by Ronie Kendig
Boone stilled, hating that people kept asking about her. Well, not that they asked. It was how they asked—like if they spoke too loudly, it’d be bad news or something. As if she were already dead. “Same.” It was the only answer they needed. The only answer that kept them from asking more questions.
Bing!
Boone ignored the chime from Houston’s station.
Bing!
Bing-bing!
“Uh,” Houston said, his mouth dangling open. “Oh, we are so dead.”
“What are those noises?” Nuala asked, coming out of her chair.
“Alerts. I have them on each of you.”
Bing!
“No,” Houston shouted. “No more. Stop!”
Bing-bing-bing!
“Holy—good—no—” He turned a pale face to Boone and shook his head. “This is some serious trouble.”
Houston hunched over his keyboard, watching monitors, his fingers flying. Curses and other oaths singed the air.
Boone was out of his seat. “Easy, easy.” He leaned over the guy’s shoulder, a hand braced on the tall chair. “What’s happening?”
“Hang…on,” Houston said as he struck a few keys then clicked. “And—there it is.” He looked over his right shoulder to the wall they’d turned into a massive screen.
More than twenty—thirty?—pages were spread on the screen, landing on top of each other as if someone dealt a deck of cards. Dozens of social media sites. What was the…
“Son of a…” Boone couldn’t believe what he saw. On every site, there was now a campaign page labeled:
HELP FIND ASHLAND PALMIERI!
And there, in the right-hand corner was a picture of Annie in all her wild-haired glory.
“This is so bad. I mean—this is good in reverse, ya’ll,” Houston said, his voice squeaking. “This is popping up on every site I can think of, and probably on ones I can’t.”
“Who did this?” Boone demanded. “Never mind—can you take them down?”
“Well, yes. But it’s going to take time.”
“Do it!”
“This is insane.” Houston grimaced. “Every site…even the ones I think wouldn’t have this—bam! It’s there.”
“Who’s that with her?” Nuala asked, coming up next to him.
The very guy Boone wanted to get his hands on. “Sam Caliguari.”
“The hunky Navy SEAL guy?”
“You sound way too pleased,” Boone growled. “You know what that could do?”
“Yeah, get her killed. Or him.”
He pointed to another picture. “Houston, who’s on the right with her in the other photo?”
“Uh…”
Boone watched as the cursor moved to that image and clicked, and a dotted line formed a box around the man’s face. A drop-down menu appeared and clicked off before Boone could read the options.
A few seconds later, Houston popped another photo on the screen. “Jeff Conwell. Owner of the Green Dot Sub Shop where Annie worked.”
“I want to know who did this.” Boone’s phone belted out the national anthem, the ringtone he’d assigned to Trace. He lifted it and answered. “You seeing this?”
“I may just make good on Annie’s belief that I’d kill that guy.”
“You think it was him?” Dumb question, but Boone would rather have proof before he lobbed off the guy’s head.
“Who else would it be? I’m on my way there. Have you heard from the girls?”
“Negative.” Boone glanced at his watch. “They should be on the plane. I’ll verify that.”
The call ended and Boone stalked to Houston’s station. “Anything?”
“I have to manually remove every one, which means hacking into each site. It will take time.”
“The origination?”
“As far as I can tell—all from the same site: Manson, Washington.”
“So it was Sam?”
“If I can verify the IP address…” Houston scanned back and forth. “Uh, the address doesn’t belong to Caliguari.” Houston shrugged. “He probably hired someone to do it.”
Bing! Bing-bing!
“You’re kidding me,” Houston shouted. “I am going to nuke this guy!” He did this growl thing that reminded Boone a lot of one of the Three Stooges characters.
Bing!
Houston gaped. “I know you didn’t! Dude, I am sending a nuke so far up your—”
“Houston,” Boone snapped, aware of Nuala covering her mouth. If it weren’t so serious, he’d be funny. “Get the sites down.”
