by Linzi Basset
“Yeah, we did. And we believe Adam, aka Damien Whittaker, is involved,” Jack confirmed.
“And he’s become a grave danger to all of us, Alex,” Keon continued. He dropped the file in front of Alex, who cursed as he perused the details of the planned assassination of the President.
“You should’ve given it to me sooner,” he snapped.
“We wanted to check the authenticity of the contents first and who were involved.” Keon countered.
“Wait a minute. I know you didn’t believe Adam was dead but what does Whittaker have to do with this?” Alex registered what was mentioned earlier.
He seemed to be suppressing his anger with visible difficulty.
Rhone quickly filled him in. His face turned livid.
“And now he believes he’s got everyone fooled and with Vitale out of the way, he’s got free reign. The fucking bastard,” Alex raged. His fist connected with a thud on the desk.
“I can’t do anything with just your word and this file, Rhone. It could’ve come from anywhere. Nothing in here links it to Baxter or Whittaker. How can we prove that Whittaker is Baxter?”
Richard switched on the television screen again and quickly found what he was looking for on his iPad and linked up.
“I used forensics to compare the facial deconstruction of Adam Baxter to that of the original Damien Whittaker.”
Richard quickly demonstrated with graphic mock-ups, how Adam’s features had been morphed into Damien Whittaker’s face. “It's conclusive. This Damien Whittaker, is Adam Baxter.”
“Fucking bastard,” Alex exploded.
“You can’t go in there!” Savannah shrieked and physically attempted to bar the man headed for the boardroom.
“Out of my way, miss,” the gray-haired man warned.
“Roland? What are you doing here?” Alex asked in surprise. Roland Woods was the assistant director of the Organized Crime Division at the FBI. Three suited men followed him inside.
“Governor White, it’s good to see you,” he responded curtly. “I am here on official business.”
“Then get to it man, you’ve interrupted our meeting.” Alex’s voice cut through the room.
“My apologies.” He looked at Rhone. “Rhone Greer, I am here to take you into custody for the murder of Vito Vitale.”
“Now, you’ve completely lost the plot, Woods,” Alex snapped. “Just what the fuck is going on?”
“Governor, I appreciate that Mr. Greer is your friend but I am here to do my job,” Roland defended himself.
“Oh, for fucks sake!” Lance raged.
“We have a witness report that places you in the vicinity of the Vitale’s murder, in fact, where the shot came from. We also have information that you have been in contact with the Mexican cartel.”
“Where did this proof come from?” Alex fumed at the agent.
“Governor, you know as well as I do, that we have to investigate all claims, especially if they appear legitimate. We need to question Mr. Greer to ascertain if he has an alibi.” He sighed and looked at Rhone. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Greer, it’s a fucking good thing that the bastard is dead, but murder is murder and I have to follow protocol.”
Rhone got up and walked toward the door. “I understand. Let’s get this over with. I don’t have time to waste. Lance, get hold of Pamela and tell her to meet me at the . . .” He looked questioningly at Woods.
“FBI headquarters,” Roland supplied, somewhat taken aback by the imposing man.
“Will do, Rhone,” Lance said, already making the call to Pamela Seeger.
The team was left behind to muddle through.
“I don’t fucking believe it. It seems you were right, Keon. Adam Baxter is a fucking hell of a lot shrewder than any of us could imagine,” Alex commented.
“Rhone and I were just discussing it and were strategizing about putting an end to him when we saw the news on Vitale’s death. It has to be Baxter who planted that information.” Keon surmised, to which everyone agreed. “Alex, see if you can get higher up in the FBI to find out exactly what they have on Rhone. Jack, contact Hagan Cullum and ask him to look into this.” He began striding toward the door. “Max, phone Ethan and ask him to meet me at Rhone’s house. I need to talk to Samantha and I might need his help to keep her calm.”
“Yeah, she’ll likely just shoot Baxter, consequences be damned” Richard chuckled in agreement.
“We need to get Rhone out before Baxter gets to him,” Keon pointed out. “I don’t trust anyone at this stage.”
