by Tiffany Snow
“What? Why?”
“I cracked that phone you lifted,” Kade replied. “It belongs to Ryan Sheffield. From the photos I found, he's been sleeping with Adriana Waters.”
“They’re having an affair?” I said, incredulous.
“It would seem so,” Kade replied.
I was floored. Adriana was having an affair with Ryan? I had thought she hated everything about the military. Why would she get involved with another Navy man? Then another thought hit me. “That must have been him that I heard in the hotel room.” Talking about “taking care” of me.
“Right, which is why you have to leave. Now. I found an account in Grand Cayman that belongs to Ryan. It’s recently received over five million dollars in deposits. In case you’re not aware, they don’t pay enlisted men that kind of money.”
My heart sank and I blew out a sigh. I didn’t know how I could still be surprised at what wrongdoings people committed. Naïveté, I supposed, wanting to believe the best rather than the worst. Maybe I should be more like Kade.
“But why would he kill Ron and Stacey, Kade?” I asked. “Or come after me? He's JAG, not a SEAL. They would've laughed in his face if he'd been the one threatening them.”
“Because before he was JAG, he was CIA.”
“What?” I was aghast. “But...that's not possible,” I stammered.
“I’m on my way,” Kade said. “Kyle's neck-deep in this shit. Get out of there. Tell him anything.”
“Okay. I’m downtown, at-” I was cut off when my phone was suddenly snatched out of my hand. Startled, I spun around to see Ryan standing right behind me. He raised the phone to his ear.
“I’m sorry but Kathleen can’t come to the phone right now,” he said. “She’ll have to call you back later.”
Kade must have said something then because Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Tell Kirk that if he wants to see her alive again, he should make sure he loses this case.” Ryan hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket.
“Shall we continue our dinner?” he asked, taking my arm in a tight grip and ushering me back to the table.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “I heard you on the stand. You thought Kyle did the right thing. You said so yourself.”
“Who do you think leaked the story to the press?” he asked. “Once that shit hit the fan, it didn’t matter what anyone said. Kyle was going to be crucified. And he would have been, too, if Kirk hadn’t defended him. Too bad for you he's too good at his job.”
Just then our food arrived, the waiter carefully setting down our plates. Ryan politely thanked him.
It seemed Ryan had been behind the threats to me and Blane the whole time. But for what? Just money? And where had that kind of money come from? I watched him as he calmly began cutting into his steak, the rare meat oozing red juices.
My eyes fell on the large steak knife the waiter had brought me. Just as my hand lifted to grab it, Ryan snatched it away.
“How rude of me,” he said. “Let me cut your steak for you.”
We didn’t speak as he cut decisively through the meat, taking the knife and laying it far beyond my reach when he was through.
“It’s your last supper, so to speak,” Ryan said, picking up his fork again and stabbing a hunk of steak. “Eat up.”
My eyes darted wildly around the room, seeking any kind of help. There were few patrons tonight and the wait staff was nowhere to be seen.
“No one’s going to save you tonight,” Ryan said between bites. “So whatever you’re planning, forget it.” He barely glanced at me, trapped as I was inside the booth. “Now eat.”
“Why do you want Kyle to go to prison so badly?” I asked.
“I don’t care one way or the other,” he replied indifferently. “But I work for people who care a great deal and have paid me very good money to make sure of this trial’s outcome.”
“Who are these people?” I asked. “Do you still work for the CIA?”
“You know,” he said, his tone turning irritated in the blink of an eye, “it really pisses me off when I spend good money buying a woman dinner and she won’t eat it, because she's on some diet or doesn’t want to appear as though she actually eats.” He grabbed my arm in a painful grip and jerked me toward him, pushing his face close to mine. “Eat your fucking dinner.”
It was like Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, so quickly did he turn from genial and calm to coldly lethal. I hurriedly picked up my fork, fumbling with it since my hands were shaking so badly, and put a bite of meat in my mouth. Ryan watched, easing away once he was satisfied I was chewing.
