"It's as good a place as any."
Inez leaned over and punctured Ed's jugular with the first needle. But before she could push the plunger down, Ed was begging for mercy.
"Okay, okay. Fine," Ed said, glaring at him. "I'll tell you where the girl is, but she's the only one I know of. I swear to God."
"How did you find her?" The general needed to know, because they would ask when he reported to the company.
"Last year, we took a man named Kevin Kilgore." Ed stared straight at him, waiting for him to recall the mission.
"Sure." Jeff did remember. "We took him in a little town outside of Sheridan, Wyoming. Wasn't it?" he asked, sipping on his bourbon.
"Yes." The man tied to the table was getting tired of holding his head up, so he put it down, forcing Jeff to walk over to him if he wanted to look him in the eye. "The guy wasn't married, and he didn't have any kids. Remember?"
"Christ, Ed. Get to the fucking point."
"Well, it was the way you asked him. ‘Have you ever been married and had kids?'"
"I'm following you."
"The records confirmed that Kevin Kilgore had no marriage licenses issued in his name, and no birth certificates with his name listed on them."
"And?" Jeff sighed, getting bored. Frustrated.
"I just thought, what about birth certificates with no father listed at all." Shit. He had not thought of that, so he let Ed finish. "I looked up the records for all the hospitals in the area and found a few births with no father listed on the birth certificate, during the right period of time. But, I still didn't know, until I went to Kevin Kilgore's hometown.
“Turns out, it was quite the scandal when the football star knocked up the head cheerleader. People were more than willing to gossip about the 'shameful' way Kevin had denied that baby girl. Everyone told the cheerleader to have a paternity test done. But the girl was so angry, she refused, then moved out of town, leaving Kevin Kilgore scot-free of his responsibility to the child."
"And where did the pregnant cheerleader move to?"
Ed sighed. "Littleton, North Dakota."
"And her name?"
Here is where Ed hesitated. He took three long breaths before he gave it up.
"Angela Johnson. The little girl's name is Heidi, and she's only seven. Can't you let her be with her mom just a few more years?"
"I can't do that, Ed," the general said, slamming the last of his bourbon down his throat. "Any more than I can let you leave this room."
"What?" Ed was panicking, and he hated to see that from such a fine soldier.
"Sorry, Ed. You hesitated when I asked you where the girl was. Which means you will withhold information again. And if I hadn't come across those emails…who knows if I ever would have found the little girl at all. It's not like I make it up to…Where was it?" The general asked his trusty sergeant.
"Littleton, North Dakota, sir."
"Yeah," the general raised a brow, laughing. "I don't see myself visiting Littleton, North Dakota without a good goddamn reason." He nodded to Sergeant Munoz. "I guess I got a good reason now, though."
"Come on." Ed looked at him. "Don't do this. You know you can trust me."
General Hawking watched, enthralled, as Inez caressed Ed's neck in search of the largest vein. He had watched her do it a hundred times, and he still found it highly erotic. He waited, watching as she filled a syringe, and then she looked over at him.
"The full dose, sir?" she asked, but they both new what he would say.
"Yeah, the faster the better."
Damn, it was going to be painful, and Jeff was not sure that he wanted to watch. But he owed the guy for saving his ass in Desert Storm, and the bourbon would help him get through what he knew would be a five-minute long process.
"Do it."
Inez nodded as she held up the syringe, flicking it with her finger to make sure that all of the air had risen to the top. Gently, she pushed the plunger, until a tiny drop of yellow liquid oozed out of the tip of the needle.
She looked down, plunging the needle deep into Ed's neck and unleashing the toxin on his unsuspecting body. Once it was done, Inez stepped back and looked at Jeff with sympathy in her dark eyes.
"I'm sorry for the loss of your friend," she said, and then Ed began to scream.
"It's not your fault." The general held her eyes until he couldn't do it any longer, and then he waited.
