Jake’s heart. Poindexter had just put out a hit on Lacy.

  “Double the fee? You bet. It’d be worth every penny to be rid of the redheaded bitch.” A pause. “Yeah, I’ll need another dozen girls next month. Keep ’em coming.” He snickered. “Make that a dozen and a half. I know a guy who likes ’em young. The tighter the better.”

  Jake straightened in the closet, the time for hiding over. He just didn’t expect that Poindexter would pull the closet door opened at the exact same moment and stick the business end of a rifle in his chest. Damn. Where had that thing come from?

  Old battle-axe herself, Miss Annette Plunkett peered over Poindexter’s shoulder. “Told you he had to be in here somewhere. I would’ve noticed if he’d left.”

  Poindexter cocked the rifle. “Two down. One to go.”

  “You’ll never get Lacy,” Jake declared as Poindexter’s lady friend relieved him of Lacy’s pistol.

  Plunkett chambered a round in the Ruger and pointed it at his head. She closed one scary hazel eye. “Hmm. Nine mil. I might just need a little more target practice, Rafe honey.”

  Poindexter nodded toward his door. “I can arrange that. Move it, Weylin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Oh, my hell,” Lacy exclaimed at the final picture Jake had sent. Zack got the same attachments. They were awful. Instantly he was on his cell and forwarding it to some guy named Boss. He wanted everything on Lacy’s phone that Jake had sent earlier, so Lacy handed her phone over without hesitation.

  Now that she knew who he was, Zack wasn’t scary at all, more of a teddy bear than the rapist she’d mistaken him for. He was still wicked big, though. Damn. His thighs rippled beneath his pants. Her thighs weren’t nearly as large or as firm as even one of his upper arms.

  His head and face was bristled and scruffy, his brows dark but not bushy. Now that she had a chance to look at him while he and Boss growled back and forth at each other, he was growing on her. Not white but not black, his dark tanned skin belied a mixed heritage that made him light bronze and sexy as hell. Or it could’ve been the uniform. The black T-shirt stretched like it wanted off his massive chest, and those brown and green cammies housed some outstanding man-ware, as in bulging calves, thickly muscled thighs, and a nice taut ass. Yeah, she’d looked.

  He answered Boss with respect, but not servitude. Whoever this Boss guy was, she got the impression Zack trusted him as much as Jake trusted Zack. Interesting. Could that Boss man be the infamous Alex Stewart that Jake mentioned?

  Zack and Boss tossed a lot of military-speak back and forth, too. Words like deck, bulkhead, aft, and the ever-present ‘Aye-aye’ punctuated their conversation regularly, but never ‘sir’. Again, interesting.

  By the sound of it, Zack and Boss were discussing an immediate attack on Poindexter’s lair. Better yet, they were both Marines, her favorite kind of guys.

  But Lacy couldn’t hold still to save her life. Her heart pounded with the need to get to Jake. She’d texted him while Zack chatted with Boss, but to no avail. Why wasn’t he answering?

  When Zack ended the call, he turned his body to face hers in the front seat. “You reach him yet?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Without another word, Zack placed another call. “Mother? Need you to t
rack a burner phone for me. Understood, but I can send you the number, all of the calls that were made today, and the serial number. Will that help?” With a big sigh, he hung up. “No way to locate Jake or to know if his phone is still in that building. All she can do is triangulate, but that’s no help. We already know where he is.”

  “We just don’t know if he’s alive,” Lacy finished the thought, her eyes fixed to Poindexter’s building. “Your mother works for you?”

  Zack rolled his eyes. “Oh hell, no. My mom’s a sweetheart with a bit of an Irish brogue. That Mother” —he nodded toward the cell phone in his hand— “is something else entirely. She’s our lead techie. I’ll introduce you when this is done.”

  Lacy looked past him to the building. “It’s my fault. I should’ve been the one to go inside. Poindexter wants me, not Jake.”

  Zack’s big hand covered hers on the console where she’d rested it. “And the Jake I know would’ve never allowed you to go in there alone,” he said. “So tell me all you know.”

