The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)

by Steve Richer

  “Watch my six.”

  It briefly occurred to him that Cass wasn’t as experienced with this kind of thing as he was. But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He saw himself back in Afghanistan with his unit. His men exhausted but willing to do whatever it took just to give their brothers a fighting chance.

  Semper Fi!

  He leaped from behind his cover and fired his gun toward the foyer. All he needed was a few seconds to get into position. He threw himself sideways in an attempt to confuse them. He was there, all he had to do was shoot them.

  He fired and hit the first guy on the left. He was slammed back against the doorframe and fell. Nevertheless, Rogan couldn’t escape the fact that he was wearing body armor. This bastard would be back in the fight in a minute. But that wasn’t what was most jarring.

  No, the problem was there were five other men running from the street and heading inside. Coming to finish them off!

  “Cass, run!”

  He squeezed off a few more rounds as he covered his retreat. He ran back toward the living room. There was no way the two of them could take these guys down, not with their limited firepower.

  “We can’t go that way,” he said.

  He kept his weapon trained on the foyer but thankfully the assailants were more cautious now that they knew their prey was shooting back.

  “There has to be a back door.”

  They both reloaded and Cass took the lead scampering out of the living room. There were more bullets fired their way and so they sped up. Rogan couldn’t think of anything except the sensation of the subsonic rounds whizzing by his head, making him hold his breath.

  They launched themselves down the narrow corridor just as a spray of gunfire punctured the ceiling above them, showering them with white plaster. It was a good thing Rogan was holding his breath otherwise he would’ve choked in the cloud of dust.

  “Hurry!”

  They had no idea where they were going but Cass hazarded a left toward the kitchen. He followed her in. Yes! He hadn’t noticed before but there was a door leading outside.

  He ran ahead and got there before his friend. He turned the knob but the door stayed put. It was locked.

  More bullets came flying by!

  He was beginning to panic, considered kicking out the glass, but stopped himself in time, realizing it would take longer than just unlocking the door. He did this, threw the door open, and pulled Cass along with him.

  The air was freezing and neither of them had their coats. They were in a small fenced in yard. Wrought-iron lawn furniture was on a flagstone patio, next to a large stainless steel grill.

  “We have to get outta here!”

  Without hesitation, Rogan ran forward before stopping cold. He spun on his heels as he got the lay of the land. There were no doors leading out through the fence except for the door opening on the side of the house to go back to the front yard.

  They couldn’t go there, a strike team was most likely waiting in ambush.

  “This way,” he said.

  He grabbed one of the chairs and brought it next to the fence. Cass was next to him in less than a second and he didn’t have to explain his plan to her. She put her foot on the chair and climbed up the fence, heaving herself over it.

  The post burst into sawdust as bullets punched through the dyed wood by Rogan’s head. They were closing in!

  He didn’t risk looking over his shoulder and simply planted a foot on the chair before swinging his body over the fence.

  He landed hard on the frozen grass of the neighbors’ house. He felt sore at once, his knees not as youthful as they used to be. There was no time to dwell on the pain because more gunfire erupted. It was like trying to outrun a volcano.

  “Let’s go!”

  This backyard was larger and even contained a half empty swimming pool. They went around it, careful not to slip on the icy concrete, and they went to the other fence leading to another neighbor.

  Rogan looked around; these guys had stored away their patio furniture for the winter. They would have to do this the old-fashioned way.

  “Over here,” he said as he intertwined his fingers to act as a stepladder.

  She wordlessly put her foot in his hands and he gave her a boost, sending her over the fence.

  There was a lull in the gunfire so he tempted fate by looking back. Two men in ski masks were trying to go over Butrymowicz’s fence. He saw them struggle to climb, the submachine guns strapped to their chests.

  Reality sank in. Rogan realized that they didn’t have to go all the way over. Once they were high enough, once they were stable enough, all they’d have to do was aim forward, get a bead on him, and send him to Kingdom Come.

  Chapter 28

  Fuck this shit.

  He turned forward again and sprang up. It was basic training all over again, jumping over stupid obstacles, and he felt too old for this crap. Then again, maybe his boot camp experience was what saved his life. He knew how to use his swinging body’s momentum and he was able to get over the fence.

  More bullets came and this time this neighbor had a much flimsier fence. The rounds came bursting through, sending potted trees flying into shreds. There was no place to take cover and Rogan doubted he had enough energy to go over yet another fence.

  “This way!”

  They went to the house. Cass found the back door and tried the handle. It was locked. She rolled to the side just in time as Rogan kicked it in. An alarm pierced the silence, giving away their location.

  “Doesn’t matter, come on!”

  They both ran through the dark house, following the walls, until a faint light became visible. It was moonlight coming in through the living room. They ran that way and sure enough found the front door.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  Rogan instinctively looked up and saw a man in pajamas at the top of the stairs. His eyes had sufficiently adjusted to the darkness to notice he was holding a shotgun.

