by Linzi Basset
“Maybe she hasn’t, Samantha. I verified the ownership of this property and it changed hands three years ago,” Max informed her from the backseat. He stretched his long legs and tapped keys on his laptop. “Hm, it now belongs to a teacher named, Cynthia Marsh.”
Samantha glanced over her shoulder at him. “Do you think that’s the name they gave her?”
“I’m already running some checks.” He took a sip of coffee from the Starbucks cup in his hand. “It’ll take a little while.”
“Heads up. There’s someone opening the door. Jesus! It is her. Max, look. It’s Beckie,” Rhone’s voice sounded gruff, yet filled with excitement at the same time.
Max’s hand on his shoulder stayed him from reaching for the door.
“No, Rhone. You need to be patient. Beckie might not even remember you and approaching her on the street . . . it might do more damage than good. Besides, we need to nail the motherfucker who did this to Keon . . . and to Samantha.”
“You’re right, mate, but she looks . . . god, I’ve missed her so much,” he said in a thick voice. Rhone couldn’t take his eyes off the young, dark-haired girl. “It’ll be her eleventh birthday in six weeks. What I wouldn’t give to bring her and Keon back together for that day.”
“We will, Rhone. One way or another, we will sort out this mess,” Samantha assured him while watching the little girl skipping back from the postbox, clutching the mail in her hand. “She’s such a doll; ponytails, a sweet little dress, and dainty sandals. So different from what I was at this age.” She smiled at Rhone. “I was a real tomboy, but Lauren . . . she was a sweetheart who loved to play dress up.”
“Beckie loved that too, even as a baby. I used to play faerie and wizard with her.” Rhone had a gentle smile of remembrance on his lips.
An excited shriek from the young girl drew their attention. They watched as a golden retriever puppy ran out the house and charged down the driveway. A tall, auburn haired woman chased after him with Beckie close behind, running toward the street to catch him.
Samantha’s breathing turned haggard as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. Her eyes followed the slim woman chasing after the puppy.
“It’s her. It is Lau-r-en.” Her voice broke. When she opened her mouth to speak again, the words came out fitfully, the sounds half swallowed by the sobbing that consumed her. She was crying too much to be coherent, much to her dismay. Rhone’s face turned serious.
“Easy love, you don’t want to draw their attention to us,” he cautioned her. He squeezed her thigh, watching her with a worried expression. She was undone and her tears were flowing nonstop down her cheeks. It seemed that crying was a foreign experience to her.
“I thought . . . believed he was lying. That she wasn’t really . . . wasn’t really . . .” Samantha stuttered and put her hands over her mouth to dampen the sounds. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d cried like this. Maybe it had been at the funeral. It was a foreign feeling and it left her weak. The feeling of loss overwhelmed her. They would never get back the lost years.
And neither would Keon and Beckie.
The puppy changed direction and came running toward the Hummer.
“Get down, Samantha. We can’t afford for Lauren to see you. I said, get down,” he repeated and with a hard shove behind her head, forced her to bend over double. He followed suit when Beckie chased after the woman and the dog.
“Catch him! He’s coming your way,” Beckie cried out between peals of laughter as they struggled to take hold of the dog.
“They’ve got him,” Max reported from the back.
Rhone straightened. His eyes connected with Beckie’s. His body turned to stone. He couldn’t look away from the limpid eyes as the girl stood rooted in the middle of the street a short distance away.
The woman called to her and she turned to follow her inside. But she hesitated on the steps and glanced back toward the Hummer. Her lips moved but it was too far to make out what she said.
Then she lifted her hand and blew two quick kisses in their direction.
“Did she just send you a kiss, Rhone? Do you think she recognized you?”
“No, Max. She was too young. It’s impossible. There must be neighbor on this side of the road.” But his heart wouldn’t stop hammering in his chest. It was how she used to say goodbye to him when he left after visiting.
Was it possible to have such early age memories? Could she remember me after all this time?
Rhone shook off the wishful thinking. Then another thought dawned on him. He was wearing a red baseball cap, similar to the ones he used to favor when she was little. He blinked, remembering how she always used to climb on his lap to snatch the cap off his head and prop it on her own. Then she’d look at him and say, “Look at me now, Chuck.”
Keon used to call him Chuck back then, a nickname from schooldays. But not anymore; not since Keon lost his family.
“We need to get home, Rhone. I need to know what Bulldog wants. The sooner I can give him what he’s after, the sooner we can get them back. And I will get them away from him; one way or another. I will find a way without . . .”
Samantha swallowed her words. Now that she confirmed that Lauren was alive, she suddenly realized she would either have to take the hit or start planning a way to get Bulldog off her back. He would never let Lauren go, no matter what he promised, he would always hold her over Samantha’s head; his pawn, to control her. She knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t hesitate before hurting or killing Lauren in retribution.
“Without what?” Rhone asked when Samantha went mute.
“Without anyone getting hurt,” she ended solemnly.
Rhone started the car. “Max, you need to keep round the clock surveillance on them. Make sure all your satellite feeds are in place. I want to know every step they take outside of that house from this point forward.”
