The coat and tie he normally would have had to wear when he had an office meeting scheduled stayed in the closet. They were part of a uniform, just like the one he’d worn as a captain in the Army Special Forces. But the army uniform had fit him better, and he’d found it far more agreeable. During most of the time he’d spent in Afghanistan in SICC—Strategic Intelligence Collection and Containment, a secret army intelligence unit—he’d worn native dress, baggy pants, a long coat called a shalwar kameez, and a different type of Pashtun hat, topi or pakol, depending on what part of the country he was in.
Now he threw on some khakis, a short-sleeved polo shirt and a pair of deck shoes. Just as his tribal costume in Afghanistan had helped him blend in, these clothes would help him look like half the people at MondoHard, the company his brother James had started. The other half of the company’s employees dressed even more casually—jeans and T-shirts, mostly. At least what he had on was more comfortable than a coat and tie. He frowned at the thought of James. Travis was pretty sure James hadn’t planned on him ever running the business let alone taking over now that it had grown to a multi-billion-dollar-a-year venture. He wasn’t thrilled about the direction his life had taken, but he didn’t have much of an alternative. Somebody had to step up, and Travis had been the logical choice.
He grabbed a sweater from a shelf in the closet on his way out. At least his assistant didn’t have him down for any dog-and-pony shows today. The endless meetings he suffered through most days made him feel like a circus animal, performing on command, an elephant that could do headstands. It was mildly amusing, but really, what was the point? In most cases, all he did in those meetings was smile and assure investors their money was safe and growing, or assure board members that the company was pursuing the right strategy, or assure employees they weren’t screwing up.
James had been so much better at all of that. Travis was a soldier, a man accustomed to action and to making unilateral decisions in the field. Sure, Travis had taken orders from his superior officers in Afghanistan, but typically they’d given him a target and the leeway to take it out in whatever way he saw fit. They’d been smart enough to recognize that he worked best autonomously, free from the bureaucracy that ran the rest of the army. He and the other members of SICC had taken out several terrorist cells in “the ’Stans,” mostly in the mountains north and east of Kabul. The enemy he’d been fighting since his return to the U.S. a year earlier was just as deadly and even harder to find.
Before heading downstairs, he double-checked the calendar on his smart phone to make sure Robyn hadn’t scheduled something for him. The only notation that popped up consisted of four letters, “JTam.” It was his own code for “Jack Turnbull, a.m.” His meeting with General Jack Turnbull wasn’t even officially on his calendar because he didn’t want anyone to know he and Jack were getting together. Anyone with half a brain could probably figure out what the notation meant given enough time, but they’d have to hack his phone first.
Skipping down the stairs two at a time, he nearly ran into Tess at the bottom.
“Whoa,” he said, sidestepping to avoid her. “Good morning.”
Her face was flushed, and the smile on her face said she was happy about something. She grasped the banister and pulled herself up the stairs two at a time.
“Hold on a sec,” Travis called after her. “Where you going?”
She stopped and turned. “Oh, good morning, Uncle Travis. I have to get ready for school.”
“Where’s the fire?”
Her face turned a deeper shade of scarlet. “They announce the theme for spring tolo today. I’m so excited.”
“What’s a ‘tolo’?”
“A school dance. It’s where the girls invite the guys. I can’t believe you never heard of tolo before.”
“Deprived childhood, I guess. Just like yours is going to be. You’re not going.”
“What?” she shrieked. “You’re kidding!”
Her disappointment pierced his heart the same as if she’d plunged a KA-BAR in his chest.
“Come on, Tess. You know I can’t let you go. Have you already forgotten that a week ago people were trying to kill you?”
“But you stopped them.” Her voice faltered. “I… I thought you took care of them.”
“Yes, we took care of those men,” Travis said softly. “That doesn’t mean whoever was behind it won’t send more.”
“It’s not fair. You’re letting me go to school. What, classes are safe, but a dance at school isn’t? You can’t do this to me!”
“We just have to take extra precautions,” Travis said. “Until I figure out how to keep it from happening again.”
“No.” Tess stamped her foot. “You can’t stop me from going. I didn’t get to go to prom last year, and this is the first chance this year I’ve had to go to a dance. I’m going.”
“Tess, please. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. This is my job now, to keep you safe.”
“Well, you’re not my parent, and I don’t have to listen to you!”
The pain in his chest felt as if she’d just twisted the knife. “No, I’m not your parent.”
The longing those words stirred deep inside surprised him. It wasn’t simply a wish for her respect, to get along better, or a desire to have her do what he said without question. He really did want her to think of him as more than “Uncle Travis,” more than the stranger who’d shown up in her life a year ago just before it had all gone to hell. He couldn’t change what had happened, as much as he would have liked.
“But I am your guardian,” he went on. “I’m responsible for your safety and well-being until you turn twenty-one. And until that happens, parent or not, I’m in charge, and you’ll do as I say.”
She glared at him, her bright blue eyes homing in on him like laser beams, nearly convincing him that she must have miraculously regained her sight in the past few seconds.
“I’m eighteen. I’m legally an adult.”
