by Janie Crouch
That was not why she’d baked him muffins.
He was a single guy. He probably didn’t get a lot of home-cooked items. That’s why she’d baked him muffins.
He glanced at his watch and winced. “Okay, I’ve got to get going. Just call me if there are any other problems, okay? And thank you.” He held up the plate.
He reached over quickly and tickled Chloe’s cheek, causing her to laugh. “Bye, you little heartbreaker. Be good for your mama.”
He was out the door before she could say anything else.
What would she say anyway?
Bring me back my muffin plate tomorrow and when you do, ask me to dinner!
She wished she had the guts.
Summer put Chloe in her high chair and set some Cheerios in a small plastic bowl on the tray. Within seconds, they were spread out all over the tray and she was trying to feed herself with both fists at once.
Chloe wasn’t much of a conversationalist either.
Summer had lost her husband to useless violence so long ago now. She missed Tyler every day, wished he was here to see his daughter and what a beautiful, smart, delightful baby she was. But Summer had long since accepted Tyler wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t want her to waste her life pining over what couldn’t be changed. He would always live in her heart.
So maybe someday soon she would ask Ashton out. He seemed like a good man, if a little shy, but solid, steady, dependable.
And hot as all get-out.
Summer could use a little solid-and-steady, even if the words sounded boring to her. She’d had enough excitement in her twenty-six years. First Tyler’s death, then eight months ago when a crazy stalker linked to Tyler’s case had taken her and Chloe and trapped them in a burning building.
Some Omega Sector agents who worked with Joe Matarazzo had gotten her and Chloe out. Joe had been able to stop the stalker and save his wife, Laura—whom the psycho had also taken—although only barely.
Summer didn’t remember a lot of what had happened in that building. She’d been drugged so everything had been hazy. She just remembered a man in full combat gear, breaking through the door of the small room where she and Chloe had been placed and carrying them both out to safety—as if carrying them had been no difficulty for him at all. The whole scene had been so chaotic, Summer hadn’t even been able to thank him.
So yeah, she’d had enough of excitement. Was ready for a little bit of boring, like maybe a quiet handyman. Although she doubted Ashton was boring once someone got to know him. At least she hoped not.
Summer almost absently gave Chloe more Cheerios before reaching down to grab the ones that had been knocked to the floor and throwing them in the trash.
Summer dreamed a lot—almost every night. Vivid, lifelike dreams. For a while they had been terrifying ones of Tyler’s death. Thankfully those had gone away.
Now she often dreamed about her kidnapping and the fire. She dreamed about the man who’d gotten her out. Who’d carried her safely in his arms.
Capable. Strong. Calm and steady under pressure.
But in every dream, no matter how it started or what she did differently, there was only one face she ever assigned to her hero: Ashton’s.
Ashton Fitzgerald may be strong. And even capable in a lot of situations. But he was no rush-into-a-burning-building sort of hero. Which was fine. There were all types of heroes. Ashton was just the type who came by early and fixed sinks, rather than leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Summer had no problem with that.
She just wished she could convince her subconscious.
Chapter Two
About an hour north, in a building the polar opposite of any of the lovely condos in Colorado Springs, Damien Freihof was bored.
And generally when he became bored, people started dying.
He took a deep breath and feigned interest in what the other two men were saying inside the abandoned warehouse just outside of Denver, where they all had agreed to meet since none of them knew each other.
One waxed poetic about the need for change. He wore an ill-fitting, charcoal-gray suit with a red tie and paced back and forth. He kept a baseball cap pulled low on his head to make his features, if not exactly indistinguishable, at least more difficult to describe.
“We will rewire the entire American law enforcement system,” he argued from the shadows. The man obviously wanted to keep his face—as he had wanted to keep his name—out of the equation.
Which was fine for now.
Damien raised his fist in the air. “Yes! Fight the power.” He barely restrained from rolling his eyes.
Red Tie stopped his pacing. “We will fight the power. We will change everything by destroying the law enforcement status quo. Once Omega Sector crumbles, other law enforcement agencies will follow. We will stop the corruption.”
It was obviously a rehearsed line. Damien had no idea how deep Red Tie’s following went, whether the man had only practiced his speech in front of the mirror or if he had dozens of soldiers lined up for his cause of restructuring the law enforcement system.
But Damien knew he worked relatively high within the elite law enforcement group of Omega Sector and wanted to destroy it.
That made Red Tie Damien’s new best friend. Inconsequential things like names and faces could come later.
If Damien guessed, he would say the man was some sort of active agent or SWAT member, based on his general discomfiture with his suit. He obviously didn’t like the restriction and was probably used to wearing the superhero uniforms the SWAT team wore. Plus, he was definitely fit. Maybe not quite right in the head, but definitely physically capable of doing harm.
The other man, Curtis Harper, the man Damien had contacted and brought to this meeting, had no qualms about standing in the open, his face and identity known to everyone.
Harper tended to be much more whiny and annoying in general. He finally spoke up.
“Dude...”
Damien had found in his years of experience that nothing intelligent ever followed the word dude.