The screaming was so loud by now that he fought the urge to cover his ears. General Hawkins watched, helpless, as his friend began to seize, and then Inez was holding his hand. They stood like that for a few more minutes, before Ed's thrashing finally stopped.
The silence was deafening.
"It's finished." She whispered what they both knew.
Jeff let go of her hand, ordering, "Take Ed's body to his house before his wife gets home."
The general once again.
"Yes, sir," Inez said, his ever loyal sergeant.
CHAPTER TEN
Darryl Lee was a slippery son of a bitch with a short rap sheet and a really hot sister. That was how Ansel met the guy. His older sister was Ansel's ex, if you call a couple of months of casual sex a relationship.
When her little brother got arrested for stealing phones from students at the University of Washington, wiping them, then selling the same phones back to a different set of students he would probably steal from the following week.
His predilection for thieving aside, the kid was bright. So, Ansel arranged probation for Darryl with the understanding that if he ever needed something, anything…Darryl would repay the favor.
"Darryl," he said, when the kid opened the door to his downtown Seattle apartment.
The kid sighed, like he always did when he saw Ansel. He glanced at Dave and looked Seneca up and down, while she tried, in vain, to hold her shirt closed.
"What do you want, Ansel?"
"To come in."
Ansel pushed past the kid, who had no choice but to move. Their respect ran both ways. Ansel respected that Darryl knew more about computers than he did, and Darryl respected that Ansel could kill him.
"She needs to borrow a shirt." Ansel pointed. Seneca smiled apologetically, obviously appalled by his behavior. "And Dave here will be spending a little bit of time with you."
"Oh, hell no, Ansel! I have shit to do, and I don't have time to babysit…this guy."
Darryl's distaste for slightly balding middle-aged white guys was written all over his Blasian face.
"This…guy," Ansel pointed at Dave with his thumb. "Will be staying with you, until I say otherwise." Darryl rolled his eyes. "And if you're lucky, he’ll teach you something about programming, because he works for Microsoft and is by far the smartest man I know."
Dave turned to look at him, surprised by the truth.
But before his brother-in-law could say a word, Darryl asked, "Who's this?" with a lecherous grin exclusively for Seneca.
"She's none of your concern," Ansel warned, with a quirk of his brow. "And could you go get a shirt, please. Hers is ripped."
"Oh, I can see that." Darryl was staring appreciatively at the gap in Seneca's shirt. "But I'll hook you up." He smiled and then came back a few minutes later with a t-shirt that read, "DTF."
Ansel grabbed the shirt, and threw it back in Darryl’s face.
"Try again."
The kid sulked, and brought out a stretchy woman's t-shirt with geometric designs.
"Here.” He tossed it to Ansel. "It's my sister’s. Although, I'm not sure she will be thrilled with…" He pointed at Seneca. "This little piece of information."
Ansel's eyes darted to Seneca, who looked far from surprised.
"Your sister broke up with me," he protested, so she would not get the wrong impression.
"What I heard is that you wanted to break up with her, so you acted like a jackass, until she broke up with you."
Technicalities. What did it matter.
"Dave is gonna need a computer and a bed," he thought to a
dd. Ansel handed the kid a thousand bucks. "I don't know how long he'll be here."
Darryl's eye went wide, but he didn't take the money. "Are you putting my life in danger, Ansel?"
The kid was bright. "Not if Dave stays off the grid."
"What's he doing off the grid?" Darryl asked before taking the money.
"Tracking a phone, and staying out of sight for a while." Ansel could see Darryl mulling over the offer in his mind, and Ansel wasn't sure which way this would go, so he added, "I'll give you another thousand for every week that he's here."
Darryl had never seen that kind of money, but it didn't stop him from pressing his advantage. "Fifteen hundred a week and you got a deal."
Son of a bitch. That money was all the savings he had in the world.
"Done," Ansel said, and they shook on it. "Dave needs to track a phone's location. But don't worry, we got that part covered."
Darryl nodded, and then got out a brand new laptop. Ansel glared at him, prompting the kid to say, "I bought it!" with the utmost indignation.
