ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel

by Samantha Saxon

  "Okay," he said, not knowing what else to say.

  Ansel started the truck and turned east on I-90, determined to find Catherine and get back to his new life.

  Whatever the hell that might be.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Seneca spent the next few hours watching the sunrise. It was beautiful, but she would have spent that time watching paint dry if it meant she could avoid looking at Ansel.

  He scared her. On so many levels.

  Her hand drifted to her sore throat and she caressed it with her thumb. Oddly embarrassed, she pulled her long hair forward to hide the makeup she had applied to hide the bruises on her neck.

  She swallowed and it hurt. Her head too. He had pressed the gun against her scalp so hard that Seneca was surprised it wasn't bleeding. Either way, she was going to have some nasty bruises.

  Even with a gun at her head, it was his hand around her throat that had terrified her. Ansel was so strong. And when he clamped down on her neck, crushing her trachea, she knew he had done it before. Killed people, probably a lot of people, with his bare hands.

  She started shaking just thinking about it, and she could feel his eyes on her. The weight of the bench seat shifted beneath her, and then the heater came on. Warm air hit her on the side of her face, and the whole thing was so ridiculous that she burst out laughing.

  He had almost killed her two hours ago, and now he was worried that she was cold.

  "Are you okay?" Ansel asked, so gently that it made her laugh harder.

  In fact, she was laughing so hard that she began to cry.

  A steady flow of tears was rolling down her cheeks when she said, "No," between gasps of uncontrollable laughter. "You just held a gun to my head so hard I thought my skull would cave in. But the possibility of a bullet to the brain was not even the scariest thing.

  “The scariest thing you did was wrap your hand around my throat as you crushed the life out of me. And if you hadn't woken up when you did, you would have killed me. You know it, and I know it. And the funny thing is…" She snorted. "As I was passing out, I just kept wondering which way I would die. I wasn't even scared, more like curious.

  “And then…" she said, her laughter subsiding into deep breaths. "And then, I was so happy that you didn't kill me…that I tried to fuck you. I mean, what the hell was that?"

  The laughter was gone. Tears poured down her cheeks as she looked at Ansel. His chest was rising and falling as he stared straight ahead.

  "Seriously, what was that?"

  Ansel took a long time to answer.

  "Trauma," he said. "You were traumatized. Nothing you did after I…" He glanced down, and then his eyes flickered back up. "After I hurt you was your fault. You were in shock."

  Seneca stared at him for a long time. "Were you in shock, too?"

  Ansel swallowed and then looked away from her.

  "We need gas," he said, pulling into a busy station they had all but passed.

  They came to such an abrupt stop that the truck rocked even after Ansel turned off the engine. He hopped out before she could say another word, and headed inside to pay for the gas. Seneca sat there, not knowing what to do, when she saw the sign for the restrooms. She didn't really have to go, but it was the one place he couldn't follow her.

  The sound of the freeway assaulted her the moment she slid out of the truck. Dark oil stains dotted the concrete on the way to the bathroom, and Seneca darted to avoid stepping in them. She tugged on the door handle of the women's bathroom. But it was locked, and she had to wait a few minutes before a woman emerged with a little boy in tow. They smiled at each other politely and Seneca walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  The bathroom was cleaner than she expected, especially the mirror. Seneca looked at herself, and she was so embarrassed. Her eyes were red and swollen, and it was obvious that she had been crying.

  God knows what that woman must have thought, but she was kind enough not to show it. Seneca wrestled with the toilet seat cover before going to the bathroom. She washed her hands, twice, then tightened up her ponytail. Satisfied that she’d done the best she could, Seneca walked out of the bathroom and right into a man's burly chest.

  He wore a cheap black suit, and he looked down at her with intense gray eyes. "We need you to come with us, Ms. Reed."

  She looked at the other men in dark suits and did the only thing she could think of.

  "I'm sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else." Seneca began to step around him, but the man swept his jacket to one side, revealing his holster and yet another gun.

