by L. N. Carson
COLLISION
BOOK THREE
L. N. CARSON
GRACE ABRAHAM PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2021 WASHINGTON COOPER, INC./GRACE ABRAHAM PUBLISHING
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Introduction
COLLISION is a serial and should be read in order. The story follows Kathleen and Sam as they flee a corrupt government agent who will do anything necessary to take back sensitive research materials Sam stole.
At the end of book two, Kathleen and Sam are optimistically heading toward someone they hope can help them while Montu and Hathor are desperate to stop them.
This is book three. I hope you enjoy it!
- L. N. Carson
Chapter One
Miranda and Mark were cuddling in bed when his phone rang.
“Do you have to answer it?” she asked as she kissed his chest.
He took the phone off the nightstand, looked at the screen, and then showed it to his wife. “You tell me.”
It was her mother.
Miranda growled in frustration. “You might as well. She’ll just keep calling if you don’t.” She climbed out of the bed. “I’ll check on Rachel. If she isn’t awake yet, I’ll start dinner.”
“Hello, Irene,” Mark said.
From the doorway, Miranda mouthed, “Sorry.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yep, we finished up only a few minutes ago. These things always drag on forever. I’m walking to my car right now.”
“Cut the crap,” Irene said. “Ed is in bad shape, and he wants to see his family.”
“We want that too. We’re having a tough time with our schedules, that’s all.”
“You’ll be here for lunch tomorrow.” His mother-in-law’s voice had taken on the commanding tone he knew well and despised. When Mark was silent, Irene continued. “It’s important to have family to depend on when you need help. Isn’t. That. Right?”
Mark ground his teeth but managed to say, “Yeah.” He detested the fact that once, unbeknownst to Miranda, Irene had given them a substantial amount of money. The old hag would hold that over his head for the rest of her life. Every birthday he wished for the same thing before blowing out his candles, but Irene Freemont still managed to draw breath.
When he joined his wife and daughter in the living room, Miranda could tell by the closed expression on his face that the conversation hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. But she knew better than almost anyone what a manipulative harpy her mother was.
“Dinner at Grandma’s?” Miranda asked, keeping her voice light for Rachel’s sake.
“Lunch.” He sighed. “Tomorrow.”
* * *
When Sam stepped out of the steamy bathroom after his shower, Kathleen was lying in bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin. As he contemplated the beauty of her face, her eyes fluttered open.
She gave him a lazy smile. “Feel better?”
“Much. You?”
She nodded and sat up, pinning the sheet in place with her arms. Her bare back presented a temptation he couldn’t resist.
“If you don’t want me in that bed with you, you’d better put some clothes on,” he said.
Kathleen let the sheet drop to her waist. “I do want you.”
* * *
Hathor and Montu sat in a fast-food restaurant eating greasy burgers and shoestring fries while their tires were replaced. They avoided the topic neither of them wished to discuss until after they’d finished their meals and Montu had taken a pack of antacids from his jacket pocket. He popped two of the chalky tablets into his mouth and offered the pack to his partner. Hathor took two tablets as well, thanked Montu, and handed back the pack.
“So, what are we gonna do now?” Montu asked. “He’s gonna be calling us soon for an update.”
“We have to think like Atum. Where would he go, and what would he do?”
“Leave the country and start a new life somewhere else?” Montu ran a hand over his wide face.
Hathor shook her head. “He doesn’t think like you or I do.”
He took a sip of his soda. “Then I don’t know what he’ll do. Nothing else makes any sense.”
“I think he plans to do something with his research.” She picked up a napkin and began tearing it to bits. “He can’t destroy it. It’s the only thing he has to bargain with if—I mean when—we capture him.”
“Do you think he only has the one copy?” Montu asked.
“I have no idea. But we have to come up with some plausible story—a lead—to give Amun-Ra.” She swept the pieces of the destroyed napkin onto her tray and fidgeted with another. “Any suggestions?”
Montu shrugged. “Atum was in the military, right? Maybe he’d go to some of his combat buddies for help.”
* * *
After Sam and Kathleen had sated their appetites for both lovemaking and food for the time being, they sat against the pillows propped along the headboard and discussed their next steps.
“Tomorrow, it’s on to Norfolk, right?” Kathleen asked.
“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Sam gave her a wistful half-smile. “I want to stay here and make love to you, but I’m guessing there’s an APB out on the motorcycle already.”
“I know. And the sooner we get to Norfolk, the sooner we…you…can put this nightmare behind you.”
Sam kissed her temple. “You were right the first time. “It’s our nightmare.”
“Not really,” she said. “I’m only along for the ride.” She paused before asking, “Why does it matter so much to you? The research, I mean. Couldn’t you have found a way to take the good plans you had for your work to another agency or to a private company?”
“Any research products created while you’re working for the DPA become the proprietary property of the agency,” Sam said. “That even holds true if you’re off the clock. And that’s why I can’t control how my work is being used, nor can I take the research elsewhere. As for why it matters…I created the technology to help my brother. He lost his sight during a mission in Kuwait.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Was he in the navy, like you?”