“It’d be easier,” Houston snarled, “if I just accidentally launched a nuclear warhead at him.” His eyes moved as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “But since that would be rude, maybe if I just snuck in”—he craned his neck—“his back door…and…killed…his dog.” Houston sat up. “Okay, I think…think that will keep his trigger finger quiet for a while.”
“What’d you do?”
“Sent a virus into his system, crippling him from sending anything out. That should give us time to get those sites down and report his address so the site will ban him.”
“You can get someone banned with one e-mail?” Nuala asked.
“I never said one e-mail.”
Boone shifted closer. “Can you ghost an e-mail?”
“Psh,” Houston said with a scowl. “Of course I can. Who do you—”
“Send him an e-mail from Annie.” Boone gritted his teeth, knowing she’d hate him for this. “Something to the effect of, ‘If you care about me at all, please stop trying to find me.’ ”
Annie
Denver, Colorado
14 May – 1700 Hours
The burger sagged in the red plastic basket next to the fries, untouched. Old memories of her late mother chiding her for not eating all her dinner nagged her conscience, so she lifted a fry and munched on it. Annie sat at a perimeter table, chin propped in her palm as she watched out the windows for Téya.
Half hour late. Nothing to really worry about. But worrying, she was.
Téya appreciated consideration, so Annie couldn’t believe her friend would willingly be late. She wasn’t a punctuality fiend—no, that’d be me—but she would consider it rude to be late. Especially thirty minutes.
But she was walking.
In heels.
Then again, what if she’d just gotten enthralled with some new revelation Berg Ballenger had? What if right now, Téya was solving the whole riddle?
Annie lifted her food and dumped it in the trash and headed to the rental car. She climbed in and made her way toward the address. Surely she’d come across Téya walking. Or limping in those pumps. The thought almost made her smile. The thrill of Trace saying they could buy new clothes was lost on her feisty friend when she saw what he insisted they order. Not the trendy jeans and baby-doll T-shirts Téya loved. But work attire. Slacks. Blouses.
“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Téya had accused her with a mock slap.
Annie had been grateful for new clothes.
Someone walking across the street caught her attention. Annie’s hope flared—then died when she realized the woman had light brown hair. Téya’s natural color.
Annie sighed. “Where are you, Téya?” she murmured as she drove down the street and slowed… She came to an empty lot. No building.
Strange.
Must’ve taken a wrong turn. She pulled into the lot and opened the navigation app on her pay-as-you-go smartphone. Working from the address the guy at HOMe had given them, she punched in the address. To her frustration, it said she was at the right place.
Annie glanced at the buildings surrounding the vacant lot. An apartment complex on the right. And on the opposite side, the back of a large store abutted the parking lot. So, if there’s no building…no address where Ballenger lives…
Where is Téya?
She entered the memorized number for Trace and pressed TALK.
“What’s wrong?”
How did the man a
lways know? “I can’t find Téya.”
“What do you mean—how did you lose her?”
Annie gritted her teeth. “We split up—”
“I told you—”
“Chew me out later. She’s missing. I’m about to miss our flight. What do I do?”
The line went silent, and Annie realized she’d overstepped. Their history had to stay out of the mission.
“Sorry,” she bit out. “I’m just…the flight is leaving.”
“Forget about the flight. We’ll get another.” The phone went muffled, but she could hear him talking to someone else. “Okay, listen,” he said to her. “I’m going to—”
Crack!
A thousand tiny spiderweb cracks snapped across her windshield. Annie flinched, staring at the glass.
“What was that?” Trace demanded.
As his question boomed in her mind, she saw the hole on the right side. “A shot,” she said, dumbstruck. Adrenaline exploded through her. “Someone shot at me!” she shouted as she tore off down the street.
“Get out of there. Now!” Trace barked.
“But Téya—”
“You can’t help her if you’re dead!”