“Already on it, Rhone. I just emailed my team and they’re mobilizing already. Yep, here we go. I just received confirmation that the live stream of these coordinates is on. If they move a toe out of the door, we’ll know.”
“Please let Bracus know this location and all the relevant details you have. He’s been searching for Lauren Frazer. We can use his input to ensure we don’t miss anything.”
“On it.”
Rhone glanced toward Samantha who had been quiet and sat huddled against the door. He could only imagine how devastated she must be feeling. His jaw flexed. He needed to remain focused. It would be a mistake to allow empathy to override common sense.
Remember who she is, Rhone. She might look innocent and is being used by Bulldog but she’s still a hardened assassin. She wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger for the right incentive, namely—her sister.
* * * * * * * *
Over the last six years, Samantha had believed that truth had drilled down into her soul. That she’d found that lake of purity to wash her consciousness clean. Wasn’t that what happened if you truly desired it? She had walked away from a life she’d hated and had to learn afresh who she really was, who she was born to be. She’d believed that would set her free. Free her from past mistakes. Somewhat like; “Use the force, young Skywalker” and believe that she was good inside, that her heart was pure.
These random thoughts swirled through her mind as she sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the flickering cursor on the screen. She was hiding in a broom closet, on the second floor of the Precision Secure building, where they’d come after finding Lauren and Beckie.
She could see Rhone aching to tell Keon about his daughter being alive. Her heart went out for the large man who, she’d realized, had a heart of gold.
Luckily, Keon and Jack were setting up the security system at Senator Kevin Douglas’ house, which allowed Max and the rest of the team to get everything streamlined without alerting him. Everything would be under wraps until it was the right time to inform Keon about Beckie. Until then, he needed to be kept in the dark.
They were s
o engrossed in setting up the perimeters around Lauren’s house; they didn’t notice Samantha slipping away. She’d seen the email notification from Bulldog on her phone and wanted to open it without any of them around. A sixth sense warned her to keep the target’s identity a secret.
Something told her that whoever it was, was connected to Rhone’s group of friends. She tapped her fingers against the side of the laptop. Her nerves were shot. She’d worked hard to put this life behind her. She’d became a good citizen—not that she had been deemed a bad one before, but in her eyes, being an sniper carried a stigma; didn’t matter that she followed orders of the Government to keep the country safe.
“Stop procrastinating, Samantha. You know you have no choice. Not if you want to find a way to get Lauren and Beckie out of that fucktard’s clutches.”
She clicked on the icon to open her mail account. She stared at the subject line—The force of nature. Every job was given a specific subject which told the sniper which password sequence to use to open the attachments.
All the target links were randomized by an algorithm that was impossible to crack. Samantha knew that. The best hackers had tried and to date, she hadn’t found anyone who could open Bulldog’s encrypted messages.
The first couple of months after she’d walked away; she’d searched for ways to find something on Bulldog; just out of self-preservation. No one had been able to find even the slightest chink in his armor. It was as if he only existed in virtual form.
Until the day she’d stumbled on a link in one of his early communications with her. Her hacker friend had been able to trace it to his IP-address and found trace of some of his shady dealings. She’d been devastated when she’d learned his true identity. The only man she’d thought was a true patriot of the country. One, every person associated with the CIA respected.
She’d disappeared then, hoping she’d managed to hide from a man known for his crazed quest to see justice done. She’d hoped that he’d forget about her over time and let her go.
Over time, she’d come to believe he had.
“What a fucking fool I’ve been. They never let you go.”
Her bitter voice broke the silence in the dank little room. The sigh that followed was heavier than a ton of bricks.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
The words force and nature were the key to the codes required to unlock the encrypted message and files. It took close to five minutes before the two attachments opened. One was a docket with all the information on the target. Samantha ignored it and clicked on the other jpeg file to open the photo.
Her mark.
Samantha had believed herself to be a strong person. That she could weather any storm; stand up to the strongest men and be declared the victor in the end.
The moment the photo opened, that belief went flying out the window. Life had just dealt her the Joker. The shock knocked every bit of air from her lungs, and she struggled to inhale.
She’d been naïve; a fool to believe she had her emotions under control. That it didn’t mean anything to her. She was unable to function as she sat there, staring in stunned horror at the photo on the screen, while the name bounced around inside her skull.
Samantha had known a lot of despair. When her entire family had been killed, she’d wanted to die too, but life had other plans for her. Now, she was once again being dragged under a wave of desolation and she was afraid she might not resurface.
Adam Baxter had done the unexpected. Her target was someone she knew.
Rhone Greer.
Samantha didn’t move for a long time, just sat staring at his image on the screen. It wasn’t a recent photo. His hair was cropped short and he was dressed in army fatigues. But there was no mistaking his directness of his gray eyes, the rigid jaw line and the deadpan expression on his face. A crystallized version of a man who oozed passion and sensuality in real life.
She clicked on the other link and read through the information supplied. Everything was there, except his name. Bulldog never supplied a name. In some demented way, he assumed if she didn’t know who they were, it would be less personal. But this time, it was. Very personal.
