by Kylie Brant
“I’ll fax it to you.”
Nodding, Jake stabbed a finger at the intercom button on his desk. “Cort, show our guest out the private entrance.” To the senator he said, “My driver is waiting. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.” A moment later his employee came in and escorted the senator through a door in the paneling that would eventually lead to the alley.
Hands clasped behind his back, Jake stood in front of the priceless artwork adorning his walls, a sense of satisfaction filling him. He’d set the wheels in motion. There was little doubt that the outcome would be exactly as he desired.
Most men would be thrilled by the imminent promise of success. But Jake wasn’t given to wild swings of emotion. He was, he supposed, jaded. Spoiled by years of having his every plan come to fruition. The most feeling he’d experienced in years was at the thought of the upcoming showdown with Alvarez. The man wanted him dead. Jake didn’t doubt that before they were through, one of them would be.
But upon the heels of that thought came another. He’d been sucker punched with emotion recently, far more than he would have thought he was capable of. Every time he got near Ria Kingsley his hormones ran riot.
Sexual attraction he could handle, but it was more than that. The enigmatic woman with the unforgettable eyes fascinated him. There was more, far more to her than what her surface would suggest. If he hadn’t already suspected that, the recent digging he’d done into her background would have proved it.
He turned from the paintings as Cort reentered the room.
“Did you get the senator sent on his way?”
“I figured you’d want him out of here before showing in your next visitor.”
Jake arched a brow. “I didn’t know I was expecting a visitor.”
The other man went to the wall before Jake and slid aside what would appear to guests as a mural. Behind it was a panel of closed-circuit television monitors. He punched some buttons as Jake came to stand beside him.
“Ever seen him before?”
Peering closely at the image of the man even now pacing his outer offices, Jake slowly shook his head. His guest wore a two thousand dollar suit and an aura of power with equal ease. “Did he give a name?”
“Colton. That’s all. No ID on him. We patted him down. He’s clean.”
“Make doubly sure before you show him in.”
They exchanged a long look. “Yes sir.” He let himself out.
Using the monitor, Jake watched as his employee walked through a small buffer office that was deliberately kept empty, into the outer area where the stranger waited. Cort performed another physical search, then for good measure ran the compact oscilloscope over the man. The stranger argued for a few seconds as he was ordered to empty his pockets, but all he seemed to carry was a gold pen and a small calculator. Cort dropped the two items into a desk drawer, then pressed the intercom.
“Shall I show him in, sir?”
With a quick movement, Jake had the mural back in place, and strode toward the door, pulled it open. “Thank you, Cort. I’ll take it from here.”
He motioned the man in and closed the door behind him. Indicating a leather chair next to his desk, he said, “Have a seat. What can I do for you, Mr…. Colton?”
“That’s right.” The man sat, appearing at ease. He was about Jake’s height, with a slighter build. His hair had never decided on a color. Some would describe it as blond, others as light brown. His eyes were equally nondescript.
His very ordinariness had Jake wary. It wasn’t men who stood out from the crowd who were most dangerous, but those who could blend into the background without notice.
“I’ve done a little research and discovered you have a certain reputation in these parts.”
Adrenaline humming, he leaned back in his chair and hooked one ankle over his knee. “As a rule, I don’t pay much attention to my reputation. I’ve always thought it was a mistake to believe your own press.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across the man’s face, before it was gone. “I’m satisfied that you’re the right man for the job I have in mind.”
“And what might that be?”
“I have a problem I’d like you to eliminate for me.”
Jake spread his hands, watched the man steadily. “So why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Not it, her.” Colton straightened his cuffs meticulously. “Rianna Kingsley. I want you to kill her.”
There was more, but Jake didn’t hear it. There was a deafening roar in his ears. He could see the man’s lips move, but the sound didn’t register. It took long moments to recover, while he strove to keep his reaction from his face.
Blood glacial, he inquired, “Any special reason why?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant, is it? You’ll earn yourself a substantial fee by completing the job by the end of next week.”
“A week.” Jake’s mind was racing. “That’s not a lot of time.”
“You don’t need much time. I understand you already know of her.” Colton’s smile held a hint of derision. “You and I have a mutual acquaintance. Larry Stanton. He’s told me quite a bit about his association with you.”
Fury began to bubble, edging out the earlier shock. The last time Jake had talked to Larry, the man had called him to report on Ria’s visit. He’d mentioned he had someone else interested in the information, but Jake had ordered him to keep his mouth shut. As usual, Larry’s greed had gotten ahead of his brain.
“Really?” Jake’s voice was cool. “Hard to imagine how Larry would interest you.”
“You’d be surprised what interests me, Mr. Tarrance. Can I call you Jake? I have a proposition for you that will be advantageous for both of us.”
“Let me save you some time. I don’t think I’m in the kind of business you’re looking for. You’d do better with a professional, one who deals exclusively in these matters.”
The other man’s stare was unwavering. “You may not take care of these matters personally, but from what I’ve heard, you certainly have contacts within your organization to carry out such a task. And if you hear me out, I think you’ll be interested in what I can offer in return.”
