Please don’t take Braxton away from me now, she prayed silently.
“Do you need me anymore?” she asked.
“Always,” Rebel replied. “But you can go get to know the ladies while we finish going over these files if you want.”
“Okay,” she replied softly. “You know where to find me if you need me to take over and show you boys how it’s done.”
Rebel chuckled and pulled her close to him, his arms wrapped around her waist, the adoration glimmering in his eyes. “You can show me how it’s done all night. For now, I need to figure out how to stop the bad guy.”
Amelia’s cries broadcasted throughout the spacious room from the speaker of the baby monitor. In her peripheral vision, Heather saw Brianna rise from the couch and rush toward the bedroom to soothe her newborn. But the connection between Heather and Braxton held their eyes firmly locked on each other, to both comfort and share whatever strength they could muster for the other. No amount of time could lessen the loss they felt, but it did give them both time to learn to handle the pain.
“I love you,” Rebel mouthed.
“I love you more,” she mouthed in reply before releasing him.
He watched as she strode across the suite and sat beside Brianna to coo over Amelia. When Brianna offered to let Heather hold the baby, Rebel watched with amazement as his wife took the tiny baby in her arms, held her close to her bosom, and softly kissed her little pink baby cheeks.
Silas, Noah, and Bull began talking about the contents of Rashad’s file and pulled Rebel out of his thoughts, back into the conversation. While actively participating with his team, he kept one ear attuned to Heather’s conversation with the other ladies. They were dying to pry into the more intimate details of their married life, but socially acceptable decorum kept them in check. When he realized not even Liz had blurted out the questions she wanted answered, he knew Reaper must have warned them before they’d arrived at the hotel.
During a lapse in conversation at the table, Rebel looked up at Reaper. “Thanks, man.”
“For what?”
“For whatever threat you issued that’s keeping the ladies from bombarding Heather with questions about us.”
Reaper tried to hide his smile at first, but it was pointless. “I just told them if they pushed too hard, Heather may never come around again. She’s stayed away all these years, so they have to make her want to be around them.”
“I always knew there was a reason why I liked you and kept you alive. You’ve earned your keep today.”
“Good to know I’m useful for something.”
“Try being useful for this case now. Where’s Rashad hiding out? What’s his ultimate plan? He’s here for more than Heather.”
“Babe?” Heather called out. “Becca just sent me a text. She said a letter was left for me at the nurse’s station. It’s marked personal and urgent, so I’m going to tell her to send it over here by private courier. They can have it here in a few minutes.”
“There’s no other name on the envelope?” He was on instant alert, knowing the courier could be followed and their location could be compromised.
“She said it only has my name, and the personal and urgent is written in capital letters under my name.”
Rebel and Reaper exchanged glances, unspoken words passing between them. “Heather, have them send it to me here at the hotel.” Turning to Rebel, he continued. “I’ll increase security around the hotel. Extra men can be here within the hour.” Reaper stepped away from the group to call in the additional contracted surveillance teams.
Within twenty minutes, the suite phone rang, making the four men turn their heads and stare at it guardedly before Reaper picked it up.
“Steele.”
“Mr. Steele, a letter addressed to you has just been delivered to the front desk. Would you like me to have it delivered to your room, or would you prefer to come to the lobby to pick it up?”
“I’ll come down. Who delivered it?”
“A local courier, one we’ve used frequently. I can give you his name and company information if you need it.”
“Yes, if you can write it down for me, I’ll be down in a minute to pick them both up.”
After a quick trip to the lobby, Noah returned to the suite with the letter in hand. He nearly succumbed to the urge to open it in the elevator, but he knew he’d never hear the end of it from the rest of the team if he did.
Once inside the suite, he laid the letter out for everyone to read.
“What the fuck?” Rebel exclaimed.
“Dickhead is playing games. He thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he?” Bull replied in disgust.
Spelled out in letters cut out of magazines in different sizes, colors, and fonts was a letter addressed to Heather.
You’re so good with syringes and starting IVs.
You stick them in others while you roam free.
But your turn is coming, the time is so near.
When you’ll get your own stick, it’s almost here.
11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“What the hell is he up to?” Rebel asked calmly, masking the anger that welled up inside him. “It’s definitely a direct threat, but what’s his plan?”
“The part about her roaming free could mean he plans to snatch her,” Bull reasoned. “He could be planning to drug her and take her. But the part about the stick could refer to different things. A stick in the way he started the letter, meaning he’ll inject her with something. A stick of dynamite, meaning he’ll blow up something. Or it could be neither one, simply meant to throw us off.”
“With his background, we have to assume he’s referring to bombs. Her turn is coming soon, he sent pictures of her to Rebel, and he’s been following her. Left this at her nursing station, so he knew she wasn’t there. But he hasn’t found her house yet, or he would’ve left it there.” Noah met Rebel’s gaze dead on. “A bodyguard will be on her at all times. That’s not negotiable.”
Rebel nodded. “I guard her body just fine, but thanks for asking.”
Noah smiled, understanding exactly how he felt. “You can’t stay awake and alert for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until this is finished. She’ll need a protection detail, even if they never touch her body.”