  “FBI, get back to your room now, sir!”

  This confused the homeowner and he didn’t fire at them, exactly what Rogan was counting on. He followed Cass who was already turning the deadbolt on the front door. A second later they were out on the street.

  “There’s the car,” she said.

  Indeed it was, less than 30 feet away. There was a guy by the attackers’ SUV down the street and he was torn between shooting at them and speaking into his radio.

  Rogan rejoiced, they had finally caught a break, when he realized the last time he’d seen his keys they’d been in his jacket which he’d left in the house. But at the last moment he remembered they were in his pants.

  Just as the lookout lifted his weapon toward them, Cass pointed hers at him and fired. She didn’t hit him, just the car. At least he was pinned down.

  This was the opportunity Rogan needed to jump behind the wheel. The engine caught on the first try.

  “Cass, come on!”

  She let loose a few more rounds and swiftly leaped into the passenger seat. Rogan shifted into gear and they took off, tires screeching on the pavement.

  In the rearview mirror, they saw the gunmen reach the street but Rogan turned the corner before they could shoot at them again. From there it was only a matter of disappearing into the night.

  “We have to find somewhere to crash,” he said.

  “I know a place.”

  “Yeah? I hope it has room service and deep tissue massages.”

  “You have to tip extra for that. All I’m offering is somewhat anonymous and warm.”

  “Good enough.”

  Cass gave him directions and they headed toward the Mount Pleasant neighborhood.

  “Anything particular at this address?”

  “A friend of mine from yoga class is having me check up on her place while she’s abroad. She’s just been posted to some embassy in South America.”

  Rogan exhaled. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “I just can’t believe it.�
�

  “What, that I have friends educated enough to work in Foreign Service?”

  “No, that you do yoga.”

  She chuckled and it was like music to his ears after what had happened.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Washington DC was practically dead by the time they reached the apartment. The streets were empty, there was no activity anywhere. Rogan parked on a dark side street and Cass led the way to the building.

  It was a nondescript limestone construction, certainly not as nice as some of the Victorian homes in the area, but not repulsive either. They got in and climbed to the third floor.

  The hallway was thankfully deserted, no nosy neighbors to ask questions. Cass unlocked the door and they went in. It was cool inside, the thermostat being kept low while her friend was away, but it was still better than outside since they didn’t have coats.

  “Make yourself at home, I’ll turn up the heat.”

  The apartment was rather bare, with little furniture and only plastic plants. Cass had explained that she’d only been given the key in case of an emergency like pipes leaking or a window being broken, something that had happened twice in the last year from kids playing in the neighborhood.

  Rogan went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He still had trouble understanding how quickly his life had been upended. When he came out, Cass was fluffing the cushions in the living room, a table lamp on to offer some illumination.

  “Want a drink?” she asked. “I know she keeps some great tequila from her last posting in Mexico.”

  “No, water would be just fine.”

  She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen while he sat down. He was beginning to feel warm again. He put his gun on the table – only the pistol because the revolver was still in his jacket. He would ask Cass to give him some of her spare rounds if she had any.

  Unfortunately he couldn’t ask her to refurbish his stockpile of cash, most of which had been in his jacket as well. He only had one stack worth $10,000 on him. It would have to be enough to carry him to whatever came next.

  “Crazy night, uh?” Cass said as she returned with two bottles of water.

  Rogan nodded and after she sat next to him they were silent for a long time, sipping water and watching CNN. There was nothing about them yet on the news.

  “Thank you, Rogan.”

  “For what?”

  “For looking after me. You saved my life.”

  “I did no such thing. You held your own back there.”

  “You’re good with this quick thinking, jump into action stuff.”

  “Cass, you’re the one who saved me in New York.”

  “You’re the one who saved me five years ago,” she said, leaning into him.

  She was so beautiful, he thought. Her hair was falling down, framing her soft face. He couldn’t think about how he could have saved her five years ago except by offering his friendship. She reached for his hand and he let her.

  The next thing he knew she was kissing him and he found that he wanted nothing else in the world. He didn’t care if he solved this mystery, if he got out alive. All that mattered was feeling her lips against his.

  Her mouth became hungry and she explored his with her tongue. He happily let her and returned the favor. He grasped her face, stroking her skin with his thumbs, wanting all of her.

  She made sure both their water bottles were on the table and then she straddled his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and Rogan let his hands snake under her blouse. She shrugged out of her jacket, unclipped her holster and mags, and before long she was unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Oh Rogan…”

  He stared into her piercing eyes, her lips quivering, agape with want. He kissed her again, harder this time, and thankfully she worked on removing his shirt. His hands went under her bra and captured her small breasts, the nipples already erect and begging for attention.

  They were kissing so passionately that he barely noticed she was not only undoing his pants but hers as well. She got up long enough to push down her pants and underwear and within moments she was straddling him again.