“Army. Anyway, while I was working on my Ph.D., I started thinking that although John’s guide dog is great, how much better would his life be if he had other helpers?” He looked down at the bedsheets as he spoke. “How cool would it be if John had a parrot that could describe things or situations to him?”
“Did that happen?” Kathleen watched his face, but it offered no clues. “Were you able to create that helper for your brother?”
Sam heaved a sigh. “Despite the promises the DPA made to me when I agreed to work for the agency, the research was almost immediately and exclusively redirected into the weaponization of animals.”
Kathleen hated hearing the bitterness that had crept into his voice. “You know what that means, though, don’t you? Once this ordeal is behind you, you can recreate your original research and start over.”
Sam dragged his eyes back to hers. “You’re not really naïve enough to believe that, are you?”
“Let’s pretend I am,” she said. “And that you are too. Just for tonight.”
* * *
Montu and Hathor had stopped at a rest area somewhere along I-81 North to get a few hours’ sleep when they got the call they’d been dreading.
Amun-Ra’s voce was low and menacing.
“You have one chance to tell me why you shouldn’t be replaced immediately.”
Hathor held up a hand to let Montu know she’d lead off the conversation. He gave one spasmodic nod in response.
“We got a lead from the farmer,” Hathor said. “In exchange for our not calling in the DEA, he told us Atum mentioned an old friend he had from the military. We’re pretty sure that’s where he’s headed.”
That wasn’t true. Montu hadn’t notified the DEA of Woods’ operation because Amun-Ra had forbidden them to call any more attention to themselves. And they hadn’t threatened Woods with anything. They hadn’t seen the man again since they’d left the hospital, and while she wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, Hathor had been glad of that. There was something about Thomas Woods that unnerved her. The man was sorely lacking in the give-a-damn department, and people who didn’t seem to care what they might lose were the most dangerous people in the world.
But Amun-Ra didn’t know any of that—she hoped. She also hoped she could convince him they’d made a deal with Woods. Given their track record over the past two days, that sounded infinitely better than, “Hey, boss, we’re going on a hunch here.”
“If you declassify Atum and give us access to his military records, it’ll make it a lot easier for us to find him,” Montu said.
“I’ll get back to you.” Atum-Ra ended the call.
Montu filled his cheeks with air and then blew it out. “Now what?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m planning to sleep until we get further instructions.” Hathor pressed a button at the side of her seat and lowered the back as far as it would go.
* * *
Kathleen woke up for the second time that morning to find herself alone. She knew that before she even opened her eyes because the warm cocoon which had enveloped her when Sam had been beside her was gone. She felt cold and snuggled deeper under the covers.
She didn’t want to get out of bed and look for a note. Even worse, she was afraid she’d discover there wasn’t one. Abandonment was nothing new to Kathleen. She’d dealt with it all her life.
“Look what you’ve done to me!” It was her dad’s first day home from the hospital, and her mother had fisted her hand in Kathleen’s long hair and forced the girl to turn her head toward him—the ogre, the bully—who’d been paralyzed by a bullet that had severed his spinal cord. “I was trying to protect you!” Kathleen sobbed. “You couldn’t even do that right!” Irene gave Kathleen a vicious push. She hit the floor hard, but a handful of her hair remained in her mother’s clenched fist.
Kathleen wiped away a tear before burying her face in the pillow and telling herself it didn’t matter.
Moments later, the door opened, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. Kathleen burrowed her face deeper into the pillow to hide both her smile and her tears.
“Don’t you try to hide from me,” Sam teased, placing the coffee and a pastry bag on the nightstand and lowering himself onto the bed. “I know you’re awake.”
He began tickling her, and she laughed, relieved to have an excuse for the tears that squeezed from her eyes.
“Stop! I can’t breathe!” She wiped her eyes.
“That’s how I feel when I look at you,” he said.
“Oh, here we go, Roger Grant.” She giggled again.
He silenced her with a kiss.
“Exactly how many condoms did you buy at that service station last night?” she asked.
“I’ve got one more.”
She lightly bit his lower lip. “We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
* * *
Sam was surprised he’d begun to care for Kathleen in such a short amount of time. Sure, she was beautiful, and he’d wanted to have sex with her as soon as he’d seen her—or, rather, he would have, if Montu and Hathor hadn’t been trying to kill him. But this feeling was more than lust.
She was ferocious, but somewhere down the line, Kathleen Freemont had been badly hurt and no longer felt she could trust anyone. Sam wanted her to trust him. He wanted to protect her.
“I have an idea,” he said, reaching for the now-lukewarm coffee and the bag of pastries.
“What’s that?” Kathleen took a drink of her coffee. “I hope it involves getting new transportation because we deduced last night that the bike is already burned.”
He laughed. “Listen at you with your gangster talk.”
