Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2)

by P. A. DePaul

  “Seven minutes, people,” Cappy barked. “Move it. That’s an order.”

  The Senator opened the back passenger door and Michelle thought she’d throw up. Ted scrambled to reach for something at his feet, then straightened. He fiddled with a small flattish device, then said, “Test.”

  He fiddled again and a tinny version of his voice emanated from the thing.

  Grabbing her hand over the bench seat, he pressed it into her palm. “The killer may force you to turn off your comms. Hide this in your pocket or wherever and we’ll still be able to record everything.”

  Sweat lined her hand, causing her to close her fist around it before it fell to the floor. “Will you be able to hear us with it?”

  The crease forming at the top of his nose answered the question. “No. It’s just a recorder.”

  “Take it, Michelle,” Cappy said in her ear, and she jumped. “It’s better than nothing.”

  Bob Harris held his hand out to her and she stared at it. You have to take it. Jeremy needs you to be strong. You survived Colombia. You can survive this, and if something happens, well, at least you got to hear Jeremy say he loves you.

  ***

  Cappy prowled the small area in front of the fountain. The once idyllic setting now felt like a cage.

  He glanced at his watch. “Two minutes, people,” he growled, trying to reign in his terror.

  Michelle. Dear God. He had ordered her to stand in that bastard’s sights beside him. Based on a hunch. Had he made the right call?

  A flash of a white baseball cap showed on the other side of the bridge. Cappy waited a moment and saw her head rising over the cement. He wanted to weep both for joy that she hadn’t been harmed on her way and for fear that she still would be. She and Bob crested the arch and began their descent. She had a death grip on the Senator’s elbow and not one speck of blood was left in her face.

  Christ, she was terrified. And he owned that. If he lived through this, he planned to make it up to her any way she’d allow, short of walking away from her life.

  “Isis, leave your position and protect Ted,” Cappy commanded. He had purposefully held off the order, knowing Delta would’ve formed a mutiny and not vacated the area.

  “Cappy, I don’t think—”

  He cut off Isis’s protest and ignored the outrage from the team.

  “I’ve still got Grady,” he reasoned. “Ted has no one, and he’s way more important than I am. He’s an asset who must be protected at all costs. Do you understand me? All costs.”

  “Check,” Isis replied without any inflection.

  He breathed out at the same time his stomach clenched. She was a coldhearted bitch who had no real loyalty to him or the team. Out of everyone, she was the perfect operative to assign to the most important person because she wouldn’t abandon her post if this went sideways.

  Cappy eyed the area. “Grady, start closing in.”

  “Already in action,” the newest operative said between puffs of air. “Coming in from the north, on other side of canal.”

  “Understood.”

  Cappy shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from wrapping them around Michelle. She and Bob Harris halted just steps from him but it felt like a mile. When her foot moved forward he stepped back.

  “I don’t want to give the killer any ammunition or ideas,” he said as calmly as he could, trying to stay in operator mode instead of breaking down into caveman like his instincts demanded. “We don’t know what he knows or the assumptions he’s made.”

  A flash of pain crossed her eyes and he felt like a heel.

  Grady slowly jogged into view. “Next time, I vote Talon runs his ass off in circles.”

  The poor man’s once wavy blond hair was now plastered to his head, and sweat coated his T-shirt.

  “That could be arranged,” Cappy murmured, following Grady’s progress out of the corner of his eye. Once he passed completely, Cappy maintained his diligent scanning.

  “Cappy, single man approaching from the southwest. Lightweight black jacket and a backpack. Sound familiar?”

  Adrenaline dumped into his veins. “It’s go time, people.”

  Chapter 67

  Cappy motioned for Michelle and the Senator to take a step back. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d have placed them behind him. But he wasn’t supposed to have the heads-up on the man’s direction, so it would look too suspicious.

  The man Grady had described loped into view. Nothing about his walk or demeanor suggested this guy was the killer. Not that Cappy expected a neon sign to blaze above the guy’s head, blinking I WANT TO KILL YOU.

