Performing a time machine search on the internet, a man named Cody Taylor was listed as one of the team leaders for the Sheepshead Ranch cattle drives across Oregon and into the Sierra Nevada range. According to Reaper’s web research, Cody’s name disappeared off the site about six months earlier. More digging by Reaper had revealed that Cody was Travis Taylor’s nephew, the son of Travis Taylor’s deceased brother.
A chicken ventured into the highway, never crossing the centerline before scampering back to safety in its coop along the side of Cody Taylor’s house. An SUV whizzed past the house, setting the chickens to squawking.
Cody stumbled out of the house, his hair a mess and nothing on but a pair of boxers and a white tank top. He scratched his head and squinted as the sun rose over the mountains.
“Quiet down, ladies,” he said. “You wake me up on my day off again and one of you will be dinner that evening.”
After yawning and stretching, Cody returned inside.
Reaper climbed out of his truck and walked across the street. He held a cup of coffee that he’d picked up at a nearby service station a few miles down the road. After a deep breath, Reaper rapped on the screen door of the house.
Cody cursed loudly and talked to himself. “First the chickens and now this.”
He opened the door and eyed Reaper closely. “What the hell, man? It’s seven-thirty and my day off.”
“Sorry,” Reaper said, offering the coffee. “Here’s a peace offering. And I hope to make this intrusion into your day worth the trouble.”
“What is it, man?” Cody said, taking the cup. “I don’t deal any more, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“Not at all. I was hoping you could help me find your uncle.”
“Which one?”
“Travis Taylor.”
Cody huffed and shook his head. “What’d he do this time? Because last time he ran, it was because he refused to pay his taxes, or, at least, that’s what he told us.”
“Relax, I’m not with the IRS. And I’m not here to get him in trouble. To be honest, if he is having problems paying his taxes, I think I might be able to help.”
“What makes you think I care about helping him?”
Reaper shrugged. “I don’t know. Usually that’s what families do for each other.”
“I’d love to help you, mister, but Uncle Travis has caused me more trouble than anybody on this planet. So, pardon me if I pass on doing you a favor to help him.”
“Fine,” Reaper said as he rubbed hands together and looked around. “What’ll it take to motivate you to help me. Think ten G’s will do it?”
“Ten G’s?” Cody asked, arching his eyebrows. “Make it fifteen and you got yourself a deal.”
Reaper dug an envelope out from his coat pocket and held it out. “All I’ve got is twelve. Good enough?”
Cody nodded as he snatched the money from Reaper’s hand. “What was your name again?”
“Ronald Kilgore. I’m a lawyer from Lincoln, Nebraska. Your uncle has come into quite a bit of wealth and I need your assistance in locating him.”
“That’s it?”
Reaper nodded.
“Easy enough. He headed north a few months ago to work on an Alpaca farm in central Washington. It’s seasonal work, but that seems to suit him since he’s always running from job to job, convinced the CIA is trying to kill him.”
“What’d he do?”
“No idea,” Cody said. “He won’t talk about it. I think it’s just a ploy to get sympathy for him instead of someone kicking his ass and telling him to settle down and be a man.”
“You guys must be close,” Reaper said, delivering the statement with dry wit.
Cody set his jaw. “I might trade all this money to punch him in the face, which is the only reason I’d want to be close to him ever again. He got me fired from the ranch. Told my boss I was lazy and had been stealing supplies. I’m lucky I found someone in town who’d hire me, otherwise I’d have to turn into some nomadic fool just like him.”
“Misery loves company, as they say.”
“Would you punch him for me in the face, just once, when you see him?” Cody asked with a wry grin. “Tell him it’s from me.”
Reaper sucked in a breath through his teeth. “You might want to consider changing your tune toward him after he gets this inheritance. Being the favorite nephew might pay big dividends for you.”
“That ship sailed a long time ago, Ron.”
“Sorry to hear that. Now, if you could kindly write down the name of the Alpaca farm and any contact information you have for him, we can conclude this little transaction and I’ll let you get back to enjoying your day off.”
“Sure thing, man. Just let me get some paper.”
Cody returned a few moments later with a piece of paper ripped off an envelope containing the name and phone number of the farm where Travis Taylor had gone.
“I can’t guarantee that he’ll still be there, but it’s high season for Alpaca farms right now, so I doubt he’s moved on yet.”
“Thanks,” Reaper said. “And good luck to you.”
He walked down the steps before stopping and turning around.
“Oh, and by the way, let’s just keep this a little secret between us,” Reaper said. “Besides, it’ll make your motives for reaching out to him seem all the more altruistic if you don’t tell him I’m coming.”
“Good suggestion,” Cody said. “I’ll keep this on the down low.”
After thanking Cody, Reaper returned to his truck across the street. He buckled up and then looked at the address scrawled onto the sheet of paper.
He smiled as he pushed the ignition button, firing up the engine.
“Ready or not, Travis Taylor, here I come.”