  "I'm afraid we must insist," the man said, like some bad movie, then held out his hand in the direction he wanted her to go.

  Seneca took a few steps, trying to think of a way out of the situation. But when she saw the familiar black SUV, she gasped, recognizing them.

  "You're the FBI guys who took Catherine."

  "Mrs. Miller came with us. Yes." Seneca wasn't sure what she expected him to say, but an admission of guilt was not it. "Now, if you will just come with us, we’ll explain why." The man walked closer to her.

  Until Ansel came around the corner.

  Ansel looked at Seneca and then at the other two men, then kicked one of them in the chest so hard that the guy flew against the painted cinderblock wall with a sickening thud.

  "Mr. Babineaux." The man was holding her arm with one hand, while holding his gun in the other. "I have your sister. We intend her no harm, unlike the men chasing her. We have taken her to a safe location, and if you would be so kind as to come with us, you can see her very soon."

  Ansel glanced at the gun aimed at Seneca's side.

  "We'll follow you in my truck, and Ms. Reed rides with me," Ansel's ominous eyes were looking only at the man in charge. "Non-negotiable."

  "A caravan will be notic—"

  "Non-negotiable," Ansel growled.

  "Very well." The man looked down at his subordinate now slumped against the wall. "If you will give my colleague a moment to collect himself, we'll be on our way."

  The third man was slapping his unfortunate friend gently on the cheek, and Seneca took advantage of the lead man's momentary distraction by running over to Ansel.

  Ansel's eyes were still locked on the three men, but the moment she was close enough, he pushed her behind him.

  "What about my sister?"

  The man in the suit looked at Ansel, and smiled as if he were a tour guide. "We'll take you to her."

  "I don't think he can make it, Joe," the third guy announced as he helped his friend stumble to his feet. "I'm pretty sure he has a concussion."

  The lead man stared at Ansel, his jaw clenched, as he ordered his two men, "Wait here. I'll have someone pick you up and take you to the hospital."

  "Will do," the younger man nodded, putting his arm around his colleague before walking him toward the convenience store to await their ride.

  "I assume you still would like to see your sister?" the older man asked, and Ansel nodded.

  They watched as the lead man got into SUV, and only then did Ansel's shoulders relax. "Get in the truck."

  Usually not one to take orders, Seneca happily complied with this one. Ansel slid in next to her and then leaned over, opening the glove compartment.

  He pulled out his gun, and she could tell that he was trying to hide it from her. She didn't know why. Maybe because Ansel thought that seeing it would upset her. But she knew that he had it, knew what it looked like. And what it felt like. And as long as he was awake, Seneca was fine with him wielding it.

  The black SUV pulled forward, and Ansel started the truck, the big engine roaring to life. He didn't say a word as they pulled onto the highway, fully focused on the car in front of him, and determined to find his sister.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Got 'em!" Drew said, and Gunner sighed with relief.

  "About time," Win chimed in, his eyes locked on the latest hand of Texas Hold'em on his smartphone.

  "
Fuck off, Winchester," Drew spat, still looking down at the specialized computer in his lap. "Seriously, if you had one once of computer skill, maybe I would give two shits what you thought."

  Win didn't bother looking up. "Just tell us where they are, code monkey, so the real men can go after Ansel."

  "I swear to God," Drew glared at the back seat, furious. "I am going to fuck you up after this is all—"

  "Both of you, shut up," Gunner said to Drew while Win just chuckled, putting away his phone. "How do you know it's them?"

  "There's a black SUV matching the one that took our target, leading a rusty old blue Chevy pickup down I-90."

  "That's him," Win nodded. "Ansel loves his old Chevys."

  Gunner agreed with their assessment. He pulled out his encrypted phone before punching the speaker button so they could all hear.

  "General Hawkins, this is Captain Holstad. I was just calling to inform you that we have eyes on our target, and we’re moving in to extract her."

  "And when do you expect the extraction to take place, Captain Holstad?" the general asked, and Gunner tried to think of how long he could delay without the general sending out another team.