“True. But what are you going to do? Move out? How would you live on your own? You haven’t graduated from high school yet, and you’re blind.”
“I hate you!” she seethed.
Before Travis could think of a reply, any reply, that wouldn’t make things worse, she turned and bolted up the stairs and disappeared down the hall. Travis started up the steps after her, but hesitated when he realized he didn’t know what he’d say even if he caught up to her.
“Don’t be late for school!” he yelled up to the empty hallway.
Trudging back downstairs with heavy steps, he glanced at his watch and remembered how late it was. He grabbed a windbreaker from a coatroom off the foyer, and practically jogged to the kitchen to find Alice and tell her he was on his way out.
“Did you eat?” she said as he brushed past.
“I’ll grab something later at the office,” he said over his shoulder. He paused at the door to the garage and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Alice. I won’t starve.”
He took the Range Rover from the first of the six bays in the garage. He tried not to look at the almost identical vehicle in the farthest bay, or what was left of it. The SUV was a total wreck, the result of tumbling down a mountainside in an avalanche. An avalanche that he and his security team had caused. Tess had been blinded in the accident. Her parents, who had been in the vehicle, too, were gone. He tried not to think about it.
He backed out and threw it into gear. Tires squealed as he raced up the drive. He pushed the remote to open the gate, and as he neared the main road, he glanced right to check for traffic. Seeing none, he spun the wheel to the left and pulled out, nearly running into a BMW. Travis stood on his brakes, but the BMW had already slowed and swerved as it turned into the drive. Oliver. The car had belonged to Tess’s mom Sally, Travis’s sister-in-law. Oliver, Tess’s new assistant, had been given use of the car to get Tess to school and wherever else she needed to go.
Travis gave Oliver a quick wave and pulled out onto the main roa
d. The asphalt was slick with a light but steady drizzle that was a hallmark of Pacific Northwest weather. Travis tromped on the accelerator, and the powerful SUV leaped ahead, big tires gripping the wet road. He drove with confidence, feeling the vehicle’s four-wheel drive propel him through the curves. Though he knew he was pushing it, he didn’t let up. His lateness and the argument with Tess had thrown him off-kilter, and he took his aggression out on the gas pedal. He was used to being in control. Even in the field where conditions and situations changed in an instant he’d always had a contingency plan, and back-ups to those as well. Life with his niece seemed to involve constant improvisation.
His cell phone rang, jerking him out of his reverie. He thumbed the Bluetooth switch on the steering wheel that allowed him to answer.
“Barrett,” he snapped.
A disembodied voice filled the car. “Where are you?”
“General!” Travis nearly saluted. “”I’m on my way, sir. I got caught up in some business at home.”
“Tess?”
Travis felt his face grow warm. “How did you know?”
Turnbull chuckled. “I had two daughters of my own, Travis. I know what you’re going through.”
“I wish I did.” Travis rounded a curve and immediately slowed at the sight of a vehicle straddling the road.
“Uh-oh,” he murmured. “Could be trouble.”
“What’s the problem?” the general asked.
“Looks like an accident up ahead. I’ll call you back.”
“All right. But don’t be long.”
Travis clicked off without a reply, eyes scanning the road ahead. Off to the left, an SUV had gone off the road into a ditch. Several dozen yards beyond, a passenger van sat in his lane, angled toward him, its front wheels just off the edge of the road. The scene was eerily quiet, and Travis quickly put his thumb on it—there were no people. As if whoever had been in the accident had simply walked away. Or it had just happened and drivers of both vehicles were injured or unconscious.
He pulled onto the shoulder thirty feet from the passenger van and stepped out of the Range Rover into the drizzle. The tinted windows reflected the gray sky and nearly colorless trees, and didn’t allow a view of whoever might be inside. Travis glanced over his shoulder at the SUV now behind him. No sign of life. He approached the van slowly, rusty instincts squeaking at him, telling him something wasn’t right. He straightened his shoulders and picked up his pace. He wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore, and his suburban neighbors weren’t likely to plant roadside IEDs. The people inside the van could be seriously hurt. He was within steps now. As he stretched out a hand to open the passenger door, the rear door slid open and a man with a ski mask pulled over his face jumped out.
Travis whirled to face him, settling into fighting stance, and then saw the personal defense weapon—a submachine pistol—in the man’s hands. It was pointed at his stomach. Another masked figure rounded the back of the van and hurried toward Travis. He, too, carried one of the small machine guns.
“Stay where you are!” the second man barked.
Travis looked around wildly, looking for an avenue of escape. Behind him, the doors of the SUV in the ditch opened and two men stepped out aiming guns at him.
“Don’t even think about it,” the second man said as he walked up to Travis, “They would cut you down before you got ten feet.”
Before Travis could reply, the man yanked a cloth bag over his head and grabbed him in a bear hug. Instinctively, Travis struggled to break free, but someone grabbed his ankles and snatched his feet out from under him. Something sharp stabbed his shoulder like a bee sting. The men carrying him flipped him over and unceremoniously dumped him on his face on the floor of the van. His hands were yanked violently behind his back, nearly wrenching his left shoulder out of its socket, and they bound his wrists together with plastic cuffs.