“Dude,” Harper said again, “I’m not interested in no revolution. I just want to get revenge on the man who killed my father.”
Red Tie stared at Harper, his arms crossing over his chest. Everyone stood in silence for a long time.
“Damien.” Red Tie turned to him. “I’m not sure we’re all on the same page he—”
Damien held out a hand to stop the man’s words. He didn’t want Red Tie to scare Harper away. Harper served an important purpose.
An important, disposable purpose.
Damien walked over to Harper, putting a friendly arm around his shoulders. He led him away from Red Tie, toward the door of the warehouse. “Mr. Harper, you want revenge. Rightfully so.”
“Damn straight.” Harper nodded and moved his jaw strangely. Damien realized he had chewing tobacco in his mouth.
The urge to snap the man’s neck right now rushed through Damien’s body. He could feel the tingling need zip through his arms and fingertips. He’d be doing everyone a service by killing this uneducated, woe-is-me bigot right now. But Damien resisted the urge.
Barely.
“I understand,” he said instead, keeping his hand around the man’s shoulder. “And I want to help you get that revenge against Ashton Fitzgerald.”
Harper’s eyes narrowed. “That bastard killed my daddy. Murdered him in cold blood.”
Damien doubted very seriously that the Omega SWAT team sharpshooter had murdered anyone in cold blood, but he knew not to say as much. “Indeed. And he deserves to pay.”
“I should just grab my .45 and blow his brains out.”
If Harper had the backbone to do that, he would’ve done it in the four years since his father had died. Damien just squeezed the man’s shoulder.
“You could, of course. I know you’ve got the guts. But why don’t you make Fitzgerald suffer a little beforehand? The way you’ve had to suffer.”
Curtis Harper lived every day of his life—before and after his father’s death—with a victim’s mentality. That’s how Damien had found him. How he’d been able to draw him into his scheme.
It was how he would use Harper to chip away at a little piece of Omega Sector. To kill off just one member, that, when it was said and done, would seem like an isolated event from a lone redneck bent on revenge.
Damien wondered how many isolated events Omega Sector would endure before they realized the events weren’t isolated at all, but carefully orchestrated by a great puppet master.
And now who was waxing poetic?
“Curtis, you go on home now and get ready.” Damien put just a bit of a Southern accent—totally fake—into his words. He wanted Harper to think they were cut from the same cloth. “I’ll be in touch soon with a plan I’ve got in place that will make Ashton Fitzgerald pay. It involves hurting Ashton Fitzgerald not only physically, but through the people he cares about as well. The worst kind of pain.”
Harper wasn’t worthy of knowing Damien’s entire design, his blueprint. Harper wouldn’t comprehend its enormity even if Damien told him. But Harper didn’t need to grasp or appreciate it in order to be useful.
Curtis Harper wouldn’t understand the plan, but he would help make the members of Omega Sector understand it.
Harper nodded. “Okay, Damien. Thanks.”
The man turned and spit to the side. By the time he looked back at Damien, Damien had managed to wipe the sneer from his face.
Curtis Harper was a means to an end, nothing more. Omega Sector agent Ashton Fitzgerald wouldn’t survive the next week, but then again, neither would Harper.
They shook hands and Harper left. Damien turned and walked back into the building.
“Curtis Harper is not the type of person we’re looking for to further the revolution,” Red Tie said. “He’s filthy and sloppy.”
Damien shrugged. “Not everybody can be a general in the war. You need foot soldiers also. Expendable foot soldiers.”
That seemed to appease the other man.
“Attacking one person isn’t going to bring Omega down.” Red Tie began his pacing again. “It’s not going to change the status quo within law enforcement. I’ve got no beef with Fitzgerald in particular.”
“No.” Damien held himself perfectly still in direct opposition to the other man’s pacing. “But attacking one person will split Omega’s focus. Then the next hit will split their focus more. And the one after that, et cetera, et cetera.”
Red Tie stopped his pacing. “But eventually we have to hit them hard. Not little hits. One giant strike with great force. I’ve already got something in the beginning stages.”
Damien smiled, showing just the right amount of teeth to make it look authentic. “To begin the revolution.”
“Exactly.”
“Be patient. We’ll make our most deadly strike once everything is in place. Until then, we just continue to wound them—both people inside Omega and those connected to them—without them realizing how much they’re bleeding out. Omega will limp along until it’s time for you to make your move. Bring the whole organization down for good.”
A huge grin spread over Red Tie’s face. “They’ve always underestimated me. They’ll never see it coming.”
So Red Tie wasn’t truly about the revolution after all. He’d been slighted and wanted personal revenge. Of course, he probably couldn’t see that in himself, had convinced himself of his visionary status.
Damien didn’t care either way. He would use whatever tools became available to him in his fight to take apart Omega Sector. Whether they thought of themselves as visionaries or just wanted payback, Damien didn’t care.
He would use them all. And when they were no longer useful to him, he would discard them all.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” Damien finally asked the man.
He tilted his head in suspicion. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure I can trust you.”