“If they value the protruding parts of their bodies, they’ll keep their hands off of her.”
“Can’t say I’d be any different,” Noah replied.
“Hell no,” Bull added. “The body would never be found if one of them touched Chaise.”
“You’re all pussy-whipped men,” Silas sighed. “What happened to the badass Delta Operatives the three of you used to be? You know, before you traded in your man cards for women’s purses.”
“I’d just like to point out that I’ve been a badass Ranger, Green Beret, and Delta Force operative all while being married. I can carry my wife’s purse better than any man, while still whipping your ass.” Rebel arched a single brow at Silas in a silent mock threat.
“No need to get your girly panties all in a wad.” Silas grinned.
“I’ll assign the protection detail shifts to Blake, Roman, and Alex, and get Brad to start his computer magic to help find Rashad using the limited information we have so far.” Bull picked up his cell phone and walked away while issuing the new orders to the other men of Steele Security.
“Rebel, I got the official word from our commander in chief while you were doing surveillance yesterday. The airwaves are full of chatter that Rashad’s cell is planning something on a large scale.”
“How large?”
“To rival 9/11.”
“What are our orders?”
“Take no prisoners once we’re sure of their plans.”
“I know for a fact they won’t take prisoners. While I was undercover investigating his cell’s activities, the low-level guys I was allowed around couldn’t wait to be promoted so they could take out as many of us as possible,” Silas added. “I’m glad to hear we’re ordere
d to take them out.”
“I thought you left the CIA?” Rebel asked Silas.
“I did. Just like you left Delta Force,” Silas replied.
“Delta Force doesn’t even exist. I thought you spooks were smarter than that.”
“And the CIA doesn’t operate on American soil. So neither of us actually exists.”
“Fair enough,” Rebel chuckled. “Do you have any suggestions on where we should start looking for him? Or how to draw him out to us?”
“Rashad sets himself up on a pedestal, so he’d want to stay somewhere nice. His minions are more likely to be in a rat-infested motel while he stays in a suite like this one. But with what the intelligence says he’s planning, he’d need somewhere with complete privacy. So I’d say he has a house here, whether it’s rented, borrowed, or owned,” Silas answered.
“Well, that narrows it down,” Bull deadpanned.
“Exactly. Let’s start narrowing it down,” Noah replied. “Have Brad start searching for shipments of the most common ingredients these suicide bombers like to use. Who’s moving the most paint remover and industrial-grade hydrogen peroxide? Or ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel? Cross-reference the addresses and materials. They may be splitting up deliveries of the ingredients to avoid detection.”
“On it,” Bull answered. “I’ll have him include businesses around here, too. They may be ordering shit through an employer to hide it, too. Or stealing it.”
“I’m going to take a closer look at his uncle’s finances and see if anything jumps out at me now. We know there’s still a connection there, but with him having immunity as an ambassador, we haven’t been able to do anything about it,” Rebel added.
“Let me don my disguise, and I’ll go shake some local trees and see what the word on the street is.” Silas stood up and turned to find Heather looking at him quizzically.
“Disguise? Shake some trees?” she asked.
“Yeah, with all of us being in Houston, the chances of being seen are just too great. I was undercover with Rashad’s cell for a while, with the lowest level guys who didn’t know enough to tell me anything. So, I’m going to go locate my confidential informants and find out what the word among the criminals is.”
“Alone? Aren’t you taking backup or anything?”
Silas smiled at her concern for his well-being. “No, I don’t take backup out with me. This is what I’m trained to do, and it’s best that I talk to them alone. Informants tend to clam up when people they don’t know start asking them questions. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy.”
With that, Silas left the group to prepare his disguise. When he emerged again, he was unrecognizable as the handsome, fit man who’d just closed the door behind him not fifteen minutes before. He appeared heavier, his hair was shorter and light brown. His eye color had changed from the deep blue that matched Noah’s to a chocolate brown. His eyebrows were bushier and matched the color of his new hair. It was the obvious changes to his face with latex prosthetic makeup that completed his transformation, making him unrecognizable as Silas Steele to everyone else.
“Who are you?” Brianna asked her brother-in-law.
“Charlie Murphy, street corner sales professional,” Silas replied with a sneaky smile. “Otherwise known as a drug dealer.”
“Even your teeth have changed. Are you wearing dentures?” Brianna leaned in closer to get a better look.
Silas smiled widely, giving her an opportunity to get a good look. “I sure am. These are Charlie’s teeth, so I have to wear them.”
“That is so cool,” she replied with amazement.
“You and Shadow are keeping all the good stuff from me!” Liz stomped her foot and put her fists on her hips. “I’ve been asking for this for a long time now. When you get back, you’re going to put some of that makeup on me and let me help with this investigation.”
Silas glanced around the room, waiting for anyone to step in and act as the backup he’d just asserted he didn’t need. “I’m not so sure about that, Liz. It’s really too dangerous for you.”
“You know what’s dangerous, Silas?” Liz shifted her weight from one leg to the other and crossed her arms.