“It isn’t gangster talk. It’s spy talk.” She lifted a blueberry muffin from the bag. “So…any ideas? Limo? Bicycles? Horse and carriage?”
“Helicopter.” He chose a banana nut muffin from the bag. “I’ve already made the arrangements. Will you wait for me?”
“To do what?” she asked.
“Go to Norfolk and meet up with the admiral. I’ll pay for an extra night when I—”
“No,” she interrupted.
“No, what?”
“You’re not leaving me here. I’m going with you.” Kathleen pinched a piece off the muffin and popped it into her mouth.
“Sweetheart, you’ll slow me down.”
She stared him down while she chewed the bite of muffin. He knew what she was doing.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said.
“Good.” She took a drink of coffee. “That’ll save us the time we’d lose arguing about it.”
“I’m not taking you with me.”
“Yes, you are. And we both know it.” She counted the reasons off on her fingers. “One, I’ve come with you too far for you to refuse to take me on the last leg of the journey. Two, you need me to be a witness for you in case this whole thing goes south. Three, you need me to carry a backup flash drive of your research in my bra. Four, you’d be bored without me along.” She ate another bite of the muffin.
“What—no fifth reason?”
She swallowed and then a slow, smug smile spread across her face. “You can’t leave Roger Jr. and me here to fend for ourselves…especially after that horrible mugging.”
Sam chuckled, but that was Kathleen’s one, legitimate reason for not staying in this hotel. If Montu and Hathor tracked them here somehow, Kathleen would be at their mercy. And then, she’d be dead.
“You have made an excellent point,” he said. “I’d never be able to live with myself if strangers who’ll never see me again believed me to be a lousy husband and father.”
* * *
Amun-Ra sat in his office reading through Sam Garnett’s military records. Among the former naval officer’s other honors and distinctions, Sam had earned an Expert Pistol Shot Medal. That explained how he’d dispatched the bear at the Woods farm so efficiently. One shot into the left eye and into the brain. Impressive.
He didn’t want to lose his brilliant soldier. That the man was a gifted scientist was a given. Amun-Ra hadn’t truly appreciated how resourceful Atum was until he’d gone on the run. He wondered what it would take to convince Atum to stay with DPA. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was already too late. But, certainly, a decorated soldier could see the beauty in weaponizing animals. Where had he gone wrong with Atum?
Amun-Ra scanned the names of the seamen who’d served with Atum. One kept leaping off the page again and again: Admiral Mason Harper. An Internet search for Admiral Harper revealed that he was retired and now living in Hampton Roads.
He called Hathor. “Head toward Hampton Roads and stand by for further instructions.”
After giving her the terse message, he hung up. He had nothing more to say to her or to Montu. He wasn’t ready to divulge Atum’s identity to them either. The pair had let him down thus far, and he planned to reach out to other field agents. The DPA had long arms. It was time to stretch them
Amun-Ra resumed scanning the database of names to see who else had served in Atum’s fleet who might be an applicant for hiding the man or helping him do whatever it was he planned to do with his research.
Curtis Malloy, an engineer living in Northern Virginia, was married and had a family. A quick look at Malloy’s ban
k accounts showed that the man was doing well financially. Nothing leapt out at Amun-Ra that seemed suspicious there. Social media showed a man who appeared to be happy with his wife and kids, who regularly attended church, coached his son’s little league baseball team, and shared no political opinions. Malloy was careful. He might be tempted to help an old friend get out of trouble, but he’d decline when the rubber met the road. He had too much to lose.
Arthur Henderson, on the other hand, was the poster child for struggling divorced male. He lived in Lynchburg, worked two retail jobs—one during the day and the other at night, was behind on his child support payments, and had a bank balance so low Amun-Ra almost felt sorry enough to deposit a hundred to give the poor guy a break. Almost. Not quite. Henderson wasn’t on social media, but his bank and credit card statements spoke volumes about his life. Henderson was in an excellent position to help Atum. He was desperate for money, and he didn’t have much to lose. Amun-Ra copied Henderson’s full name, address, phone number, and photograph into an encrypted email and sent it to his Lynchburg agent.
Troy Akers, pilot, also living in the Lynchburg area, was married and a father of three—infant twin girls and a five-year-old boy. Financial records and social media revealed the man was solvent, owned his own business—Akers Charter Flights—and was an environmental activist.
Amun-Ra pursed his lips. The man had a lot to lose. But if Atum gave him some sob story, Akers might take a risk for his old pal. He fired off another email to the Lynchburg agent.
Chapter Two
Kathleen and Sam checked out of the hotel, and he settled their bill in cash. Hand in hand, they walked out the front door.
She squinted in the sunlight. “Now what?”
“We grab a taxi and drive for two miles to a café.”
“Thirsty?” she asked, with a slight laugh.
Sam released her hand, fished a burner phone from the back pocket of his jeans, and checked it. “I spoke with my friend Troy this morning. He’s a helicopter pilot.”