"You better have," Ansel warned.
With a huge roll of the eyes, Darryl set up the computer. But he was surprised when Seneca, not Dave, leaned over and began typing on the keyboard, making her all the more attractive to the kid.
Darryl stood next to her as she worked, but the kid leaned back just long enough to take a good, long look at her ass. He smiled, meeting Ansel's eye with a wink as if he were impressed. Ansel shook his head to indicate that there was nothing going on between them, and Darryl pointed out Seneca's great ass and smirked, not believing him.
He wanted to smack the kid, and he shook his head harder when Seneca stood up, saying, "Okay, I set up an IP address so that Dave can log into the phone feed anonymously."
"I thought only pedophiles use anonymizers," Darryl joked.
"Yeah, well, pedophiles aren't the only people who want to go undetected," Seneca said, stepping back so Dave could sit down in front of the computer. "What's Gunner's personal phone number?"
Ansel gave it to Dave, who began the trace. "He's heading southeast."
"Okay," Ansel leaned over and wrote down the number of the burner phone he would be using, as well as Dave's. "I'll call you when I can. Thanks, Seneca."
Ansel started to leave, but she stopped him. "She might be your sister, but it's my best friend who was kidnapped."
"Kidnapped?" Darryl yelped, startled. "Shit, Ansel. Why didn't you tell me your sister's been…kidnapped? Damn, that’s fucked up."
Ansel appreciated the sympathy, but at the moment he needed to deal with Seneca. "You can coordinate with Ben from here.” He stared at her. “I'm not putting you in harm's way by taking you with me."
"You're not putting me anywhere. Because I'm a grown woman, who will not give you access to Ben unless you take me with you."
Darryl stared at them like he was watching a boxing match, declaring, "Oh, she's got you there."
Ansel ignored the kid, his eyes locked on Seneca's. "Gunner will not hesitate to kill you if you get in his way. You do understand that?"
"Yes," she nodded. "I also understand that he will not do it publicly. And in private, you will be there to protect me."
His brows furrowed, not sure what to say to that, but sure he did not want that kind of responsibility. She distracted him. A lot. But what choice did he have? He couldn't track the phone without her.
"You do exactly what I say. Especially around Gunner."
Seneca shrugged like it was no problem, but she had no idea what Gunner was capable of. He did.
"Of course,” she smiled. “I'll do whatever you say."
Satisfied with her promise, well, as much as he could be, Ansel turned to his brother-in-law, reassuring him, "We'll stay in contact, and bring her back as soon as we can." He looked at Dave, feeling the need to prepare him, but hating to be the one to do it. "She might need medical attention. If so, I'll let you know where we're taking her."
"Do what you can to protect her, Ansel, because…" Dave started to tear up. "Catherine’s pregnant."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Seneca sat in the cab of the truck, still reeling from the information that Cat was pregnant. They had been trying to conceive for so long that Cat was beginning to accept the fact that it may never happen. But it did happen, and Cat and Dave had intended to share the good news with her brother and best friend at dinner…tonight.
God, had it only been this morning when the Feds had taken Cat? She glanced at Ansel. But now that it was dark, she was having a difficult time seeing his expression.
Not that it really mattered. He had not said a word since they got into the Chevy pickup, and started driving east over the mountains on I-90. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was feeling. Not only did he want to protect his sister, but now he would feel the need to protect her child, too.
"I'm so sorry," she said, in the dark. Not really knowing what for.
His left wrist was resting atop the large steering wheel, and he turned his head to look at her for the first time. "For what?"
"All of it." He just stared at her, prompting her to explain, "For Cat, for Dave…for you."
"You didn't kidnap her," he said, to the windshield.
"I know, but I can still feel sorry for you."
"I don't need your pity, Ms. Reed." He was angry.
"It's not pity." How could he think that it was? "It's sympathy. Cat told me about the loss of your parents two years ago, and—"
"You know I hate it when people say that. I didn't 'lose' my parents," he growled. "They were killed. Murdered. Shot, during a home invasion."