“That’s better,” he said, resuming his own meal.
The meat was like sawdust in my mouth, the lump of matter getting harder to swallow the more I chewed. I choked it down, taking a drink of water before eating another bite under Ryan’s watchful eye.
“I quit the CIA, by the way,” he said conversationally. “But that doesn't mean the training I have doesn't come in handy.”
“Why would you join the Navy if you left the CIA?” I asked, confused.
“Who said I joined? It helps to have friends in high places.”
“I know you're sleeping with Adriana,” I accused.
“Was,” he replied shortly, his knife slicing through his steak. “Past tense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess you haven't heard,” he said. I waited while he chewed another mouthful of meat. “Adriana was so traumatized by what Kyle did to her, causing the miscarriage of their child, that she took her own life earlier tonight.”
I gasped in horror. Ryan didn't even bother to look my way. “You killed her,” I breathed. Poor Adriana. First she'd lost faith in her marriage, then her child. Now she was dead.
“Public opinion is a fickle thing,” Ryan said. “The suicide of Kyle's ex-wife should take care of any sympathy people might have towards him.”
I was aghast. “And now you're going to kill me?” I asked. “Why?”
“I have to do whatever it takes to make Blane throw the case. If he hadn’t been so quick that night in his office, I’d have got you.”
My blood ran cold at the casual way Ryan spoke of killing me.
“What about the bomb in my car?” I asked.
“Did you like that?” Ryan laughed. “Creative, right? Didn't get you, though. You must have nine lives, sweetie, but your time's up.” He wiped his mouth, glancing at my plate with a sigh. “I guess that’s all you’re going to eat. You can’t say I didn’t try to give you a decent last meal, beautiful.”
“Why kill me?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Collateral damage, sweetness. You can thank Kirk for getting you involved at all. We got all our info from his ex. Turns out, she's an old sorority sister of Adriana's and does she ever hate you. She was full of useful information. Using you as leverage on Kirk was a no-brainer, once we realized he was in love with you.”
“Who is ‘we’?” I asked. “Who are you working for?”
“Can’t answer that.”
“Blane’s not going to lose this case,” I said, anger at the terror Ryan had put me through giving me a shot of courage. “He sees Kyle as his brother-in-arms, and he won’t abandon him. That should prove to you that I don’t mean a thing to him. Everything you did to me was for nothing.”
“Save it,” Ryan said coldly. “You think I’m an idiot? That I didn’t see through the big break-up scene? Kirk will go to any lengths to protect you.”
Terror made my heart race. “You won’t get away with this,” I bluffed. “You’re despicable and a disgrace to this country.”
“Like I give a shit,” Ryan snorted. “I’m just doing my time until I can get out and get a real job. Completing this mission ensures I have a very plum job waiting for me. Always wanted to work in politics.”
Seizing my chance I took the fork I still had in my hand and brought it down with as much force as I could on his thigh. Ryan jerked, grunting in pain. I scrambled away, c
limbing across the booth, panic pushing me. To my dismay, I was brought up short by Ryan’s fist closing over my belt in my jeans. In a flash, he’d hauled me back next to him.
“Nice try, you fucking bitch,” he seethed, yanking the fork out of his leg. It hadn’t penetrated very deep, the thick denim and my lack of leverage stopping it from doing any real damage. I struggled to get out of his grip.
The cold press of metal pushed against my skin and I froze.
“You see that happy little family over there?” Ryan hissed in my ear.
I looked over to see a man and woman eating dinner with two kids, a boy and a girl. The boy was older, maybe ten, and the girl was perhaps five. She had the curliest blonde hair I'd ever seen.
“Make any more scenes and those kids will be orphans.”
I watched, unable to take my eyes off the family, as the little boy hid his peas under his potatoes and the man refilled the woman's wine glass. The little girl swung her feet, encased in hot pink sparkly tennis shoes. I obeyed Ryan, stilling my efforts to get free.