“What?” he asked tentatively.
“When you’re sound asleep in your bed…” She paused for emphasis. “And I’m in the same room with you.”
“One spy makeup tutorial coming up,” he conceded. He made a long trip around the room for the sole purpose of looking each man in the eye as he muttered “traitor” under his breath when he passed by. Silas left the suite to begin tracking down his informants, ignoring the snickers that turned into full belly laughs when the door closed behind him.
The neighborhood Silas had to venture into was in the worst part of town, with the highest crime rate. Charlie Murphy looked as if he would not only fit right in, but it was more likely he was there to take over. His dark brown eyes were menacing and calculating as he scoured the neighborhood. He made it a point to look directly at each person he passed, leaving the distinct impression anyone who fucked with him would regret it. His confident swagger coupled with the obvious outline of the gun lying just under his untucked button-down shirt ensured others moved out of his direct path.
His appearance and demeanor perfectly fit the part of a dangerous lowlife to everyone around. Little did they know how deadly he actually was. Trained to blend in anywhere he was placed, and to also get out with the exact opposite of any identifying traits, Silas had no qualms about running into anyone in a dark alley. He knew which one of them would be walking back out on his own two feet—and which one would be wheeled away on a stretcher.
With three raps on the door in quick succession, he listened intently to the muffled sounds coming from inside the dingy, run-down apartment. Though the inhabitants attempted to be as silent as possible, hoping the person on the other side would think no one was home, they’d already made too many mistakes to pull that ruse off.
“Open up!” he commanded from the dimly lit hallway. His stern tone left no doubt he’d kick the door down if he had to tell them twice.
“Who is it?” a woman’s trembling voice called back.
“That’s a new low, man. Do you have any idea what kind of bad things could happen to a woman home alone in this place?”
The doorknob slowly turned, allowing the door to open only by a small crack as an eyeball peeped out.
“Pay the five dollars and install a fucking peephole. You really think that flimsy chain and your measly foot could stop me from busting in if that’s what I wanted to do?” Silas asked incredulously.
The door shut softly, the ring bolt slid across the metal guide, and the chain fell against the doorjamb. Silas pushed lightly on the door, and it swung open with ease. On the other side stood Joe, the CIA agent who’d disappeared from Miami, with an overall countenance of complete deflation. His shoulders slumped, his face was crestfallen, and his eyes were lackluster.
“We don’t have anything you can steal, and we can’t get anything that could be of any worth to you. My wife is sick, and I’ve been out of work for months. What could you possibly want with us? We mind our own business and stay out of everyone else’s business,” Joe rambled on and on.
Silas walked in, fully aware that Joe hadn’t recognized him under his disguise, and closed the door behind him. Even with Joe’s down-on-his-luck demeanor, the training he received at The Farm was ingrained in his every cell. He watched Silas’s movements with the precision only his years of service could provide. Once the door latched, Silas intentionally stepped out from in front of it, out of the line of fire of anyone who may show up on the other side. Joe’s gaze shot up and met Silas’s knowing smirk.
“Who are—?” Joe started to ask but stopped short.
“You and your sister need to come back with me. You’re not safe here. Besides, this place is a shithole. If she’s not already sick, she will be soon just from living in this dump. How do you know you haven’t already contracted typhoid
fever?”
Joe stared at Silas, or Charlie, for several long seconds. “How’d you find me?”
“Come on, Joe. You’re not seriously asking me that, are you?”
“I’ve been very careful with every move I’ve made.”
“Ever considered that’s your problem? You’re too careful, and that makes you too predictable. That’ll get you killed in this job.”
“I thought you quit the CIA.” Recognition dawned in Joe’s glare at last.
“Have you ever known anyone who actually quit? Enough with the stalling. Grab anything that could identify you, and let’s go. Your sister will have a luxurious, safe place to stay, and she’ll have the best company in the world.”
“And where will I be?” Joe asked skeptically.
“With my brother, his team, and me. I know you took off for a reason, but now it’s time to man up and make a stand.”
“You don’t think I tried? Too much planted evidence appeared to point at me, and I couldn’t undo it.”
“We know Bill was the dirty one, not you. Rashad took him out, so it’s probably best that you got out of Miami. But Rashad is now in Houston, and we need to go hit up a couple of my CIs to find out the word on the street.”
The color drained from Joe’s face, and his eyes found his sister’s worried expression. “I knew he’d end up here sooner or later. It’s time to go, then. Emily, you know what we have to do.”
She nodded, walked into the bedroom, and pulled the small suitcase from underneath the bed. Joe followed her, and they began filling the bag with their belongings. Silas heard Emily whisper to Joe as they packed. “Who is he? Can we trust him?”
“He’s Silas Steele with the CIA. And we don’t have much choice but to go with him if Rashad is here,” Joe whispered back.
“Stop whispering about me. I can hear you both,” Silas called. “In fact, this place is so small, I can still see you.”
Emily turned her head and met Silas’s knowing gaze in the mirror hanging on the bedroom wall. “I’m sorry. I’m just not cut out for all of this.”
Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) Page 11