CHAPTER 21
Los Angeles
WHEN HAWK AND ALEX entered the Magnum Group offices, they were met with a standing ovation while others jokingly bowing toward them. Hawk forced a smile and held up his hands in a gesture to get the adulation—real or contrived—to stop. Alex put her head down and covered her face with her hand. Meanwhile, Big Earv stood against the wall with his arms crossed.
Hawk furrowed his brow as he stared at Big Earv. “What’s this? Are you refusing to bend the knee?”
“These knees bend for no one, especially for agents awarded made-up commendations,” Big Earv said.
“Who let the cat out of the bag? Was it the director?” Alex asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Big Earv said as he cut a sideways glance to his right. “She made me make a spot to display your medals. So, turn them over.”
He held out his hand and waited. Hawk and Alex dumped their DEA medals into his hand.
“How cute,” Big Earv said snidely. “The couple who spies together wins medals together.”
“If it means anything to you, we both weren’t excited about this,” Hawk said.
Big Earv huffed a laugh through his nose. “What? Getting the medals? Or the flack that you knew was coming?”
“Both,” Alex said.
Big Earv broke into a broad smile. “See you in the conference room in five minutes. We just uncovered some new information in the case.”
“Better late than never,” Hawk said.
A few minutes later, the Magnum leadership team had gathered to discuss the latest developments in the DEA case.
Morgan called the meeting to order and thanked Hawk and Alex publicly for their good work in Bogotá.
“Normally when the source of the leak is identified—and subsequently killed—the case is over,” she said. “But there’s far more to this than what we initially thought. What at first seemed like nothing more than a well-placed cartel asset, other intelligence agencies are suggesting that this case is not what it seems.”
“Then why haven’t they taken over?” Alex asked.
“Good question,” Morgan said as she paced behind her chair and templed her fingers. “The reality is everyone is still wondering who�
�s ultimately behind this and what the end game is. So, in order to ensure that the loop is tight, the FBI, CIA, and DEA have all declared this matter closed.”
“Dan Timmons seemed to act like that was the case, even as I suggested otherwise,” Hawk said.
“We think there might be a leak at the DEA, which makes sense why he would say that to you at his offices,” Morgan said. “So, we’ll need a final report from you and Alex to bring official closure to this case. But we’re still going to pursue this.”
“Besserman suggested we look into the border patrol agent who arrested Diana Lorado,” Hawk said. “Do we want to do that first?”
“That’s not the priority at the moment,” Morgan said.
“So, what turned up on the burner phone?” Alex asked.
Mia smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Mia, take it away,” Morgan said.
“When I started digging through the data on the phone, I found a lot of deleted numbers that were hidden,” Mia said. “It took a lot of work to unearth them, but I finally found one that matched up with the timing of the murder of a DEA agent here in Los Angeles.”
“And?” Hawk asked.
“It took a lot of work, but we were able to triangulate the number with a phone used near the location of a former special ops agent,” Mia said.
“Anything definitive?” Alex asked.
“That’s what you’re for,” Morgan said with a smile. “I want you to check out Jackson Jarrett at the address listed on the screen. But be cautious. He’s most definitely dangerous and could create a situation if you back him into a corner.”
“Is that it?” Hawk asked.
Morgan smiled. “For now. But when you get back, we’re all going to gather together and watch the hanging of your medals.”
“That definitely will not happen,” Alex said.
Morgan laughed. “Good luck.”
* * *
HAWK ROLLED to a stop outside the home of Jackson Jarrett, the former special ops agent who murdered Van Norton, the DEA agent working at the Los Angeles port. According to the dossier Mia provided, Jarrett was an Army Ranger who had more than four dozen kills as a sniper during the war in Afghanistan. A third of those took place in close-quarters combat.
“This guy is dangerous,” Hawk said as he scanned the white stucco house in Echo Park. “Just be ready for anything.”
Hawk pulled his tie taut and opened the door. “Ready?”
“Ready as I always am when I meet government assassins,” she said as she winked. “I married one, so I’m not prone to be too afraid.”
Hawk chuckled and shook his head. “Always the comedian.”
They strode up the steps and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, they heard footsteps shuffling toward the door. When it swung open, a man with disheveled stringy hair greeted them.
“Sorry, I’m not interested in becoming a Jehovah’s Witness,” the man said.
“Mr. Jarrett?” Hawk asked.
“Yeah?”
“We’re not here to give you Watchtower magazine,” Hawk said. “But we do need to ask you some questions.”
Jarrett laughed. “Get in line. It’s like everybody can’t stop asking questions these days. I get online, I get asked a question. I call a phone number, I get directed to a survey after the call. People can’t get enough of my opinion these days.”
“It’s not a generic one we’re after,” Alex said. “We have some serious questions to ask you.”
Jarrett tried to slam the door shut, but Hawk put his hand near the top, buttressing it with his foot.
“Talking usually involves seeing the person you’re dealing with,” Hawk said with a faint smile. “Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can either answer our questions here or join us for a little trip back to our offices where we’ll detain you indefinitely until you talk. It’s your choice.”