Part 2: Out of Nowhere
V
Téya
Denver, Colorado
14 May – 1650 Hours
A fist flew at her face. Téya swung out of the way, but not fast enough. The meaty paw connected with her chin. Snapped her head up. Made her stumble backward. Even as she stumbled, she swung out with a front round kick. Aimed for the vague shape of the body that had taken form in the building whose only inhabitants were spiders, the shadows, and the musty stench.
That is, until she smelled him.
As she came down from the kick, she leaned in and threw a hard right into his side. Crack! The move would’ve shut down a lesser man. But this guy had as much training as, if not more than, she did. He growled through the obvious pain from the broken rib then lifted his elbow and rammed it down against her shoulder.
Téya grabbed his arm, yanked it behind him, and shoved him against the wall.
With a head butt, he freed himself.
The bloody warmth that signaled a serious nosebleed and one, if not two black eyes by morning, slid down her lip and chin. She bounced back a couple of steps in the narrow hall to regroup. If she let a nosebleed and wracking pain stop her, this guy would kill her.
Light pushed through narrow slats of boards barring a window and darkening the shape of her attacker. As she started to weigh her options, his possible moves, she detected a slight change in his posture.
She blocked left just quickly enough and brought the heel of her right hand up and straight into his neck, connecting with a meaty thud. A whoosh of air knocked out of him as he went sideways. He dove in and she used his momentum against him, caught his arm and yanked him farther in, bringing her fist into his nose as she did.
His knees wobbled.
With a jump front kick, she drove him backward. His hand flashed out, thumping against the wall as he tried to hold his balance.
Téya jumped and kicked again, her foot snapping his head back. She landed and pivoted, determined to get out—alive.
Her ankle caught.
She face-planted. With a grunt and shaking the momentary brain stun—what happened?—she pushed up with both arms.
Pain exploded across the back of her head. She dropped against the floor, hard.
Shouts from somewhere in the building warbled in her head.
The attacker yelled something.
Shots erupted.
There’s two of them! Her chance of success just plummeted. Time to get out of here. Get out or die. From the corner of her eyes, she saw her attacker look toward the other end of the hall. He took two steps in that direction.
Téya lunged the way she’d come, scrabbling for traction as she ran. She skidded around a corner, hobbling to stop from slamming into the wall. Behind her, she heard the pursuit of her attacker. She wasn’t stopping. Wasn’t giving them the chance to cut her life short. She saw the door she’d come through, the one hanging askew, and bolted for it. The thumping of her feet on the old wood floor echoing the frenetic pace of her pulse.
Heavier thuds gave chase. Closer…closer…
Téya threw herself at the door. It flapped back. She went sailing over the rail. Down the three-foot drop to the dead grass and dirt. Though she stumbled, her fingers trailing along the scratchy terrain, she kept moving. Aimed for the trees, oddly thriving in the dead neighborhood. She dodged in and around the trunks, expecting to feel a stabbing pain in her back any second. Sprinting, she aimed down the block, regaining her bearings. Her sense of direction.
Gotta find Annie.
Panting, she didn’t slow. They’d catch her. Any second now. She was sure.
She veered left, heading back toward their rendezvous spot. Ahead she saw a blur of red—Annie!
Téya gauged her location. Remembered the map. If she went east one more block and cut north, she might catch her. Lights. Please give her red lights. With renewed hope, Téya bolted in that direction. Defying her rubbery, tired limbs, she ran faster. Pushed harder.
Pain stabbed the bottom of her feet. “Augh!” The fresh injury slowed her.
A glint of red between two buildings warned her the time window she’d figured was closing. If she missed Annie…
Unheeding of the pain, she darted down an alley.
A form rose from the side, clumsy—drunk. She pushed around the vagrant and kept moving, knowing she’d have to soak her foot in antibacterial goo for weeks after this venture. She rushed out into the open and stopped, glancing left.
No Annie.
Right.
No Annie.
“No.” Téya turned back in both directions again, frantic. “No no no.” Defeat enticed her to step into its embrace. She wanted to scream. Shout for help. But that would only draw attention she didn’t want or need.