Ryan threw a couple hundred dollar bills on the table and stood, pulling me up with him. He walked us toward the door where the maitre d’ stood. This was my last chance to get help. Ryan nudged his gun against my ribs.
“Try it and I’ll kill him,” Ryan hissed at me, making the words I’d been about to say die on my lips. We passed the man as he held the door for us, smiling affably and wishing us a good evening.
Once we were outside, I looked around, scanning the area for anyone or anything that could help me. Ryan jerked me along to his truck, pushing me up against the side and stepping back slightly.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he said calmly, reaching into his pocket. I froze in horror, wondering if he was going to kill me right then, but he removed a small packet. I watched as he shook out a cigarette and lighter. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” he asked sardonically. I recognized the same brand that had been left on the ground outside my apartment.
He lit up and took a deep drag. I didn’t move, watching him as I would a snake, waiting for him to glance away and give me a split second. I knew I wouldn’t get far if I ran, but being shot in the back was preferable to just standing here waiting to die.
Ryan took a deep drag of his cigarette, knocking the ashes to the ground. Looking at me, he opened his mouth to say something. I never knew what it was because just then his head exploded.
Chapter Fifteen
For an endless moment, I couldn't move. I watched as if in slow motion as Ryan's headless body collapsed to the ground, the cigarette he'd lit still burning in his lifeless grip.
Blood and gore were streaked on my clothes, in my hair. I dropped to my knees next to Ryan's body, reaching a hand toward him...to do what, I didn't know. He was beyond my help.
Another gunshot hit the truck above my head. I collapsed onto my stomach. A scream clawed its way up from my chest. I couldn’t think what to do, then I remembered my cell phone.
My fingers scrabbled at Ryan’s pockets, the horror of touching his dead body overcome by my panic and fear. Another shot hit the truck just as my hand touched the smooth metal of my phone. I yanked it out, then crawled underneath the big truck, pulling myself forward on the rough asphalt until I reached the other side. Stumbling to my feet, I ran.
I didn't know where I was going, my mind was in a turmoil of shock and terror. Fumbling with my phone, I dialed.
“Help me,” I gasped when the line picked up.
“What's happening?” Kade shot back.
“I don't know,” I replied, pausing to duck into an alley. I gasped for air, my hands shaking violently. “They shot Ryan.”
“Who?” Kade asked. “Who shot Ryan?”
“I don't know!” I sobbed. “His head just exploded. And now they're after me.” I was fighting hysteria as I looked down at the blood stains on my shirt and arms.
“Take it easy,” Kade said soothingly. “Breathe, Kathleen. Keep it together. I'm coming for you.”
“K-k-kathleen? Are you all r-r-right?”
I spun around at the unfamiliar voice, my heart in my throat, then nearly collapsed in relief.
“God, Frankie, you scared me.”
Frankie stood near me, the light from the street behind him casting his face in shadows. He didn’t say anything as he moved closer toward me.
“Frankie?”
“What’s going on?” Kade asked, his voice urgent in my ear. “Who the fuck is Frankie?”
“I’m s-sorry, K-kathleen,” Frankie stammered.
“What? What do you mean?” It was then I noticed him carrying a rifle. I had a split second warning, gasping “No!” before everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was the second time in as many days that I’d gotten knocked upside the head with something, and waking up this time was no better than before.
I groaned. My head was splitting with pain, making me seriously reconsider opening my eyes. It was freezing, wherever I was. My hands were nearly numb and the cold bit into my skin.
The smell hit me next and nearly made me gag. It smelled like rotten meat, wherever I was. I forced my eyes open, realizing I was lying on a cold, concrete floor. There was very little light, just enough for me to make out my surroundings.
I was in a small room, the walls dark and dank. The meager light seemed to be coming from a glassless transom window over the one and only door. I painfully rose to my feet, making my way to it. It was made of a heavy, sturdy wood and had no inside knob.