He stared at her so long she thought they would run off the road.
"I'm…" Seneca was so shocked, she could hardly speak. Why hadn't Cat told her the truth? Why had she let her believe it was a car accident that killed their parents? Or maybe she had just assumed. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
"You didn't shoot them in the back of the head, or kidnap my sister," Ansel spat, and she instinctively leaned away from his venom. "So, would you stop saying you're sorry for shit you didn't—"
Even in the dim light, she could see his face change. Did it relax, or tense? He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and began to accelerate the truck.
"Ansel?" Seneca was getting nervous. "What are you doing?" She saw his chest rise and fall, more rapidly than it had a moment ago. "Ansel?"
They were still gaining speed, and Seneca leaned over to glance at the speedometer just as it topped ninety. She looked at him again, hoping that talking about his parents and his sister's situation had not, literally, driven him to suicide and consequently, her unfortunate murder.
"Ansel?" Her heart was racing as they hit a hundred. The truck barreled down the road, straining through the speed and forcing her to raise her voice. "You're scaring me a little."
A lot, actually.
But then she looked at him again. His clenched jaw, the muscles straining in his forearms as he gripped the steering wheel. He was not suicidal. He was in a blind rage.
"Ansel," she said, as firmly as she could. "Pull onto that emergency truck ramp. See it up ahead? You know," she tried to sound reasonable, "the gravel ones that stop eighteen-wheelers when they lose their brakes coming off the mountain."
No response.
"Pull over."
It was almost too late.
"Right now. Ansel. Pull over!" she screamed, and he swerved to the right so violently that she crashed into his side.
Ansel slammed on the brakes and the thick truck tires lost traction on the gravel, spinning them around one hundred and eighty degrees.
The second the truck came to a stop, he was out of the cab and she lost him in the dark. Seneca reached over and turned the key, and the Chevy engine rumbled off.
She closed her eyes and gave a sigh of relief with her heart still stuck somewhere in her throat. But she only allowed herself a moment to calm down before sliding across the bench sea
t to set the emergency brake.
The moon was darting in and out of rain clouds and it was difficult to see anything, much less a man who did not want to be found. Seneca hopped out of the truck and started walking in the direction she thought he had gone.
The gravel crunched under her flat shoes, and Seneca was afraid she was going to slip walking down the hill. She decided to stay parallel with the ramp, thinking it would help her find her way back to the pickup if she got lost.
In the dark, unfamiliar noises led her to imagine things. She shivered. It was creepy, and she was getting scared. The gravel ramp towering over her, the base of which was almost as wide as it was tall. Seneca slipped as she looked up at it, but she didn't fall.
"Ansel," she said, thinking this was the beginning of a really bad horror movie. You know, those movies where the heroine does something stupid, like walk on the side of a highway in the dark. Alone. "Ansel?"
He did not answer. It was like the six foot three, two hundred and fifty-pound man had just disappeared into thin air. Or into the woods, like Sasquatch.
Shit! What if there were bears?
That would be her luck, to be mauled by a bear while looking for an armed black ops soldier who refused to save her. Or she could always step on a rattlesnake. Seneca stopped on a dime and glanced at her feet.
No snakes. At least, none that she could see.
And then she heard the faint sound of gravel about twenty yards ahead. Seneca squinted, and with a flash of moonlight darting from between the clouds, she found him. A dark figure lying on the side of the emergency ramp.
He had to have heard her call his name, so she didn't bother to do it again. She just walked up and sat down next to him, until Ansel was ready to talk. But he didn't say a word, and she was not the most patient of people.
"Are you okay?" Which she knew was a ridiculous question, but she did not know what else to say.
His head turned toward her, and all she saw of his face were shadows against darker shadows. He was leaning flat against the gravel at a forty-five-degree angle with his feet firmly planted on the ground. His hands were behind his head, but even in a prone position his arms were huge balls of muscle.
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