He was thirty-seven years old. He was the primary owner of Precision Secure and Club Devil’s Cove property. His movements over the past twelve months were listed, but with many gaps, where he’d just disappeared, and they couldn’t find trace of him. Samantha assumed it was during one of the covert ops.
“Rhone and his team must be good at what they do. Considering that even Adam couldn’t find them.”
Adam had done a thorough job this time. All of Rhone’s friends and family were listed, even Ruark’s kids.
You’re a fucking asshole. I know what you’re doing, Bulldog; messing with me with veiled threats to the kids.
Samantha scanned through the entire docket twice, and then frowned.
Bulldog must’ve found out about Woodcraft Carpentry’s contract at the club. That’s why he approached me. But how did he know and find me in the first place?
She scoffed at her own questions and stood up, closed her laptop and stuffed it in her bag.
“Stupid question, Samantha. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere. He uses the CIA’s technology. I know this! Fuck, I’ve been so naive!”
He’d always known where she was. From the day she walked away, he’d been keeping an eye on her. Waiting; just waiting for the right moment to strike. Using her sister was a cruel plot, the bastard. And with that, he’d tied her hands. There was no way she could disclose who he was to Rhone. Not if she wanted to keep her sister alive.
“I have to find out what hold he has over Lauren and why he hid her from me all these years. I need to unsettle Adam Baxter.”
Her mind swirled, searching for ways to get under his skin.
Why am I even wondering? I know how. He doesn’t realize that I know who he really is. What better way to unsettle him than to arrive at his office . . . yes! That’s what I’ll do—
“What the hell? Miss? What are you doing inside this closet?” The janitor asked, perplexed. He’d gotten the fright of his life when he’d opened it to find her stepping out.
“I thought it was the ladies room,” she cooed and gave him such a sweet smile that he forgot what he wanted to say. He shook his head, watching her walk toward the stairs.
Samantha took the stairs down and exited the office building surreptitiously. This was the best opportunity to get to Adam Baxter without being noticed or followed. No one had come looking or called her in the last thirty minutes, so it was safe to assume they were still engrossed in setting up the virtual shield around Lauren and Beckie. She needed to get away while Rhone’s guard was down.
She only relaxed once she was seated inside a cab, on her way to the George Bush Center where the CIA headquarters were, in Langley, Virginia. The drive was long enough to give her adequate time to strategize. Adam Baxter was no fool and Samantha had an uneasy feeling that poking him in his home turf might be counterproductive.
I hope that I’m not placing Lauren in danger by doing this, but I have no choice. He has to know that he’s not incognito. That he too can be exposed. If I’m lucky, he’ll slip up.
Samantha had no idea how she was going to get out of the job but she needed to ensure Bulldog didn’t get a whiff of the fact that she had no intention of shooting Rhone. As long as he believed her to be planning the hit, he wouldn’t appoint someone else to do the job.
She didn’t consider that she was acting on impulse and emotionally. That the shock of Rhone being her supposed target had spurred her to act without giving it proper thought.
* * * * * * * *
Adam Baxter was born to be in a suit. He was a serious man with a serious gun, who had effortlessly rolled off the assembly line in Langley, Virginia. He had the standard-issue tanned face with the ubiquitous wide shoulders and square jaw. He was clean shaved twenty-four-seven and his deep baritone usually sounded clipped. His colleagues knew that life had no color for
him, no shades of gray either; it was all black and white, right and wrong, legal and illegal. When he wasn't devising strategies, he was chasing down criminals.
His last partner had jokingly likened him to Tom Cruise. He clocked more hours than the rest of them in the firing range, which explained him being an expert shot.
He was the epitome of a CIA agent, which was why he had just been promoted as the deputy director of NCS.
He stood ramrod straight in front of the large fishbowl window overlooking his team of NCS agents. They all respected him and went out of their way to do his bidding.
“Fucking time they acknowledged my hard work,” he said.
He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his crisp pants and rocked back on his heels. His cerulean blue eyes skimmed over each person currently in the office.
Adam had come to the conclusion that now that he’d achieved this level in his career, he didn’t need Damien Whittaker and his cohorts any longer. He had more than enough money to last a lifetime. It was time to cut the cords with the syndicate. This job was more important than all the money they paid him to be their lackey.
He noticed his secretary talking to a blonde woman. He couldn’t make out the woman’s features but it didn’t concern him. Lydia knew he wasn’t receiving any visitors.
Adam has had enough of dancing to their tune. He had power in his own right and he was going to bask in it. His final years in the CIA was going to be spent building the division to levels others could only dream about.
He smiled at his thoughts. The next promotion would be straight into the director’s chair of the CIA. And, he knew it would come much sooner than anyone expected. He had the ways and means to unseat the current director and with the desire to ride the wave of success he had coveted all his life, he had every intention of using it.
And if Rhone Greer and Keon LeLuc hadn’t been around to fuck up every operation, I would’ve made it much earlier. They’ve stood in my way every single time I made leeway with the syndicate. It’s time to get rid of them for good. This is my last job with the Sixth Order and if I don’t succeed, I’ll never be able to step away from them. They have to fucking die and Ace has to sign the contract with the Sixth Order!