Tires screeched behind her.
She pivoted. Saw nothing. But then—the whirring of a car flooded her ears. The red compact slid backward into view, having bypassed the street. “Annie,” Téya breathed and limp-ran in that direction.
Annie whipped the car onto the street.
Téya jumped in. “Go,” she said, pulling the door closed.
It was difficult to see through the shattered windshield, but Téya didn’t care. She went limp in the car as Annie drove them to safety.
“What happened?” Annie asked, her gaze sliding up and down Téya.
Still panting hard, Téya shook her head. Too hard to talk yet. She pointed to the street. “Go.” That’s all she cared about. Getting away. Living. Not dying at the hands of those two lunatics.
“I see you got rid of your heels.” Annie shot her a wry grin and handed her some tissues, nodding to her nose.
Téya had almost forgotten about the blood—but the swelling made it impossible to forget the head butt. “Two men were waiting for me.” Once her breathing and heart rate stabilized, she lifted her right foot onto her knee to appraise the cut that had almost crippled her, and winced.
“Berg?” Annie cast her a worried look.
Téya shook her head. “Doubt it. This guy was trained, lightning fast, thus”—she motioned to her nose—“this. He was skilled. Do we know anything about Ballenger that says he was skilled like that? I thought he was just a guy working at the orphanage.”
“No, nothing. But we can’t rule him out,” Annie said as she lifted her phone. “I haven’t seen you look like that since your first go-round with Boone.”
Bristling, Téya nodded to the shattered artwork. “And the window?”
“Soon as I pulled into the parking lot looking for you, someone shot at me.”
“I don’t know how I missed a shooter.” As Téya used the vanity mirror to dab away the blood on her face, she realized the wig sat askew on her head. The part running toward the corner of her eyebrow. “Cleared that whole bui
lding looking for Ballenger, just in case he was there hiding out.” She bunched her shoulders. “Now that I say that—I realize how stupid it was to walk in there. I was on my way out when the guy came out of the shadows.”
“Trace,” Annie said into her phone. “I’ve got her, we—” She snapped her mouth shut, nodding. “I know. We are—” Her nostrils flared as apparently Trace interrupted her again. “Agreed. We’re heading back to Hollister now. Bye.” The words came tumbling out and she ended the call, dropping the phone on the dash. Dropping? More like throwing.
Dare Téya ask? “Did you two—”
“We’re going back to Hollister’s.”
“I kinda figured that out on my own. Thanks.”
Annie’s lips flattened. “Does he really think we can’t take care of ourselves?”
Téya eyed her friend and combat buddy, and knew no matter what she said, it wouldn’t help. “You think Hollister knew—or that she set us up?”
“How could she not?” The sneer was evident in Annie’s voice. “She gave us the address.”
“Well,” Téya said, checking the swelling and mess the guy made of her face in the vanity mirror, “then I’m ready to return the favor her handyman delivered.”
Annie
Denver, Colorado
14 May – 1720 Hours
“You set us up!”
Annie placed a hand on Téya’s arm, trying to calm her. They stood in the parking lot of HOMe, where they’d intercepted Mrs. Hollister from escaping.
Kellie Hollister stood defiant. “I did no such thing!”
“Funny how two skilled thugs show up at the exact building on the exact day you send us down there,” Téya said. “Took a shot at us”—she swung a hand toward the vehicle—“as you can see by the windshield, and tried to shove my nose through my gray matter. And you seriously expect us to believe you had nothing to do with that?”
Annie again tried to quiet her, this time with a look, too. “Mrs. Hollister, the place you sent us to is abandoned.”
“Look,” the woman said gently, “I am truly sorry for your injuries, and for what happened to the car, but I promise I had nothing to do with it. That was Berg Ballenger’s address. On the advice of my attorneys, I never visited the location, so I can’t say what is there or isn’t there.”
