Granny reached for her purse. It was boxy and white and looked like it was made of wicker or something. She handed him two fifty dollar bills. Rocky looked from the bills to her face. A hundred bucks? Was she punking him?
“It’ll take that much in gas. Gramps truck sucks…er…guzzles it.”
She sighed like it was the biggest imposition and added a twenty to the pile. “That’s all I can afford. I’m on a fixed income, you know.” She waved her skeletal hand at him in a shooing motion. “Now be going so you can accept Jesus.”
So, she was eager to get rid of the criminal grandson, was she? Well, too damn bad. He glanced around the room. Cats everywhere. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stand even one night with the furry beasts. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. I would love one of your home cooked meals. I’ve missed them so.” Not. “And I could use a good night’s sleep so I’ll be at my best when I meet Jesus.”
“What are you, slow? You ain’t meeting Him, boy. You are accepting Him into your life. You’ll be lucky to meet him when the time comes.”
“Right. Right. That’s what I meant.” God, she was draining. He’d almost rather be back in the joint than standing here with her. “How about it, Granny? I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”
“Fine. I’ll cook us a pot pie. I know they’re your favorite.”
Rocky’s gag reflex kicked in. He hated pot pies…always had. Granny forced them down his throat when he was growing up. He had to sit at the table and finish it before he could get up. They were always undercooked and over-salted. He sighed. He’d eaten worse in the big house. Most of that slop wasn’t fit for an animal, let alone a human being. He’d choke it down and do whatever he needed to stay the night. Little did she know, he remembered all her secret hiding places. One hundred and twenty bucks wasn’t nearly enough. Stingy old broad had thousands tucked away in hidey-holes all over the house.
After praising Granny for her disgusting dinner, Rocky retreated to his old room…which wasn’t so much a room as it was a closet. He’d had more space in his jail cell. All his belongings had been removed. He wondered what the old bat did with them. Oh well, not like it mattered. She hadn’t let him have anything like normal kids his age…no gaming systems or comic books or sports posters. He plopped down on the mattress and winced as a spring poked him in the back. He adjusted and shoved his hands behind his head. As soon as the television clicked off, he’d scour the house for her hidden loot. Granny liked her game shows and not only did she jack the sound to ear-bleeding levels, but she shouted out the answers. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over his head, ignoring the musty smell and the cat hair tickling his nose.
Rocky woke with a start, knocking the pillow from his head. He shot to his feet and took a defensive position, one he’d perfected in prison. No one would get the better of him or sneak up behind him again. He was no one’s bitch. When no threat presented itself, he glanced around. Where was he? Oh yeah, Granny’s house.
He craned his neck listening for the television but it was blessedly silent. Show time. He tiptoed from the room checking the hall to make sure it was clear. He had to pause until his eyes adjusted to the dark. Granny didn’t have so much as a nightlight. When he saw no signs of movement, either from the two-legged or four-legged variety, he tiptoed to the kitchen. A sudden noise had him swinging around and lashing out. The damn coffee pot kicking on. He’d almost knocked the carafe to the floor. His mouth dropped open at the digital readout. It was almost six in the morning. He’d slept through the night. Granny would be up any minute. She-it. He planned on hitting every one of her hiding places. Now he’d be lucky if he raided one.
#
Hillary Billings bolted upright with a gasp, knocking the blanket from her shoulders. Sweat coated her skin, plastering her t-shirt to her body. Goosebumps erupted along her arms. Kota, her Belgian Malinois, scrambled from his padded bed on the floor and leapt onto the mattress. He whined and licked her face, providing comfort. She rubbed him absently, still shaken from the gruesome dream. Her other hand strayed to the raised flesh on her chest, a remnant of the emergency surgery that saved her life.
The nightmares had lessened over time, but when they did creep into her REM sleep, they were vivid and frightening. After months of intense physical therapy and dogged determination, her physical injuries had healed. She’d passed all of Dante Costa’s grueling tests. The former Navy SEAL oversaw training and conditioning for all COBRA Security agents. He didn’t go easy on anyone, regardless of age or sex, and more than one recruit had labeled him an evil drill sergeant. He demanded the best out of everyone and he got it or you didn’t become an agent.