Jake rose. “You’re wasting both our time. I can’t help you. I’ll have my employee see you out.”
“Enrico Alvarez.” Jake stilled. “I believe there’s bad blood between the two of you?” Colton gave a shrug, as if the details didn’t matter to him. “He’s due for parole in a few weeks, and when he gets out, I understand he’s coming for you.”
“Old history. What does Alvarez have to do with this?”
“Nothing. And everything. In addition to the money I’m willing to pay for the job, I could also arrange to have his parole delayed by a number of weeks.” He raised his brows. “I assume that would be beneficial for whatever it is you’re planning.”
“What I’m planning, Colton, is to stay alive, and out of prison. That’s a little hobby of mine. And taking you up on your offer doesn’t seem like a real good move toward either end.”
It didn’t seem to bother the other man that Jake was still standing. Fussing with the crease in his trousers, he inquired, “No? Not even when I tell you what happens if you don’t agree?”
The threat in his voice was impossible to miss, even uttered as it was in that mild, almost pleasant tone. “I’m going to assume that you are unprepared at this point for Alvarez’s release.” He lifted his shoulders. “Guess that’s understandable. You had no way of knowing he’d be among those considered for the nonviolent offender early parole program. Prison overcrowding is a real problem in this state, isn’t it?”
Stonily, Jake remained silent. Stanton, the lowlife, had obviously not only told Colton about Ria, he’d spilled his guts about Jake, too. It would have taken very little digging on Colton’s part to fill in any missing details from Larry’s account.
“I can only expect that it would present a real problem to you if Alvarez was ordered released, oh, say…tomorrow, instead of
in a few weeks.”
All his plans, years in the making, flashed through Jake’s mind, seeming to disintegrate like jet vapor. Alvarez still had much to pay for. Prison hadn’t even begun to retire the debt owed. It was merely a time for him to reflect on all he had lost and why. And to consider what awaited him when he got out.
For what he’d cost Jake, he’d pay with his life.
But that kind of preparation took time, care and the utmost caution. Emotion would never again be allowed to catch him in its trap. When people responded emotionally, they paid, along with the guilty party. Jake was done paying.
“How do I know you have that kind of power?”
There was a brief look of satisfaction on Colton’s face, as if pleased at the word applied to him. “I think your next conversation with Warden Udall would clear up any qualms about my…power.” The man gestured toward the phone. “Go ahead and call him right now. I’ll wait. Ask him about our friend Larry.”
Crossing the front of his desk, Jake did just that. It took several minutes before the warden came on the line, and their conversation was brief. When it was over, Jake leaned over to replace the receiver, surreptitiously pressing a button under his desk with his free hand.
Straightening, he returned to where Colton was still sitting, and sank into a chair next to him. “Let’s talk business.”
Ria faced the team of four scene investigators assembled in her office. It was a tight fit. Cook and Simpson sat nearest her. Ronny Decker—six foot four and weighing three hundred pounds—was already fidgeting in his seat by the far wall. Ria doubted there was a chair in the department, other than the custom-ordered one at his desk, that would hold his girth comfortably. Patricia Clark, the only other female officer on the force, sat alongside him, her slender figure nearly obscured by his bulk.
“What’s the preliminary report?”
It was Simpson who answered. “We didn’t find much trace evidence. We’ve got the bullet we dug out of the siding of your house. That was fired from a lot closer than across the road.”
Although it wasn’t phrased as a question, she nodded. “He was in back of me, around the corner of the house when he shot that time.” The splinters that had struck her as the bullet lodged had come from the siding. It had taken her the better part of two hours, and a couple swigs of Scotch, to dig them out with tweezers and a needle. Her cheek still bore the ravages of her ministrations.
“It was a .30 caliber bullet. No brass was recovered, either at the original shooting site or on your property.”
Ria nodded, grimly. The shooter had been cautious. As she’d suspected, he must have worn night vision equipment, which would allow him to see his target and to search the ground in the dark for the spent casings. That kind of caution spoke of careful planning.
Or the ingrained training of a professional.
She shook off the thought and looked at Simpson. “Anything else?”
“We’d have to send it to the Birmingham lab to be sure, but Weston’s something of a gun expert, and he thought the rate of twist was 1:11. Not sure what that would tell us, although most high powered rifles are 1:10 or 1:12.”
“Might have been custom made.” Some rifles geared for sniper/tactical use had that unusual twist. Ria no longer questioned where those odd snippets of knowledge came from. She’d never had difficulty summoning seemingly random facts about weapons and hand-to-hand combat techniques.
She’d just never been able to associate them to any personal history about herself.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble matching the bullet to the gun that fired it if we can find it.”
Everyone in the room knew that at this point, that was a big if.
“What’d you turn up on the neighborhood canvass?”
It was Clark who spoke this time. “Several neighbors reported hearing what they assumed were fireworks or something. None of them thought of gunfire until they heard the sirens.”