  She spilled every last thing she knew about the videos on Marlee’s thumb drive, the fire at Lamont’s Pool Hall, and the fact that Jake and Jamaal had been beaten up. Zack explained that yes, he had been staking out her place, but only because she’d taken Jamaal home with her, and where Jamaal went, Jake was sure to follow.

  “So why did you follow Jake?”

  Zack sighed. “He’s my friend. I keep track of him. Sometimes he needs a hot meal and a hand up. It’s the least I can do.”

  “So you followed him because you’re his friend?”

  He lifted one big shoulder. “Why not. It’s almost Christmas and that’s what friends do. You wouldn’t happen to have that thumb drive on you, would you?” The man had the most gorgeous sexy eyes. The dark fringe of thick lashes around them pulled her into trusting him with her life. After all, Jake trusted him, though probably not because Zack had sexy eyes.

  She pulled Marlee’s USB drive out of her jeans pocket and placed it in the palm of his hand. “I didn’t want to leave it in my apartment. You know, in case Rafe decided to torch it while I was gone.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. My boss put a couple men in Anacostia to watch your place,” he said as his hand closed around hers and the USB. “How was Jake the last time you saw him?”

  “Good,” she said, but she thought damned good. His last kiss still burned on her lips. That was all it took to push her over the edge. She sucked in her bottom lip, but tears spilled out of her eyes anyway. “You have to help him, Zack. You’re his friend, and he needs you, and—” Her heart dropped to the floor mat. There were no words big enough that could adequately describe the rugged man she’d fallen in love with.

  “Hey, there.” Zack’s warm hand on her shoulder snapped her out of it. Kind of. “I’m sorry if I’m out of line, but you wouldn’t happen to be pregnant, would you?”

  “Oh, no. Not me. No way.” That she knew for sure. “No way. We’ve known each other three years, but we’ve only just… I mean there’s no way… I mean…” Lacy snapped her rambling mouth shut. She hadn’t even thought of using protection when she and Jake had sex because, well, it had been a long time since she’d had sex, and yeah, she should have taken precautions, but everything happened so fast and—

  She gulped one of her extra noisy gulps. They’d only been together once. How could Zack tell if a woman was preggo this soon? Any fool knew it took once to make a baby, one steamy, incredible time with the man who’d touched her soul with the blink of his gray eyes. She’d been swept off her feet. Carried away. Yeah. All those things. But seriously? Zack could tell?

  He had the tenderest glint in his eye. “I’m no expert, but you have the same glow my wife had when she was expecting our last little girl. Just saying. I knew right away with Mei. My mother says it’s the Irish in me.”

  Could it be possible? “Maybe,” Lacy admitted, quietly confessing to this handsome man she’d barely met that she and Jake were more than friends, that she might be easy and loose and—

  A big old tear dropped out of her eye and splattered onto the back of Zack’s hand. Damn it. She was emotional, and now he knew it, too.

  His phone vibrated. “Lennox. Yes, Boss. Understood.” He turned to Lacy and moved his hand to her shoulder. “My boss is inside Poindexter’s with the FBI and SWAT.”

  “He’s inside? Already?” she asked, her gaze drawn back to the quiet looking building across the street. “But how? I don’t see anyone. There’s no smoke and I haven’t heard any shooting.” Who was this Boss guy anyway?

  “Because they went in the back way. We’ve been working this undercover sting for months, Lacy. You and Jake showed up in the middle of it. That’s why I’m here with you. I had to take you out of the picture, so Alex could go in after Poindexter. Once we have him, we’ll move onto Prentiss.”

  “And Jake?” she asked, fearing the worst.

  Zack’s dark eyes stabbed her. “Alex said he wasn’t there. Somehow Poindexter, Shunck, Clayton, and Plunkett got away.”

  “Jamaal?” she asked.

  Zack blew out a big sigh. “Not sure about him, but my boss found your Dr. Anderson and a couple other ladies.”

  She didn’t have to ask, Lacy could tell by the stark shadow on Zack’s face. They were all dead, and now Poindexter had Jake and Jamaal. The SUV was suddenly too small. Too crowded. She couldn’t breathe. The last thing she felt was Zack’s rumbling voice swelling around her in the dark. “It’s okay, Lacy. I’ve got you now.”