Jarrett sighed and rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Like she said, we just need you to answer a few of our questions,” Hawk said.
“Whatever, man. What do you want to know?”
“Look at these pictures and tell us if any of these jog your memory,” Alex said before grabbing a handful of images. She fanned them out in her hand and began displaying them one by one.
“What is this?” Jarrett asked.
“DEA agents, one of whom you were ordered to assassinate,” she said. “Ringing any bells yet?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, staring blankly at the photos.
“We know who you are,” Hawk said. “And we know what you’ve done. It’s going to be a lot better for you if you just tell us the truth.”
“The truth? The truth about what?” Jarrett asked.
“The truth about who ordered you to kill these people,” Alex said.
Jarrett shook his head and shrugged. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She frowned and shook her head. “You sure you don’t? You’re just a former special ops assassin whose phone number was on the receiving end of a known state actor who was caught revealing the names of federal undercover agents. Still not jarring your memory here?”
“I work for the U.S. government, and I have immunity for anything I do,” Jarrett said. “So, if you can identify my direct report and figure out what kind of scam he’s running, knock yourself out. Otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Hawk said as he brandished his gun.
“Hey, now,” Jarrett said, putting his hands in the air. “No need for that.”
“You’re right,” Hawk said. “There shouldn’t be—as long as you’re talking and being up front about who called you on this date.”
Hawk pointed to a ledger that had Jarrett’s phone number listed. “The person who called you has been arrested for ordering the assassination of several DEA agents. I shouldn’t need to tell you that if you want to get out of this unscathed, you need to be forthright about everything you know.”
Jarrett sighed. “Look, it’s very simple. I get orders from approved U.S. military personnel once a month to take out high-value targets. The person in the photograph you referenced was one of those targets.”
“The person you killed was an undercover DEA agent,” Hawk said as he narrowed his eyes. “He had a wife and two kids—and now he’s gone, thanks to you. His kids will grow up without a father. And I can’t tell you how that sickens me.”
“I was doing nothing wrong,” Jarrett said. “I routinely get these black ops assignments, probably the same as you. The photograph of the man you just showed me was one of those men.”
“The only problem is, he wasn’t really a threat,” Hawk said. “In fact, he was just doing his job.”
“That’s not what I was told,” Jarrett said, throwing his hands in the air.
“Someone lied to you,” Alex said. “Who was it?”
“Nobody lied to me.”
“Bullshit,” Hawk said. “You deflect or avoid answering our questions then I’m going to have to interrogate you by other means. I can promise you that you don’t want that.”
“Whatever, man. I’ve been absolved of whatever it is you’re accusing me of doing,” Jarrett said.
“You killed this man, Van Norton, a U.S. federal agent, working undercover for the DEA,” Alex said.
Jarrett took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Is there a point to this?”
“The point is you took an innocent man’s life, and now there’s no undoing it,” Hawk said.
Jarrett shrugged. “That’s the life of an operator. You learn to live with your mistakes.”
“But this was not a mistake,” Alex said. “This was a targeted hit.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t make the orders. I just follow them.”
Hawk glared at him. “Who’s ultimately giving you these orders because the person who sent these to you was just a go-between?”
�
��It’s someone well above your pay grade in the U.S. military, that much you can be assured of,” Jarrett said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my morning cup of coffee.”
Hawk and Alex nodded and turned back toward the street.
“What do you think?” Hawk asked when they got to the car.
“He’s telling the truth,” Alex said. “And we don’t have a legal leg to stand on when it comes to bringing him in.”
“Legal being the key word there,” Hawk said.
She smiled. “Good luck trying to get Morgan to go along with any of those schemes bouncing around in your head.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Hawk said.
His phone buzzed with a call from Morgan.
“Any luck with Jarrett?”
“He stonewalled us,” Hawk said. “And we don’t really have any leverage on him. He’s completely protected.”
Morgan sighed. “Get back to the office. We need to figure out a new course of action.”
CHAPTER 22
Los Angeles
BIG EARV FINGERED the golden chain draped around his neck as he stared at the images on the screen. With eyes wide and mouth agape, he drew back at the sight of the note suddenly appearing on Morgan’s car. He shook his head and stood, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees.
“No way am I getting involved in that,” Big Earv said. “I’m not down with ghost hunting.”
“You think that’s a ghost?” Morgan asked, still seated and holding the computer mouse in her right hand. “I can show it to you again.”
“I think one time is all I need,” Big Earv said with a shiver. “I can guarantee you that I’ll be having nightmares tonight about this.”
Morgan rolled her eyes as she waved dismissively. “It’s not like somebody jumped out from behind a car and shot me. It’s just a note.”
“I wouldn’t call that just a note. It seems more like an ominous warning to me.”
“I don’t know many six-foot-four men who weigh two hundred and forty pounds who would run and cower over something they think might be a ghost.”
The Reaper (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 2) Page 11