Her shooting skills were back on par, maybe even better than before. It was her mental injuries that caused her grief. She’d failed on her last job. Her charge had been kidnapped at gunpoint and she hadn’t stopped it from happening. The girl had eventually escaped unharmed, with no thanks to Hillary. She’d been lying in a hospital bed in Greece, fighting for her life at the time.
Her mind flashed back to that horrific day that had started out innocently enough, with blue skies and sunshine. Beneath the designer tunic she’d picked up for a steal while shopping on Ermou Street, she’d been wearing a bullet-proof vest. When the shots started flying, it’d done its job, catching three slugs, but one pierced her non-shooting arm, while another entered under her arm when she’d been returning fire. It’d bounced around inside her chest cavity and done extensive damage, but thankfully missed her heart.
She didn’t remember anything about the ride to the hospital or the surgeries that saved her life. Her only living relative was her older brother, Quinn. He’d been serving overseas in the military at the time and she’d signed power of attorney to her bosses, Luke Colton and Logan Bradley. Luke had flown to Greece to consent on the operations and to bring her home when she could travel. Quinn had secured leave so he could visit her while she recovered. He’d been due to renew his military contract, but seeing her so injured altered his career plans and he chose to step away instead so he could be closer to her.
Hillary didn’t remember much about her mother. She vaguely recalled a sweet singing voice, the scent of vanilla and lots of comforting hugs. She’d passed away when Hillary was an infant. She’d been raised by her father, a career military officer, and her older brother. They moved around constantly during her childhood when her father was transferred to a new base, sometimes in the country, sometimes overseas. Never staying in one place for long made it difficult to make friends other than Quinn. It was during her Sophomore year that her father died in a training accident. Quinn had been a Senior, and he’d handled everything from the funeral to the collection of insurance policies to the sale of the house, putting most of the money into trusts for their futures. Instead of accepting the basketball scholarship he’d been offered from a Big Ten school several states away, he’d stayed and played for the state university, helping them to their first NCAA appearances and earning All-American honors. With the money from their parent’s estate, he rented an apartment off-campus so she could live with him. She also declined basketball scholarships from across the country to play for the same state school. Knowing a career in the NBA was risky and competitive, Quinn followed their father’s career path and signed up for the Army after graduation. She joined him two years later. Though Quinn chose to re-sign, she’d declined when her tour was up, instead hiring on at COBRA Securities.
Hillary glanced at the clock, knowing she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. “Come on, Kota, let’s go for a run.” Kota “woofed” and hopped off the bed, racing for his leash. She smiled, loving his playful side. He was a trained service canine, usually in protection mode. She’d argued with her brother when he tried to give Kota to her. Quinn worked with dogs in the military and he was in the process of starting his own business after mustering out a few weeks ago. He would be training dogs that would be sent all over the country to various organizations that requested
them. Her bosses at COBRA Securities were negotiating with him to provide highly-skilled dogs for the agency. When she spoke to Quinn a few days ago, they were close to signing a contract and her bosses had even thrown in acreage at the complex to construct a world-class training facility. Quinn worked mainly with German Shepherds or Belgian Malinois like Kota. A breed similar but smaller than German Shepherds, Malinois’ were compact and fast with a sense of smell forty times greater than that of a human. A Malinois named Cairo even accompanied the Navy SEALS on their successful raid of Osama Bin Laden’s compound in Pakistan in 2011.
She was so proud of her big brother and knew his business would be a huge success. Having him close was icing on the cake. She’d idolized him her entire life, always wanting to do whatever he did. She’d been the first girl to play Little League with the boys in the town they were living in at the time. She played the same sports he did in high school, albeit for the girls’ teams this time.