  "We'll take her tonight, sir," he decided, ignoring the confused glances from his passenger.

  "Notify me when the target is secure," General Hawkins ordered.

  "Roger that, sir," Gunner answered, and then the phone went dead.

  "Tonight?" Drew's face was a ball of confusion. "It’s noon, and they're only a couple of hours ahead of us."

  "We should take them as soon as possible," Win weighed in.

  They should, but he needed to give them a plausible explanation for the delay. "Look, we all know Ansel will be difficult." Drew scoffed at the understatement and Gunner continued, "We have no idea where they're headed, or how many people with be there when we arrive."

  "Then let’s take him down now," Win suggested. "And have him take us to his sister."

  "Are you kiddin' me?" Drew laughed. "You think Ansel is just gonna give up her location?"

  The question did not need answering.

  "I want to give us enough of a cushion to secure her, and him," Gunner lied. "If we get to them sooner than tonight…we look like heroes, and the general is impressed with our exemplary effort."

  "Yes, sir, Captain Holstad," Win said with that touch of sarcasm that annoyed the hell out of him.

  "Now," Gunner began, needing to talk to Ansel as soon as possible. "Where are they Drew?"

  "Take a left in two kliks," the kid said, staring at the satellite image on his computer. "County Road 221." The mood in the car shifted when he asked, "How do you want us to handle this, Captain? I mean, if Ansel engages us—"

  "Our assignment isn't Ansel," Gunner growled.

  "But if he fires on us?" Win pressed the point.

  "Then you wound him, Sergeant Caffrey." Gunner glared at the man most likely to kill his best friend. "Are we clear on that?"

  The two men just stared at one another until Win lifted his hands in a show of submission. "Crystal, Sir."

  "Fuck!" Drew tapped away on his computer, frantic. "I lost them again."

  "Damn it," Gunner mumbled. "Should I take the left turn? Because the road is right up there."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah take 221, but it's weird. This has nothing to do with the weather, or the SAT feed." Drew was shaking his head. "It’s just like…they disappeared into thin air."

  Win glanced at the barren hills and stated the obvious. "Where the hell are they? Because there's no place to hide out here."

  "Well, they went somewhere," Gunner said, turning onto the dirt Ranch Road 221. "So, direct me to where you last saw them."

  While he thought about what to do when they got there.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  General Hawkins hung up the phone and looked at his sergeant.

  "They will have Catherine Miller sometime tonight,” he told her, and she nodded, jotting down the information. He glanced out the window of the small jet, wondering, "When do we arrive in South Dakota?"

  "In three and a half hours, sir," Inez informed him. "But we will have to drive another two hours to get to Littleton."

  "Damn it. I fucking hate car rides." The general shook his head, annoyed at the necessity.

  "Also, it is four degree—"

  "Four?" Fuck.

  "Yes, sir," Inez nodded. "Four degrees with sunset at 16:45 this afternoon." That will be useful. "I've arranged for a car to be warmed, and waiting for you when we land."

  "Excellent," the general said as he reached down and pushed the button to lean his leather seat back. "Now, if you don't mind, Sergeant, I have some reading to do." He picked up the first in a stack of thick files and began to study them.

  The general read until they landed. And as promised, he could see a car was waiting on the frigid tarmac. The air was so cold when he stepped off the plane that he blinked so the moisture in his eyes wouldn't freeze. His face burned, and his balls felt like blocks of ice. But somehow he managed to make it to the car without getting frostbite.

  "Afternoon, sir," an Asian kid said as he held the back door of the SUV open.

  The general and Sergeant Munoz scrambled inside, and he was happy to find the heater running on full blast.

  A white kid with red hair was staring at him from the passenger seat.

  "If you will permit me, sir." The kid handed them both wool blankets, and the general took his and laid it on the seat next to him.

  "Do you have anything to drink, Private?" he asked, finding bourbon a far more enjoyable way to warm oneself.