“Agreed. I’m off. I’ll keep you posted. If Samantha has a proof of Rhone’s whereabouts last night, even better. The more we have on his movements, the quicker he gets released,” Alex said as he rushed out.
* * * * * * * *
Ethan was already at Rhone’s house when Keon arrived and was doing his best to avoid the questions Samantha was bombarding him with.
Keon wasn’t surprised to see Lauren there as well. He yanked the band from his hair and shook his head in frustration.
“Talk to me, Keon. Ethan has suddenly become mute. What the devil is going on? And where is Rhone? I’ve been trying to get hold of him since early this morning.”
“Calm down, Sammy. Rhone is fine. Well, he will be, as soon as we get him out.”
He watched with an amused glint in his eyes when her hands landed on her hips. Her foot tapped expectantly on the floor.
“Well? What are you waiting for . . . Christmas?” she asked irritably.
Ethan hid his amusement behind a cough and relaxed in the chair. He shrugged his shoulders at Keon’s glare.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m just here to keep her from shooting you.”
Samantha’s eyes narrowed to slits. She glanced between the two men.
“And why would I wanna shoot you, pray tell, Keon?”
“Damned if I know,” he muttered and raised his middle finger at Ethan who burst out laughing at his expression. It was epic to see the big man weary of a woman less than half his size.
“One of you better start talking,” she ordered sharply.
“Did you ladies see the news? Vito Vitale was shot dead yesterday.” Keon began.
“The mafia boss who you believe is somehow involved with Baxter?” Lauren prodded.
“The same.”
“Yes, we watched the news earlier. What has that got to do with Rhone?” Lauren asked, slanting a careful look at Samantha who was having difficulty remaining calm.
“An anonymous source tipped off the FBI about Rhone’s involvement with the Mexican cartel to murder Vitale.”
“That’s absurd!” Lauren exclaimed.
“It’s him. I warned all of you from day one but you won’t listen. Adam Baxter, Damien Whittaker, whatever the fuck he calls himself, is dangerous and he’s once again one step ahead of us.” Samantha fumed. She started pacing the room.
She spun around to face Keon. “Where have they taken him? Come, let’s go,” she asserted and marched toward the front door.
“Sammy, stop,” Keon called after her.
She stormed back into the room. “Don’t you fucking Sammy me. We. Are. Going. To. Fetch. Rhone. NOW,” she clarified each word by poking his chest.
Ethan erupted in a cacophony of coughs bearing witness to the small woman poking at the big bear.
“Samantha, enough,” Keon said in a deep voice. It vibrated darkly in the room and she took a step back, but only to look him in the eye without causing a crick in her neck.
“Keon, we can’t leave him there. Baxter’s got contacts everywhere. Rhone isn’t safe!”
“Alex and the rest of the team are already with him but in the meantime, we need to gather as much information as we can about Rhone’s movements yesterday.”
“He was with me, the entire night!” She was highly annoyed.
“We know that but they might say you’re lying to protect him. Is there any way we can corroborate his movements. Did anyone else see him?”
“What time was it?” Samantha asked.
“Around seven thirty last night,” Ethan volunteered.
“Well, then we can prove someone is lying. Rhone and I had a meeting with Wade and the trainee Doms at seven, after which Rhone did a demonstration of erotic flogging. After that we had dinner in the club restaurant. All of them can vouch for him.” Samantha relayed the events in a chilled voice. She was itching to get into the car and go to find him herself. Something urged her to get to Rhone quickly; to get him away from danger.
“We can do one better. Let’s get the video footage, Ethan. It’s runs 24/7 inside the club.” They walked toward the sliding doors. Keon glanced at the women over his shoulder. “Samantha, wait for us. We’ll go get Rhone together. Do not hie off on your own.”
Samantha snorted. “Well, only if you don’t slow me down.”
Lauren’s laughter rang out after them as they walked down the pathway. Keon shook his head at the amused look on Ethan’s face.
“She’s a feisty one.”