Turning, I jumped when I saw another person in the room with me, hidden in the shadows.
“Frankie?” I asked tentatively. The person didn’t answer. “Who are you?” Still no answer.
Tentatively, I moved toward the figure, realizing as I did so that the smell was becoming stronger and more potent the closer I got. Awareness shuddered through me, but I made myself keep going.
Sinking down next to the person, I tentatively reached out. At my touch, they slumped over on the floor and I shrieked in surprise, stumbling backwards and falling. Light now shone on a man’s dead face and I could see an empty eye socket, the other eye wide and staring at me. As I watched, maggots crawled from his open mouth.
My stomach rolled and I turned over, retching and vomiting until there was nothing left in my stomach. I wiped my mouth with hands that were shaking violently. Without the strength to stand, I crawled on my hands and knees as far away from the dead man as I could get.
“I s-s-ee you’ve m-m-met my other g-guest.”
I looked up to see Frankie had opened the door and now stood in the opening.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. None of it made any sense. Why had Frankie kidnapped me? Why was he keeping a dead body in his cellar?
“For my f-father,” he said.
“Your father?” I was utterly confused.
“My f-father and I c-c-con-converted to Islam. He w-went to Iraq to f-fight. I'm g-g-going, too, as s-s-soon as I k-k-kill his m-m-murderers.”
Frankie stammered, but the hand holding a gun trained on me was steady.
“Frankie,” I said, trying to reason with him, “you're not a murderer.”
He laughed, and the sound sent a chill down my spine. “Wh-who do you think k-k-killed Ron Freeman? Or the m-man n-next to you?”
I was horrified at his confession. Frankie had seemed so sweet, offering me free rides, always being there when I needed him...
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “You’ve been following me.” I knew it had to be true. It was too coincidental, now that I looked back on it, how Frankie and his cab had always been nearby. He’d been there when my car had the flat tire, and when I’d fought with Blane right after finding Stacey dead. My eyes widened in shock and realization. “Did you kill Stacey?”
“You led me t-t-to her,” he admitted. “I p-p-put a t-t-tracker in your p-purse the night I t-took you home.”
The blood left my face in a rush. I�
��d led Stacey’s killer right to her door. I couldn’t think or process all that he was telling me.
“You followed me and Blane to the Christmas tree farm,” I said numbly. “And took the photos you sent to Blane. And all that time I thought it was luck that you were around when I needed you.”
“S-s-stupid whore,” he said contemptuously.
“Why?” I asked, my voice a thin thread in the room. “Why me?”
He didn’t answer for a moment as he studied me. “You l-l-look like my s-s-sister.”
I remembered Frankie telling me that, the first night we’d met. I frowned in confusion. “Then why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you’re just like her!” he suddenly shouted, making me jump. His face was blotchy and red and he used the gun for emphasis, pointing it jerkily at me. I instinctively recoiled, cringing against the wall. “She used to be s-so g-g-good. P-pure. Then she s-spread her legs and l-l-let him f-fuck her!”
Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes were bright, almost feverish. They were wet as well, but I didn’t think he noticed.
“And she wanted to m-marry him, turn her back on our beliefs, our family,” Frankie sneered. “Father was right t-to do what he did.”
I almost didn’t dare ask the question, afraid as I was of the answer, but the words came despite myself.
“What did he do, Frankie?”
“He upheld our family’s honor.” He seemed calmer now, which was even more terrifying.
“How?”
“We beat her. Then we k-killed her.”
My stomach heaved and I thought I was going to be sick again. Frankie had helped murder his own sister.
“I’m not Muslim, Frankie.” I tried to reason with him, though I knew Frankie was far beyond logic.
“Even more reason you should die,” he said. “One less American whore.” He moved closer to me and I instinctively shrank away. “B-b-but f-first, let’s m-make you useful.”
He pulled a phone out of his pocket and I recognized it as mine. After turning it on, he punched a few buttons, and held the phone up so I could hear it ringing. He’d put it on speaker.