  Sure would be nice if the universe made those, though.

  Cappy strained to study the man without appearing to notice him at all. Sunglasses covered most of the guy’s face and nothing about the walk gave him a clue, so it was an effort in futility.

  Just to keep with the ruse, Cappy turned away from the approaching man and peered at Michelle. She stayed locked to Bob Harris’s side, her knuckles whitening with each second. Cappy almost blew his nonchalant cover when he noted her normally feminine curves seemed squarer. The Kevlar vest. Thank Christ she still had on the protection underneath her sweatshirt.

  “I have to admit I’m a little emotional at finally having our reunion.”

  Cappy whirled at the voice. He had hoped when he saw the guy in person he’d have clarity, that bit of aahhh that told him who the fuck this was. Instead, he saw a stranger. A physically fit man in the prime of his life who stood about six foot with short black hair now held back by the sunglasses. His right hand was tucked behind his back and his left gripped the strap of a ratty backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “I know you?” Cappy asked, straightening and edging just a little in front of Michelle.

  The killer laughed.

  The hairs on Cappy’s body stood. He knew that sound.

  The man cracked his neck from left to right and Cappy’s stomach bottomed out.

  Holy Christ. “It can’t be,” he whispered, unable to comprehend what his senses told him was true.

  A wide grin spread across the unfamiliar face. “Surprise, Malone.”

  “Jersey?”

  Michelle’s breath caught.

  “Seeing that look on your face.” Jersey shook his head and laughed again. “Worth it.”

  “You died in the hospital. Everyone in the unit died.” Cappy couldn’t help reiterating the facts.

  The smile dropped from the sergeant’s face and he whipped his right hand up. Cappy now stared down the barrel of a silver 9mm Smith & Wesson. “No, motherfucker. Everyone did not die because of that bomb,” he snarled.

  “Oh Jesus,” Michelle uttered so low, Cappy wasn’t sure if Jersey heard her or not.

  “I’m still breathing and you’re still taking up space.” The light in Jersey’s eyes held a fanatical edge.

  Shit. Cappy’s training started to take back over from the shock and he inched his hands toward his SIG Sauer holstered at his back.

  “But cockroaches would survive a nuclear war. Isn’t that what the scientists say?”

  Cappy figured Jersey’s question was rhetorical.

  Senator Harris moved and the gun swung toward the politician.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Jersey tsked. “Stay right where you are.”

  Bob raised his free arm and stilled.

  Grady slowly moved into view behind Jersey, his Beretta out and kept down his leg, hiding it from the outside world.

  “Why didn’t you find me and let me know?” Cappy asked, hoping to get the focus back on him and to discover a shred of humanity left within the maniacal gleam.

  “So we could bond?” Jersey cackled, raising the hairs on Cappy’s arms. “Maybe sing ‘Kumbaya’ while we reminisce about the good old days?”

  “No. So you cou
ld hear me say I’m sorry.”

  Red blotches spotted Jersey’s skin. “I don’t want your meaningless words,” he growled. Inexplicably, he pointed the gun toward Ohio Street. “Take a good fucking look. Your words do nothing to bring my arm back.”

  At first Cappy couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, then it slowly came into focus. Jesus Christ. A hole was neatly centered within Jersey’s hand . . . a lifelike, yet not really, hand.

  “A prosthetic,” Cappy whispered, the blood rushing from his head.

  “Yes. I lost my arm thanks to your selfish command. MY FUCKING ARM.” The barrel snapped back to Cappy’s chest. “But you know what? I’m so glad I missed those shots yesterday.” Jersey’s voice changed to ice. “The better revenge is to have you suffer like I’ve suffered the past six years.”

  Jersey was right. The guilt weighed like an anvil on his heart. No amount of sorry could make up for the wrong he’d committed against this man.

  “You have no idea what it’s like to have a fake arm. The years of training just to do what a kindergartner could do. The ridicule, the stares.” Jersey swallowed hard.