She didn’t want Quinn to think her weak, so she’d tried to reject the dog. But one look into Kota’s big brown eyes and she fell irrevocably in love. With his short mahogany coat, black mask and ears, he was adorable. He’d been her constant companion ever since. They’d gone through an intense bonding program where they learned to rely on each other, and she’d memorized the commands that sent him into action. They were so close now, she couldn’t imagine her life without him.
She was strong enough to admit to herself that she was still suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from the shooting. Kota helped calm her, ground her. He was attuned to her moods and if she felt a panic attack coming on, he was immediately by her side. She never dreamed she’d be washed up at twenty-nine, but that’s how she felt.
She slid on her Nikes and attached her belt bag. She didn’t go anywhere without her cell and a weapon. And doggie-doo baggies. This pack had space for a bottle of water and she always carried a collapsible bowl for Kota. He waited patiently for her to make her way down the hall, his leash dangling from his mouth. She scrubbed his head and removed the lead, clipping it to his collar. When she opened the sliding glass door, the sounds and smells of the ocean washed over her and her eyes closed on a happy sigh.
This time at the beach was to rejuvenate her soul before she took on new assignments. No one knew the extent of her struggles, of her self-doubt. She made sure of it. Kayla Hepburn, her best friend and roommate, had guessed. But Hillary brushed off her concern. She’d learned in the military to never show weakness and she still lived by that mantra. She trusted her coworkers one-hundred percent, but she didn’t want pity. If Quinn knew about the nightmares, he’d drive her to a shrink so fast, her head would literally spin. He took overprotectiveness to a new level. All she needed was some time to gather herself and what better place to do that than in a seaside cottage on the Outer Banks. Sawyer Oldham, one of her coworkers, was good friends with the owners and he’d hooked her up with the accommodations. It was fully furnished and they even welcomed Kota without complaint.
Kota matched her pace as they descended the wooden steps and crossed the short boardwalk over sea grass that led to the sand. After warm-up stretches, she took off at a fast clip. Kota ran beside her, always alert, always cataloguing their surroundings, as did she. It was early and they had the beach to themselves. If she’d waited a few weeks, the shores would’ve been packed with the summer crowds. At the four mile mark, she turned and headed back. The sun was just starting to rise over the Atlantic. After another two miles, she stopped to watch the giant red orb slowly paint the sky in vivid shades of red and orange and pink. She whipped out her phone and snapped pictures, sending them to Kayla with no message. Her phone chimed a text. She smiled at the emoji sticking out its tongue. Kayla was jealous of her trip, but as much as she loved her roommate, being alone was what she needed right now. She had to get her head on straight. Her job was on the line.
She slid the phone back in her bag and glanced around. It was chilly in the mornings but she’d worked up a sweat. The beach was gradually starting to buzz with activity. An older couple walked slowly along the sand, searching for seashells. A man and young boy had set up poles in the surf to catch fish. Two shirtless men ran past her and one of them winked. He looked like he was in high school. All the while, Kota sat patiently at her side.
She scratched his head and started back to the cottage. The other houses along this stretch were well-maintained except for the one next to hers. One strong wind and it could very well become one with the ocean. She couldn’t imagine anyone owning a home with this incredible view and letting it fall into disrepair. She’d just moved into her cottage yesterday, but she hadn’t seen anyone around the house. Maybe they were seasonal and didn’t visit often. That would explain the lack of concern for the exterior.
She removed Kota’s lead as they jogged up the steps to the deck. He was so well trained, he didn’t need one, but she followed the leash laws for dogs on the beach. She glanced at the house next door and thought she saw a face in the window. She squinted for a better look but it was gone. A chill swept down her spine. It hadn’t looked like an ordinary face…it had looked evil.
Chapter Two
Rocky Dixon couldn’t believe his damn bad luck. First, he’d only managed to raid one of Granny’s hidey holes before she woke up, only to find out it was severely depleted. A measly three hundred bucks in twenties was stuffed behind the loose brick in the upper right corner of the fireplace. Maybe Granny was falling on tough times. Or maybe if she didn’t sign over all her Social Security checks to Jesus, she’d have more cash. Stupid old bat.