  But it wasn’t okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

  The whole world tipped and Lacy fell out of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  At least Lacy’s safe. Jake hoped.

  He stumbled, vaguely aware where he was being herded. Whoever the ass was behind him with the gun barrel in his back, kept pushing faster than Jake could walk. It wasn’t easy walking with a plastic bag over his head. It had to be Rocky Rabbit back there doing the prodding. He always was a cruel bastard.

  Ferret Face hadn’t spoken lately, not since he’d been dumb enough to show Poindexter what he’d found on Jamaal’s burner phone—enough evidence to put the real estate mogul away for the rest of his perverted, unnatural life. Poindexter freaked and swore, then slammed his fist into Ferret Face’s, umm, face. That was when the black plastic bag went over Jake’s head.

  He lost track of Ferret Face because breathing became a little more important than worrying about a lowlife. But Jesus, Plunkett was a cold-hearted bitch. She’d plastered the bag against his mouth and nose long enough to make him believe she was going to kill him right then and there in Poindexter’s office. With his hands tied behind his back, all he could do was twist and kick while she’d suffocated him. For fun. When she’d lifted the plastic, he’d been pumped full of adrenaline and spitting fear, but not so badly that he couldn’t hear her laughing.

  “My, my, but you’re a big boy when you’re aroused,” she’d purred as her stinking fingernails had raked over Jake’s crotch like she owned him.

  “Not yet!” Poindexter bellowed. “Shit, Annette, I need him alive.”

  Well, yeah, Jake felt needed all right, kind of like how fish guts on the end of a line were needed for baiting alligators or sharks. Please, God. Keep Lacy safe.

  “I thought you called Manny to take care of Wright,” Plunkett snarked.

  “You think I trust anyone to do their job anymore?” Poindexter bit out.

  Besides their predilection for cruelty, Poindexter and Plunkett spoke in a language Jake didn’t completely understand as he stumbled along. Words like chest harness and carabiners usually had more to do with mountain climbing than real estate ventures. He kept going. Their curious lingo wasn’t the only puzzle of the day.

  Where was Poindexter taking him, and how did he get from the halls of Poindexter’s building into what sounded like a tunnel in a cave? Wherever they were headed, it was underground, and he was walking downhill. The smell of damp stone wa
fted into his face along with a chilled draft, and it was okay. He’d lived in darker and danker places, but still. There were plenty of tunnels on the south side of the Potomac that runaway slaves had created before and during the Civil War. Was he in one of them now, or was this somewhere else?

  He needed to focus so his mind didn’t slip away to the tunnels in Afghanistan. Above all, he needed to keep his bearings as much as his wits, but the air in the tunnel turned colder and damper. Finally, Rocky Rabbit plunked a heavy hand on Jake’s left shoulder, which was good. His feet had hit concrete again, or at least smooth stone. Wherever he was, he could hear gulls screeching and he could sense wide-open space up ahead of him. His nostrils flared at what smelled like snow. He was outside? That couldn’t be good.

  “This is the end of the line for you,” Rocky Rabbit mumbled.

  Someone pulled the plastic bag off Jake’s head, and he was hit with a slap of cold air and an extreme case of vertigo. No damned wonder. The toes of his dress shoes were nearly over the edge of a cliff that dropped a good twenty feet to the Potomac, most of it straight down. Bushes lined the bank, but damn, he could’ve fallen over the edge. One more inch or another shove from Rocky Rabbit and—

  Jake took a full step backward and ran into the business end of Rocky Rabbit’s rifle.

  “You ain’t going nowhere,” the bully growled. “Stay where you are.”

  No shit, but what the hell? Leaning most of his weight backward, Jake peered over the edge. A slab of rusted metal sheeting lay vertical to the riverbank just below him. It had been there awhile, judging by the tendrils of Virginia Creeper vines grown over the rusty edges and the long orange rust stains that streaked the earth between it and the lapping Potomac. Shivers rolled over his shoulders and down his back. His fancy pinstripe jacket had been stripped from him when everything went south back in Poindexter’s office. A man in nothing but a cotton dress shirt and dress slacks wouldn’t last long in this weather.