  “You”—Jersey motioned to Michelle with the barrel—“were stupid enough to go traipsing through the rain forest, straight into a drug cartel’s compound, causing everyone to scramble, and me to be roped into rescuing your moronic ass. And you”—the gun moved back to Cappy—“commanded your unit into a bomb’s path because your dick told you to get revenge, and don’t give me that shit about how our orders allowed us to destroy the buildings. The minute you picked her up, you forgot about the real mission.”

  Michelle trembled beside him and Cappy prayed she wouldn’t suffer another PTSD episode. Yesterday she had a massive breakthrough, but too many terrorizing events in a row might be too much.

  “I’m so sorry.” Cappy couldn’t help it. The words slipped out from his heart.

  “Don’t, Malone,” Jersey snapped. “It’s too late. The moment we burst into that room in Colombia you’ve had a connection with this bitch, and I can practically feel the love oozing from your pores now.”

  Cappy continued to inch closer to his SIG. “You didn’t have to go down this path. You could’ve come to me. I could’ve helped you with your recovery. You didn’t need the likes of Victor poisoning your life.”

  “Victor’s been a savior to me. He visited me in the hospital. He knew I wasn’t useless. He hired me to work for SBG as part of his elite assassin squad, and he is a man who doesn’t abandon his men and leave them to die.”

  “I didn’t either—”

  “Save it,” Jersey barked, his gun pressing forward as if to reiterate the point. “I’m done listening to your lies.” He cracked his neck from left to right. “When Victor and I brainstormed about my need for closure, I specifically stated that this little bitch had to be part of the plan. She had to suffer like I’ve suffered. Although pinning a little murder charge on her for a few days doesn’t make up for six years of misery. But it won’t matter for her anymore.”

  Ice-cold rage pumped through Cappy’s veins. Pinning a little murder charge? Try torture, rape, and loss of her family, asshole. She’s suffered more misery than you. He knew better than to say the words out loud. The hope he had harbored of having a chance to atone for his mistake against the soldier died. The honorable sergeant he once knew was gone, and in his place was a bitter man bent on revenge. The moment Jersey threatened Michelle was the moment he crossed the line to enemy.

  “Know that her death is on your head, Malone. You take from me, I take from you.”

  “Tell me what I took from you, you son of a bitch,” the Senator seethed, “to make you murder my son and wife.” Unfiltered rage rolled off the politician.

  Jersey gazed at Bob Harris.

  Cappy took the opportunity to inch his hand closer to his gun.

  “Nothing. I don’t care about you,” Jersey spat. “Their deaths were part of Victor’s game. He has a serious hate on for you. Wants you crazed with grief, which he accomplished with their deaths. Now he plans on ruining you by leaking your extracurricular activities to every media outlet.” Jersey reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a flash drive. Holding it up, he continued, “Really disgusting shit on here, Bob.”

  The shade of Senator Harris’s face deepened and he trembled with fury.

  “You know what surprised me to learn the most?” Jersey asked in a conversational tone, further confirming how over the edge he’d gone into Crazyland. “Your wife knew about your penchant for young men.” He pantomimed the side of his skull exploding. “Blew my mind. Here you have this smoking-hot wife with a body most men will never see outside of a magazine, and you’re out there chasing sausages.” He shuddered. “But despite that insult, I think she actually loved you. Called out your name right at the end.”

  Jersey’s aim swung to Michelle’s forehead.

  Everything happened at once.

  The Senator roared and fumbled with his suit jacket.

  Cappy jumped in front of Michelle while simultaneously tearing his SIG free.

  Bo-Boom. Two gunshots rang out, then a third shot filled the air at the same time a sledgehammer slammed into Cappy’s chest. He couldn’t stop his momentum from knocking Michelle down.

  Another shot echoed through the park.

  Pandemonium erupted. Tourists and locals screamed and ran for the closest exit to the street.

  Cappy tried to take small breaths to keep from gagging against the pain in his chest.

  “JEREMY!” Michelle screamed.