  He took a moment to explore her folds, a scorching triangle of wetness, and he guided himself inside of her as she squirmed with delight.

  “Ugh!”

  His eyes rolled back at the incredible sensation and she clung to him with all her strength. Their coupling was fast and vigorous but definitely not unpleasant.

  They were both panting when they were done, smiling mischievously at their reckless lovemaking. Cass kissed him again and it wasn’t soon enough for him.

  “You’re not done, are you?”

  “Are you kidding?” he replied. “This apartment is like a time machine, I’m a teenager again.”

  The second time they went much slower. They headed to the master bedroom, slipped under the dusty covers, and really took their time to appreciate each other. Rogan had lost all notions of time and promptly fell asleep.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  A creaking sound woke him up.

  He sat upright, disoriented. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings. He looked to his left and found Cass sound asleep, lying on her front with the bed sheet exposing the side of her breast. He was once more taken by how gorgeous she was when the creaking sound reappeared.

  There was someone in the apartment and his gun was in the other room.

  Chapter 29

  Slowly pushing down the sheet and freeing his legs, Rogan wondered what to do. He could stir Cass awake so she could help him face whatever new danger was lurking. The only problem with this was that he was afraid she would make a sound and therefore squander the only advantage they had against the intruder.

  He decided to tackle this alone. Ever so gently, he put his feet on the ground and reached for his underwear. He pulled it on without making a sound, holding his breath so even the bed wouldn’t squeak.

  He gritted his teeth about not having a weapon. He looked around through the darkness for something he could use. His first instinct was to grab the table lamp but it was ill-suited for warding off attackers; it was shaped like a vase. It was too heavy and unwieldy.

  He would have to do this barehanded.

  Wearing only boxer shorts, he padded across the room, keeping his eyes on the door opening for any sudden movements. The carpet was spongy under his feet and he actually prayed that it wouldn’t give off any significant sounds as to not reveal his location.

  He could see light flickering in the living room from where they had left the TV on. The sound was barely audible. What if that’s what he’d heard? It would be silly to get scared about that but it was better than the alternative. Still, he couldn’t afford to not check it out.

  He balled his hands into fists and slowly crept forward, ready for anything to jump at him. He told himself he might have to spring ahead into someone or throw himself to the ground if they started shooting. This narrow corridor was a death trap.

  The mystery sound came again. This time louder.

  Rogan took a deep breath and held it to slow his heartbeat. There really was someone in the house! If he hadn’t woken up they might have gotten the jump on them. He could’ve been dead by now.

  He reached the den and performed a cursory scan of the area, something he couldn’t do thoroughly with the TV screen playing a commercial and changing the lighting conditions every half second. The room was filled with shadows and flashes of light, the colors switching persistently.

  So he glanced down at the coffee table. The firearms were gone!

  Oh shit, he thought. This was definitely real. For the first time the bad guys truly had the upper hand. He was about to be killed.

  He lamely reached for his turtleneck on the couch but he didn’t put it on. Instead, he twisted it until it was akin to a tight rope and he wrapped the sleeves around his fists. It was the only weapon available to him.

  He half crouched and continued walking through the apartment. Perhaps he could take the assassin by
surprise after all. It was a pipe dream but the only hope he had left.

  It wasn’t a large apartment, there weren’t many hiding places. The bathroom, the utility closet, the second bedroom, the kitchen. If there was a door between him and the killer he would stand a fighting chance. Until they shot through the door.

  He sidestepped toward the front entrance, keeping an eye on the part of the unit he could see. He went to the utility closet by the door and peeked inside. It was pitch black but he soon realized it was too small for someone to hide in there, especially with the water heater taking up most of the room. He made out a broom and grabbed the handle. It was cheap, made of plastic, but it was the best weapon he had under the circumstances.

  Next, he considered leaving the apartment altogether. He was right there, he could easily escape. But he thought about Cass. There was no way he could leave her in there by herself. He had lost a woman once before and it had taken him five years to come to grips with it. He wasn’t about to go through that all over again.

  Rogan came back into the apartment, holding the broom handle like a spear, his turtleneck all but forgotten, slung over his shoulder. He headed away from the living room and toward the kitchen which was enclosed within three walls.

  “What are you doing?”

  Startled, Rogan spun back on his heels, brandishing the broom handle toward the master bedroom. Standing in the doorframe was Cass. The only thing she was wearing was her blouse though it was hanging unbuttoned, making her sexier than ever.

  He whispered, “Shhh! There’s someone in the apartment.”

  She instinctively came forward and looked in the living room, searching for her gun. Meanwhile, Rogan continued walking deeper into the apartment. Just as he went by the kitchen’s entrance the creaking noise appeared again, this time louder. It was coupled with a much more distinctive sound.

  A gun being cocked.

  Rogan froze and someone came out of the kitchen, weapon trained forward at them.

  “Stay right there, please,” a woman said in a gentle British accent. “There’s no need for unpleasantries.”