“She’s exactly what Rhone needs in his life. Now, all he has to do is tell her that.”
Keon quickly made copies of the recordings and they returned to the house. The two women were already standing next to his truck when they arrived.
“Lauren, I don’t—”
“I’m not staying behind, LeLuc.”
“That’s . . . hmm, where are we by now? Ten?” He murmured as he got into his truck and cranked the engine. The two women scrambled to get into the truck.
“Ten?” Lauren glared at Keon in the rear view mirror. “Remind me to buy Keon an abacus on the way back, Samantha. It seems he needs to learn how to count.”
“Keep it up, Red. I’m itching to adjust your attitude.” He waited until the gate locked behind them before he took off. “One whipping at a time.”
Lauren shut up.
Alex was up in arms by the time they arrived at the FBI headquarters. He’d been refused entry to where Rhone was being interrogated.
“Pamela is with him though. I am itching to wrap my hands around that weasel’s neck and strangle him,” he declared with a cold look in his eyes.
“We’ve got concrete proof that Rhone wasn’t anywhere near that restaurant.” Keon handed the copy of the recordings to Alex.
“Fuck Roland Woods. He has no cause to detain Rhone any further. This proves that he’s been set up.”
“Alex, make sure he’s sworn to silence about Rhone’s release. The longer Baxter believes he has an upper hand, the better.”
Alex nodded as he disappeared through the side door. Samantha began pacing, moving closer and closer in that direction. Keon moved to block the way. She stopped and glared at him.
He straightened to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest and watched her with raised eyebrows.
“What the devil are you doing here, Samantha?” Rhone barked from behind Keon as he walked through the door. She didn’t answer; she just skirted around Keon and flung herself in his arms.
Rhone cuddled her against his chest and looked questioningly at Keon. Her entire body was shuddering as she tightened her arms around his neck.
Keon shrugged. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t trust anyone here.”
“Good idea. Come now, luv, let’s go. We’re going home.” Rhone gently pried Samantha’s arms loose. He stared into her haunted eyes. “Stop worrying, luv. Nothing happened and I’m fine.”
“Maybe, but it could’ve been worse!”
“But it wasn’t. No, Samantha, don’t go there. You should know by now that I can take care of us. Remember that, luv.”
He kissed her. A quick, hard kiss that shook her to the core.
“Now, let’s go home.”
He helped her into the truck and he slammed the door shut. His eyes met Keon’s over the roof of the truck.
Keon knew what was coming as he watched Rhone’s face turn hard, his jaw rigid.
“It’s time.”
Chapter Seventeen
He hid behind a facade of social interactions as he circulated through the crowd—the loyal employees of Black Diamond Incorporated. The Thanksgiving party had been arranged long ago and he couldn’t cancel it. Whittaker apparently didn’t believe in Christmas parties and this was the only concession he made in its stead.
Adam smiled as he spoke to the staff and listened intently—the perfect rendition of the revered, Damien Whittaker. Why the staff was so enamored with the man, was a mystery. He disrespected them most of the time and never showed any empathy for their personal problems.
Adam smirked. That was it then. Money. Everything in life always came down to money. And everyone had a price. He felt the excitement rise inside him. With Vitale gone, he had the freedom to plan.
His fingers stole under his cuff to stroke the cold bracelet. It was his only deterrent but he wasn’t giving up. The team working on the deactivation sequence had assured him they were close.
It had been a stroke of genius to implicate Rhone Greer for Vitale’s death. Javier Velez had unknowingly supplied him with enough information during their dinner to go one step further and link him with the Mexican cartel. The forged transcripts of a discussion between Greer and the leader of the Mexican cartel had been anonymously delivered to the FBI. It was enough to lock him up for the rest of his life. Rhone Greer will rot behind bars.
A short bark of laughter escaped his lips. It just showed how success could be bought.
“Two down, three to go,” he whispered, loving it.
He became pensive as he moved to stand in a secluded alcove, watching over the crowd. He could see the dance floor filled with people dancing to the band. The party had a sixties theme and he watched some people jiving with expert twists and jiggles.