  “Cappy’s down,” Grady yelled. “I repeat, Cappy’s down.”

  Cappy blacked out.

  He awoke to pounding feet vibrating the ground around him.

  “Grady!” Wraith yelled. “You hurt?”

  “No—”

  Cappy lost the rest.

  More feet shook the sidewalks.

  “I’ve got him covered,” Grady said, which made no sense. Who covered? Jersey?

  Hands prodded and pushed him from all sides.

  “Son of a bitch,” Cappy wheezed. “Watch it.”

  “Can you crawl out?” Talon asked.

  “Huh?” Crawl? “What the hell you talking about?” he groaned, opening his eyes.

  Romeo’s mug took up his whole focus. “You’re crushing your girlfriend.”

  “Michelle.” Cappy jerked. Son of a bitch. He flailed to sit up. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” His stomach muscles protested the movements. He roared in frustration.

  “I’m okay,” she replied weakly . . . from directly under him.

  “FUCK. Get me off of her,” he exploded, shooting his hand in the air. “She can’t be trapped.”

  Romeo grasped his wrist and helped pull him to sit upright.

  He let go and twisted, then almost threw up at the pain radiating out of his ribs. He glimpsed only a few scratches and bruises on her.

  “Jeremy,” Michelle wailed, hooking her arms around him so hard she tackled him back to the ground, landing on top with her knee nailing his balls.

  I will not cry. Real men do not cry from pain. Holy God, did his chest and nuts hurt. He’d probably have the biggest, ugliest bruise on his chest for weeks . . . The jury was still out on his nads, but they had better bounce back. He had plans for tonight.

  “You’re okay?” She cupped his head, pulling it up as she ran her hands over it. “The vest protected you?”

  He couldn’t catch a breath to reply.

  “Oh my God. That bullet was meant for me.” Her hands roamed south and the back of his skull thumped against the pavement. “Are you bleeding?”

  Christ. She was going to knock him out.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” She scrambled off of him and knelt by his side. He drew in a ragged breath only to choke on it. His lungs protested all in-and-out action, and
he had to consciously stop his hand from rubbing his abused groin. “Are you in shock?”

  “Um, Michelle,” Magician said gently, gripping his woman’s shoulders. “Stand here with me for a second, okay?”

  “Okay,” Michelle answered hesitantly, an obvious war going on behind her eyes as to whether she’d really follow through with the request. She bit her lower lip and allowed Magician to pull her to her feet and pace back a few steps.

  Romeo (who suspiciously looked like he was silently laughing his ass off) and Talon moved in and helped him to sit back up. Spots swam from the movement and he blinked to keep from heaving. His testicles throbbed but not as bad as a moment ago.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Talon crouched, flashing one, then three, then five fingers.

  “Asshole,” Cappy rasped, looking down and seeing a hole in his sweatshirt. Thank God he had the Kevlar on. “I don’t care what the movies show, this shit hurts like a bitch.”

  Romeo huddled beside him.

  To forestall the coming agony at removing the vest, Cappy demanded, “Give me a SITREP. Start with Jersey and the Senator.”

  “Jersey’s dead.” Talon twisted enough so Cappy could see Wraith and Grady standing over a crumpled body between them, then continued the situational report. “Two shots: one to the chest and one to the head.”

  “Four were fired,” Cappy countered, recalling the echoes.

  Humor flickered in Talon’s eyes. “One took out that tree.” The operative pointed to a reddish-orange-leafed tree beside the bridge with a definite hole in the trunk.

  “I’m speculating here,” Romeo said, not holding back his amusement anymore, “but I’m thinking Jersey shot you, you and Grady shot Jersey, and the Senator nailed the tree.” He chuckled. “Which is kinda funny if you think about it. Isn’t he now head of the Blacks Ops division whose front is an environmental company? Shouldn’t he be hugging trees, not shooting them?”

  Cappy snorted, then wished he hadn’t. He cradled his ribs and panned the area, locating most of his people.