The world softened and slid, the men’s voices becoming more indistinct as doors slammed and engines revved. Travis rolled into something hard as the van lurched forward and swung around in a tight turn. He tried to keep track of direction, but within seconds the world faded away as whatever sedative they’d given him sucked him under.
Chapter 3
I have one of the world’s most interesting jobs. I’m a seeing-eye dog. Well, seeing-eye guy, actually. A professional student until I learned the trust fund that had paid for a college degree, a master’s and most of a doctorate had been raided and virtually emptied by my paternal grandparents, I went out looking for my first real full-time job at the age of almost 21. The part-time jobs I’d held through school since I was about 11 didn’t count, and, yes, I’m very young for a PhD. candidate. I answered an ad for a personal assistant, and it turned out the person needing assistance was blind, a girl, and still in high school.
I hadn’t been too sure about the high school part. My high school experience had been enigmatic at best, but then I hadn’t experienced that much of it. I was in and out so fast, graduating at 15, and so focused on my studies that not much else had registered. And I’d approached the girl part with some trepidation, too, not because I don’t like girls, but again because I hadn’t had much experience with them. And the blind part? Well, that had taken a little getting used to also. I mean the girl, Tess, relied on me to be her eyes, to keep her from running into walls or tripping over curbs or falling down stairs (all of which I nearly let her do more than once my first day), and to help her with schoolwork.
Though I’d been in the job less than two weeks, already my apartment had been ransacked and I’d been shot at, beat up, and nearly killed several times. And I’d come to the realization that I wouldn’t trade this job for the world, despite the fact that the job itself—waiting on a spoiled, pissy teenager—was a pain in the butt. Okay, so I’m exaggerating a bit. Considering she’s a gagillionaire she’s not too spoiled, and if I was blind I might be a little pissy, too. Turns out we’re even when it comes to parents—neither of us has any. Hers died in the car accident that blinded her; mine, well, my mother died when I was an infant, and my father ran out on me.
The job definitely had its perks. Tess’s house, large enough to have its own Zip Code, was a pretty nice place to hang out. Some meals were included—I had a standing invitation to breakfast since they needed me there early enough to take Tess to school; at school I bought lunch on Tess’s account; and sometimes I stayed for dinner if Tess needed homework help. Rosa, the cook who’d worked there when I first started, made awesome Mexican food, but she turned out to be a psycho killer and industrial spy sent to steal something from Tess that Tess didn’t know she had. (Sounds complicated, I know, but try to keep up.)
Alice, the family’s majordomo—house manager, I guess you’d call her—was a pretty good cook herself and had taken over after Rosa went berserk and disappeared. Alice had assigned me a BMW 6 Series convertible in which to chauffeur Tess around, and it was an exceptionally sweet car. And, they actually paid me to hang out with Tess, which made my landlord and creditors extremely happy—not that I was hanging out with her, but that I was earning enough to pay them.
On my way to pick up Tess for school a week or so into the gig, I ran a few minutes late. As I turned in the drive, a black Range Rover sped toward me through the gate. I hit the brakes and yanked the wheel in time to see Travis Barrett throw me a curt wave as he flashed by and barreled down the road behind me. I shrugged while talking my heart back into the confines of my chest. I hadn’t made up my mind if Travis was a good guy or not, but since he was ex-Special Forces and Tess’s guardian, I didn’t want to get on his bad side. And I’m sure he had more important things on his mind than whether his inattentive driving ticked me off or not. After all, the guy had a multi-billion-dollar software company to run.
Since Travis had thoughtfully opened the gate for me, I continued on down the drive without stopping to swipe my security card at the magstripe reader on a post near the gate. A few weeks earlier if someone had told me I’d need high-level secu
rity clearance to get to work, let alone collect a high school kid from her home, I’d have looked around for the hidden cameras and asked which reality show I was on. Now I was glad for the extra precautions, another of which was quickly evident as I drove down the hill toward the house. A man the size of an NFL nose tackle stepped out from behind some trees and regarded my passage with a keen eye and impassive expression. Close-cropped hair and beard wreathed his ruddy face in flaming orange. I nodded somberly on the way past.
Red was one of a half dozen ex-military types Travis had selected as his security team to roam the property and keep an eye on Tess. A little older than the others on the team, he also was the only one who had exhibited any signs of friendliness toward me, or Tess. The others weren’t particularly unfriendly, just intent on doing their job. And they performed with a level of intensity I’d seen only on professional athletes. Maybe. Not surprising given they were dealing with matters of life and death. They were a man short, in fact, because one of their team members, Kenny, had been killed the week before. The question was whether he’d died protecting Tess, or because he was trying to kill her.
Using the remote to open one of the garage bay doors, I parked inside and hurried into the house. The side door led through a small mudroom into the kitchen, which is where I expected to find Tess. I guessed wrong. Alice stood at the sink, her back to me, washing dishes and muttering.
“Where’s Tess?” I said.
Blind Instinct: A Tess Barrett Thriller Page 2