Gramps ancient Ford truck was a piece of shit and clearly Granny hadn’t taken a bit of care with it. The tires were bald, a fact he learned firsthand when one blew out on the freeway. He barely managed to wrangle the truck to the side of the road and skid to a stop with cars whizzing by at break-neck speeds. Thankfully there had been a spare so he muscled it on and continued on his merry way.
He stopped at a Wal-Mart for a change of clothes and basic toiletry items. He also purchased a disposable cell phone. When he slid back in the truck after paying for his purchases, he made a call and arranged to meet up with a fellow inmate now living in Georgia who’d been paroled last year. Rocky couldn’t remember exactly what the man had been incarcerated for…something white collar like embezzling or money laundering. All he knew is that he could produce a fake identity, something Rocky would need so Granny couldn’t track him down and have his ass thrown back in the pen. He didn’t even know the guy’s real name. They’d called him Einstein because he was so smart. And he owed Rocky. A few hours later, he headed to North Carolina as Daryl Pitts.
He was tired and cranky when he finally pulled up to Calvin’s house, but one gawking look out the windshield and he was wide awake. What the hell? It looked like it was about to collapse. It’d been a nice place the last time he’d been here. Granted, that had been years ago. He got out and glanced at the crooked mailbox with a missing door and the name Grimes in peeling black letters. All was quiet but the sound of the surf. He navigated the steps to the front door, almost falling through a soft spot on the porch. He pounded on the door and waited. Nothing. He banged again. When his knock went unanswered, he placed his hands against the glass and peered inside. It looked like a hurricane had hit the interior, but there was no movement.
He made his way down the dangerous steps and walked around the side of the house to the back. The deck appeared to be in worse shape than the porch. He took his life into his hands when he bypassed rotting boards and peered through the sliding glass doors. There was no one home. Looked like there hadn’t been in months.
Hands on hips, he gazed out at the water, not even appreciating its splendor. What to do now? With a frustrated exhale, he stomped to the truck and slid inside. After three tries, the engine cranked and he motored down the road until he came upon a cheap motel. The sign listed vacancies, along with free cable and Wi-Fi. He pulled in and parked next to the lobby. The cl
erk was a middle-aged man with a ring of white hair surrounding a bald spot and a bushy mustache. The nametag on his flannel shirt read ‘Bob’. After he checked into a room, scribbling his name so it was illegible, he asked Bob if he knew the Grimes’ family.
“Martin Grimes? Lived down the road?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I’m friends with his son…wait, did you say lived? As in past tense?”
“Died a couple of years ago.”
Rocky’s brows lifted. Hell got a little fuller when that mean codger croaked. “What happened?”
“Had a massive stroke right after his wife died. Couldn’t talk or walk. Hung on a while but he finally passed about a year and a half ago.”
The wife died, too? More information he didn’t know. “What about his son, Calvin? He still around?”
The innkeeper shook his head. “Died, too.”
Rocky gripped the counter, his heart pounding in his ears. “Wh…” he had to clear his throat. “When did that happen?”
Bob scratched his bald spot. “Don’t remember for sure. About six months ago, seven maybe?”
Rocky staggered until his back met the wall. Calvin was dead. That rat bastard couldn’t die. He owed Rocky. He owed him big. Rocky had kept his silence and now it was time to collect.
He thanked the man and made his way to his room in a daze. He grabbed his luggage from the truck, which consisted of a plastic bag full of discount store crap, and carried it to his room. The motel was old but it looked clean. A blue comforter covered the bed and the television was a flat screen. He tossed the shopping bag on the dresser and dropped to the mattress. Calvin was dead. What to do now? The only thing that kept him going day after day, night after night behind bars was thinking of what waited for him when he got out. But now Calvin had selfishly died before Rocky could collect his dues. Then it hit him. He jumped to his feet. The house. He needed to search the house.
Tough as Nails (COBRA Securities Book 10) Page 2