God, what a load of crap. Such a waste of my time.
He chucked the rest of his drink down his throat. It was time to set the next part of his plan in place. And the Francis sisters were at the top of the list.
Or maybe that wasn’t the best strategy. No, I need to eliminate Keon LeLuc first. Then the two bitches will be vulnerable and like putty in my hands.
And with Javier Velez in his corner, it would be a walk in the park.
Wait, what the fuck is he doing here?
Adam felt his body go hot and then cold as he watched the tall figure of Paul Burgess weave his way through the dancing couples. He stopped to greet some people, exuding charm.
He came directly toward Adam, who belatedly realized he wasn’t hidden like he’d believed to be, in the darkened corner. Paul Burgess stopped in front of him, effectively blocking him from view of the rest of the room with his broad frame while keeping him trapped within the alcove.
“Walking through these people, I came to realize how everyone is scared of having nothing,” Paul Burgess reflected, his eyes burning into Adam’s. “You know, the classic cycle. The rich hoard their money to preserve not only themselves but their descendants. The middle classes aspire to be rich, either by hoarding or spending money they don’t have in order to maintain the appearance of wealth. The poor, who go from paycheck to paycheck under the chronic stress of never having enough.” He glanced at the people milling about. “And I can identify where each and every one of these pitiful group belong. What do you think, Whittaker? Who wins in the end?” He racked his eyes over Adam’s face. “The rich? The poor?” His mouth slashed into a straight line. “Who is left standing?”
Adam started. His tone vibrated with aggression—a silent warning that Adam didn’t understand. He opted for nonchalance and offered in a non-committal tone, “We both know money talks, Mr. Burgess. If it didn’t, neither one of us would be as comfortable and successful as we are.”
“Yes, and some of us at least will live long enough to enjoy the fruits of our labor.”
This time, the threat was openly supported by the fierce glint in Burgess’ eyes. Adam was spooked as he searched the expressionless face of the man watching him unblinkin
gly.
Was it possible that he knows who I really am? No, there’s no fucking way he could know.
Adam’s insides tightened and he felt his anxiety flare. He wracked his mind for the right thing to say. Burgess was too clever to be misled and if he had any inclination or suspicion that Whittaker wasn’t the real deal, his life wasn’t worth shit.
“I warned you before not to fuck with me, Whittaker. You missed a second meeting with me, yesterday morning.”
Adam relaxed but did his best not to show his relief. The fucking asshole ran hot and cold like a desert wind.
“I’ve been meaning to contact you and apologize but with the party—”
“I’m not interested in your bullshit, Whittaker. Your attitude of late isn’t filling me with confidence in your abilities to do anything more than money laundering for us and that, we both know, is the easiest function to replace.”
“Look, I had to have a small procedure done to my eyes. It was unplanned but I couldn’t postpone it and it happened very quickly. I assure you, Mr. Burgess, you still have my support and now that my health problems have been resolved, I’ll be back on track.”
These pre-arranged meetings all happened prior to him taking the real Whittaker’s place and unless he wanted to alert Burgess, he had to find proper excuses for the ones he missed.
Burgess stared at him, clearly assessing whether or not to believe him. “This is the last time, Whittaker, don’t let it happen again.” His eyes chilled over even more. “Did you have anything to do with Vitale’s death?”
The desire to boast surfaced. But then he looked into Burgess’ eyes and froze. Something flashed under his hardened expression. Another test. He fucking knows something! Fuck, I have to tread carefully.
Adam kept his expression impassive.
“No, why do you even think I’d be involved with Vitale? Baxter did all the dirty work in that regard.” He lifted the glass to his lips and cursed when he realized it was empty.
Burgess’ eyes narrowed.
“You seem upset about it though, Mr. Burgess. Isn’t it a good thing? I would’ve thought the Sixth Order would be pleased that he's been eliminated.” Adam waited patiently for his response, genuinely interested as to why it seemed to bother him.