The nearest home to Ria’s was probably a quarter of a mile away. Isolation was one of the reasons she’d bought the place, but that same fact had allowed the shooter to set up and operate without fear of being detected until his quarry had shown.
“LaDonna Wilcox did say her son thought he saw a yeti running by his window at bedtime.” The men in the room chuckled. “LaDonna put it down to an overabundance of cherry Kool-Aid and too much sci-fi channel. Timeline matches up, though, to shortly after your last visual contact of the shooter, so…” Patricia raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe what he actually saw was the shadow of a man running, and his imagination supplied the rest.”
“What direction are the Wilcoxes from my property?”
The woman stopped to think. “Southeast.”
It made sense. Ria thought she’d dispatched the deputies first on the scene quickly enough to have apprehended the shooter if he’d gone straight east or west. She figured he’d likely used her car for cover and made his way to the back of her land, south, and then disappeared by crossing a neighboring property.
“Found some fibers along the southern boundary line that matched one we discovered at the shooting site. Lab results indicate they’re some sort of burlap, with synthetic dyes applied.”
“Might have been from a bag he carried the gun in,” surmised Decker.
“Or a mat he used while he waited.” This was from Cook.
“More than likely came from something he wore.”
Ria’s gaze met Simpson’s and she knew that they’d reached a similar conclusion. “A Ghillie suit.”
“One of those camouflage suits made of layered strips of jute burlap,” Cook explained for the benefit of Patricia. “You can get them to match shades of terrain and seasonal conditions.”
“I know what Ghillie suits are,” she snapped.
Ria barely heard them. The suits were made to blend in with the surroundings. To a little boy’s eye, a man wearing one might well look like a hulking, shapeless yeti. “Let’s take a look at the Wilcoxes’ yard today. See if we can find any more traces of burlap. He had to have had a vehicle somewhere in the vicinity. He wouldn’t have run far wearing a Ghillie suit and carrying his gun and equipment. Talk to the neighbors again. Describe the suit and see if anyone else admits to seeing something like that.”
“I vote Patty gets to interview the Wilcox kid,” Cook said.
“And I’ll take you along to keep LaDonna busy,” Clark returned. “I hear she’s always been sweet on you.”
“LaDonna Wilcox is sweet on just about anything male and breathing.”
There was a round of laughter, which trailed off as Ria sent a gaze around the room. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look at our most recent arrests. Do some checking to see if any are avid hunters, ex-military, or affiliated with a survivalist group of some type. Check and see if anyplace around here carries the suits and if they keep records.”
The four nodded and, seeming to recognize the meeting was over, got to their feet. Ria stopped them before they went out the door. “I’m going to be saying this to everyone, but I’ll tell you four right now. If this is a retaliation for our recent activities, I might not be the only target.” She paused, saw comprehension settle on each of their faces. “We’ll all need to take extra care out there.”
She swiveled her chair, watched them file out, pulling the door closed behind them. Staring blankly at the varnished panel, she heard her parting words echo and reecho in her head. They could be true. Any one of their recent arrests had reason to want to even the score with someone in her department.
A chill crept over her skin. But when it came to settling old scores, it wasn’t only scumbag drug dealers who might want her dead. It was hard to imagine one of their recent arrests having such specialized equipment and garb. Which left only one possibility.
There was an odd sense of déjà vu hovering in her mind, one she hadn’t been able to shake since the night of the shooting. Two assassins had been sent for her six years ago, but she had dived so far un
dercover, she’d thought—she’d hoped— she’d never be found again. After all these years she’d assumed she’d succeeded. But it was possible she’d been found yet again.
The last two assassins had been waiting inside the places she’d been staying. Unconsciously, Ria shoved herself out of the chair, paced the room. Their method of kill had been far more personal. A knife the first time. A garrote the next. Each had required skill, and more importantly, hand-to-hand, face-to-face combat.
In contrast, a sniper’s bullet was far more removed, less personal, than the previous attempts. It also attracted far more attention. If the sniper was someone from her past, what would have warranted such a departure from the other tries? Were the shots really fired by a disgruntled drug dealer out on bail? Or had that method been selected to make it seem that way?
The answers wouldn’t be found within these four walls. But Ria had a knot of foreboding in her gut that warned her time for finding answers of any kind might well be running out.
The intercom on her desk buzzed, and Marlyss’s voice sounded. “Someone on line two for you, Ria. Wouldn’t give his name, and caller ID just shows unidentified.”
“I’ll take it.” Maybe she was jittery, but if the call was by some chance an anonymous tip on the shooter, she didn’t want to discourage whoever was offering the information.
She picked up the receiver, punched the button for the appropriate line. “Sheriff Kingsley.”
“Sheriff. We have some unfinished business.”
He didn’t identify himself. He didn’t have to. Her system responded to the low, smoky drawl immediately. Nerve endings quivered. Instincts hummed.
Resolve hardened.
“We have nothing more to discuss, Jake.” With Ralston baiting her about Tarrance, the last thing she needed was any further contact with the man. She rested a hip against a corner of her desk.