  "Of course, sir." The kid poured him a whiskey, then lifted the tongs to pick out a couple of pieces of ice.

  "I don't want any goddamn ice, Son. It’s colder than a witch’s titty out there."

  "Sorry, sir," the ginger said, handing him the cut crystal tumbler.

  The General took a long sip, wishing he were younger, before turning to Inez. "Tell me about this little girl we are going to meet."

  "Heidi Johnson, a seven year Caucasian female who lives with her mother, Angela Johnson. Ms. Johnson is a single mother, working as a waitress in the local Littleton diner. Angela Johnson never married Heidi's father after she became pregnant her senior year of high school in Sheridan, Wyoming. Kevin Kilgore, as you know, was brought into our facility October 23rd of last year."

  "Tell me something I don't know, Sergeant Munoz," the general said, trying not sound annoyed.

  "Heidi attends Littleton Elementary School and is currently in the second grade. She is in the advanced math group, but seems to have difficulty reading. Her diagnostic report suggests dyslexia. She has brown hair, blue eyes, and is well-liked by her peers. She was, however, sent to the principal’s office for refusing to apologize after punching a boy who pulled her ponytail."

  The general smiled. "And outside of school? What does Heidi Johnson do for fun?"

  "Heidi and her mother attend services every Sunday at the local Methodist church, and the mother takes Heidi to the library every Saturday morning. The grandparents, Daisy and Bernard Johnson, have a ranch outside of Sheridan. The father, Bernard, kicked Angela out of their home when she became pregnant, and they have not been allowed near Heidi since."

  "So, this Angela is abandoned by Heidi's father, and then her own parents?"

  What was wrong with people these days?

  The general thought about that for the rest of the miserable drive. This Angela Johnson was an admirable woman. She took responsibility, unlike her boyfriend, for her mistake, and raised her daughter with no help from anyone. That must have been difficult for an eighteen-year-old girl. If this Heidi was anything like her mother, she would be made of strong stuff.

  He could not wait to meet her.

  The team rolled into Littleton and headed straight to the address in the file. The Johnson home was a dilapidated white wooden shack two streets off of Main, but they still took the precaution of parking in the alley behind the h
ouse.

  The team entered through the backyard. When the screen door creaked, the Asian kid oiled it. Not too much to show that it had been oiled, but enough to let them enter without making any noise.

  Dogs were always a concern, so the general had Inez enter first, her eyesight being so superior to his own. The ancient kitchen was clean and smelled faintly of bleach, but they walked straight through to the tiny living room.

  A small Siamese cat was curled up on the couch. It woke up at their approach. Its white eyelids retracted as it meowed at him without making a sound. The general sat down next to the small animal and scratched it behind the ears. The cat had one green eye and one blue. The blue eye seemed friendlier, more aware of him.

  He heard a thump somewhere over his head, and then the private came down the narrow stairs with a sleeping child wrapped in his arms.

  "Get her settled in the car," he ordered the ginger headed soldier just as Inez returned, followed by a pretty young blonde who was bound, gagged, and being guided by the Asian kid so she would not stumble down the stairs.

  "Wait for us in the car," Inez ordered the young man, leaving the two of them alone to speak with Angela Johnson.

  Sergeant Munoz sat the woman down in the rickety black rocking chair, opposite the couch. The cat was purring now and the general smiled at the young woman.

  "You're only twenty-five years old," he realized. "Hmm, you've done really well, considering all that you have been through in your life. I couldn't imagine it myself." He looked over at Inez. "Could you imagine raising a child on your own, Sergeant Munoz?"

  "No sir," she said, standing at attention at the end of the couch.

  General Hawkins leaned forward and looked the young woman in the eye. She was confused, and scared, and he didn't want her to be.

  "No, I mean it." And he did. "You should be very proud of yourself. What you have accomplished is quite commendable for a woman your age. It shows a hell of a lot of character to raise a child alone after your boyfriend knocks you up and then leaves you." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."