The first intelligent thing that had been said all day.
“Shall I just address you as ‘hey you’?” Damien crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t really need the man’s name. Honestly, at this point he didn’t care.
“You can call me Fawkes.”
Damien gave a short bark of laughter. “As in, Guy Fawkes, the man who tried to blow up the British Parliament? Okay, Mr. Fawkes, let me know when you want to meet again.” Damien turned to leave.
“Wait, that’s it? What about planning the attack? The big one.”
Damien turned back around. “It’s not time yet. If we strike now, we’ll fail. We weaken Omega Sector one little piece at a time. And when they’re hollowed out? That’s when we strike.”
Damien was nothing if not a master planner. He’d always excelled at chess because he played four moves ahead of where the pieces currently sat on the table.
Fawkes didn’t looked pleased. “Maybe you’re afraid. Maybe I’ve come to the wrong person.”
Damien didn’t rise to the bait. Wasn’t even tempted. He walked closer to Fawkes and touched his tie, waiting to see if the action would spur Fawkes to violence. Fawkes tensed but didn’t do anything.
Good. More self-control than Damien had given him credit for. Fawkes would need it in the weeks ahead.
“You’ll have your revolution when the time is right, Mr. Fawkes. Be patient. Continue gathering your intel, both on those inside the organization and those connected to it. Finding vulnerable spots we can stab quickly, retreating before they know they’re wounded. Never knowing the largest wound is yet to come.”
The younger man still didn’t like it. But he nodded. Damien smiled and slapped him on his shoulder. “Good. Then, until we meet again, Mr. Fawkes.”
He turned to leave but then stopped at Fawkes’ final words.
“You know, you’re awfully trusting with who you give your name to. I know who you are. Even Harper knows who you are. Aren’t you afraid Omega Sector is going to find out about you?”
Damien didn’t turn back around. “Not worried at all. Omega Sector already knows about me. They’re the ones who created me in the first place.”
“When they stopped you from blowing up yourself and all those people in that bank nearly five years ago?”
Now Damien turned around, eyebrow raised. “You’ve done your homework, Mr. Fawkes.”
“I always check every possible angle.”
Damien doubted this man could even see every possible angle, much less check them. “If Omega hadn’t interfered, I would’ve been long dead by now. But they did. Thankfully, I must say.”
And what Fawkes didn’t know—what Damien himself hadn’t even known until recently—was that Omega Sector had created him long before they stopped him from blowing up that bank. Long before they’d thrown him in that prison.
They’d created him when they’d killed his precious Natalie seven years ago.
And now they would pay. Would know the agony he’d known at her death.
Damien took a few steps toward Fawkes. “I have no doubt Omega Sector will eventually figure out it’s me behind the little attacks. Honestly, I hope it’s sooner rather than later. You are the one we’ve got to keep hidden.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll never suspect me.”
“Make sure, Fawkes. Because your revolution will never get off the ground at all if they do.”
“You worry about your part, I’ll worry about mine. I’ve already got something in the works that will start shaking them up.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should know about?”
The other man smiled. “No. Just an extra l
ittle something to splinter their focus. Like you said.”
Damien fought a grimace. The problem with working with someone like Fawkes was that the man was just smart enough, just ambitious enough, to have plans of his own. Plans Damien hadn’t created and therefore didn’t control. But Damien knew when to back off. This was one of those times.
“Okay, then. Just be careful. Don’t lose the war just to win one battle.”
Fawkes shrugged. “I won’t. I know the endgame.”
Fawkes thought he knew the endgame. He didn’t. But Damien just nodded at him. “I’ll look forward to our next meeting.”
He turned again and walked out the door of the warehouse, putting on sunglasses as he stepped into the bright sun shining over the Rockies framing Denver. He’d be in his car in two minutes. Five minutes after that, he would change his appearance enough that he’d be able to walk right by Fawkes or Curtis Harper and neither of them would ever recognize Damien.
It was just one of Damien’s skills and one of the reasons he’d been able to avoid capture by Omega Sector for the last ten months since he broke out of prison. They were looking for someone who didn’t match Damien’s description at all.
Damien Freihof was the greatest criminal mastermind Omega Sector had ever battled. He didn’t care if he was waxing poetic now. Truth was truth. Omega was at war, they just didn’t know it yet.
They’d targeted him for years. Now it was their turn to become the target.
Chapter Three
“All I’m saying is that she thinks you’re the janitor,” Roman Weber said as he ran at Ashton.
Ashton grimaced as Roman’s boot hit his linked fingers. He used his leg and arm strength to boost his teammate up onto the fifteen foot wooden wall, part of the obstacle course the SWAT team regularly completed.
It was supposed to not only build fitness, but promote teamwork. Right now, Ashton just wanted to push his teammates over the wall, then run the other way.
“That’s about as firmly parked in the friend zone as you can get. Janitor.” Lillian Muir, Omega’s only female SWAT agent, snickered. Being the lightest, she would be the last up the wall, since any of the other team members could pretty much hoist her up one-handed.
