“It’s got nothing to do with being afraid.”
“You don’t have to worry about us getting off to a bad start.”
That sounded good to Jack. “Well, I’m glad because—”
“Because we already have.”
That didn’t. “What? Why?”
Maybe it was the near-death experience they’d shared last night that had him interested in her so fast, he figured, trying to be analytical about it. Maybe being shot at together was an aphrodisiac, so then maybe what he was feeling was just infatuation.
But as he glanced over at her something told him that what he was feeling wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. He was more taken by her every minute, but they hadn’t been shot at in a while. Karen was definitely something special.
“What did I do?” he pushed.
She looked at him like it was obvious. “It’s what you didn’t do, Jack.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had to push you out of that warehouse window last night. I mean, come on, who’s really wearing the pants in this relationship?”
He didn’t like his manhood being called out, but hearing that she thought they already had a relationship wasn’t a bad thing. “I didn’t even know we had a relation—”
“And let me tell you something,” she interrupted as she pointed at him. “Yeah, yeah, I was a cop, but I love being a woman too. I love wearing cute dresses and heels and doing my nails and dancing like crazy at a cool club. Tell those guys on the trading floor that.”
“Huh?”
“You know, all those animals you told me you work with in New York City.”
“We’re not animals,” he said indignantly.
“Blah, blah. I’ve seen the movies about you Wall Street guys. And I’ve read the books. You’re all blue bloods, but you’re Neanderthals while you’re on the trading floors.”
“We’re not all blue bloods either.”
“Look, I’m not some stubborn bitch who gets off arresting men and gets offended by guys who treat her like a woman. I love it when a guy holds a door for me or stands up when I get to the table. I love being treated like a woman.”
She reached out, grabbed the rearview mirror, turned it so she could see her face in it, and muttered angrily that despite brushing it out for fifteen minutes this morning, her hair still looked like a rat’s nest because she’d slept on it wet.
He grinned as she muttered. Her hair looked sexy like that—not bad.
“That’s how Charlie was,” she continued. “That was one of the things that really impressed me about him on our first date. His manners were so awesome.”
“I’ll remember that.” He would too.
“But what really impressed me was that it never stopped. He wasn’t just doing it on our first date to get my attention. He cared about me enough to keep doing it.” She hesitated. “I like being pampered, but I can handle myself in the tough situations too. I want you to know that, Jack.”
“I think I’ve already seen you handle yourself in a tough—”
“So I’ll keep wearing pants when it’s the two of us if I have to,” she cut in again as she turned the mirror back in the general direction it had been facing before.
“No problem.” Jack adjusted the mirror so he could see out the rear window again.
“Charlie didn’t have a problem with me being a cop.”
“I don’t either.” He’d obviously hit a sensitive button on her personal remote.
In-charge women didn’t bother Jack at all. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted and went out and got it…as long as she could be sexy and romantic too. OK, so his standards were ridiculously high.
That, along with not being much into compromise, was probably why he’d never gotten permanently hooked. But he wasn’t like Troy either. He wasn’t a one-night-stand guy. He enjoyed getting to know a woman and having a serious relationship. He just hadn’t found a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Jack looked over at Karen for the hundredth time since they’d gotten in the car. Not yet, anyway.
“Not going to argue about it?” she asked curiously. “Not going to get all macho on me and tell me you didn’t really need me to push you out that window after all?”
“I definitely needed that push.”
“Amazing,” she said after a few moments, clearly impressed. “I’ve finally met a guy who admits to being scared of something.”
“Hey, I hate heights. They scare the crap out of me. They always have, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He gestured at her. “At least I had you push me out, right?”
“Yeah,” she agreed softly, “you did.” She reached over and touched his arm reassuringly. “Hey, I was just kidding about our start. I have liked it.” She let her hand linger on his arm. “I mean, it’s been kind of crazy,” she said with an overwhelmed expression. “I’ve gotta give you a big ‘A’ for creativity and excitement. That’s for sure. But I’ve got to go low in the safety category. The bullets were a bit much. A roller coaster would have been fine,” she said with a grin.
“We’re alive, aren’t we?”
“So far,” she murmured as her smile faded. “So, Jack, what were you going to say before about me being a cop?”
“I said what I had to say.”
“You can’t start something like that and not finish it.”
“I sure can.”
“Come on, I want to hear it. I mean it.”
“Don’t boss me.”
“I’m not. I would never do that.” She laughed loudly, making it abundantly clear with her sarcastic tone that she knew very well she was bossing him. “Now tell me, damn it.”
“OK, boss.”
“Now!”
He chuckled as he thought about whether or not to say it. He wanted to build that bridge to her quickly. He wanted her all-in as fast as he could get her there…so what the hell, he figured. “OK, OK. All I was going to say was that Baltimore seems like a good city to get arrested in now that I know you.”
Karen rolled her eyes. “Why, because now you figure the force is all full of little hotties and it might be fun getting booked by a good-looking chick? What? Is that what you guys yak about on the trading floor in the afternoon when things get slow?”
She had this sizzle about her he couldn’t resist. Those friendly eyes he’d spotted at the restaurant last night could flash red-hot quickly, but that was OK. She certainly wasn’t as vulnerable as he’d first thought. But those tears she’d cried for Charlie last night had been genuine and heartfelt. That was obvious. She was tough, but it didn’t seem like her skin was that thick.
“All I was going to say,” Jack answered, “was that you seem like a really nice person, Karen. All the cops I’ve ever dealt with have been pricks, real hotheads.”
Jack had been arrested both times he’d put those guys in the hospital with broken jaws. But the cops hadn’t bothered to listen to how he’d been acting in self-defense either time. In fact, they’d told him to shut the hell up or they’d pile a resisting arrest onto the assault charge—which had been dropped quickly in both cases after witnesses had come forward and the facts had played out.
“But you aren’t.” He shrugged. “Maybe the police force you were on was better trained. That’s all I meant, Karen.”
“Oh.” She hesitated. “Well, don’t I feel like an idiot now?” she murmured apologetically. “Sorry, Jack. I guess I’m still a little sensitive about all those cracks I heard about being a woman cop.”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked over at her again. “You think?”
Hunter sat at the kitchen table of their small country house gazing at a wedding picture of Amy in her long white dress. She looked more beautiful to him this morning than she ever had.
She didn’t turn heads when she walked into a room, but she wasn’t unattractive either. She was plain. That was the best way to describe her.
But that was fine with Hunter, because on the inside
Amy was the most beautiful person he’d ever known. She’d do almost anything for anyone, and she cared so very deeply for any child who was in trouble in any way. And that was why he really cared about her. Because of her innate and uncompromising affection for human life and her desire to solve everyone’s problems no matter who they were.
Hunter put the wedding picture down and picked up a photograph of Jack and himself together on a fishing trip out on Long Island Sound. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, and Jack was giving the camera one of those big, charismatic smiles he rarely gave anyone or anything. If he only understood how contagious that smile was and the confidence it engendered, he’d give it a lot more often, Hunter figured. But Jack still had so many issues, so many demons inside himself left to conquer. And most of them were born of still being so intimidated by Troy.
Hunter shook his head. Jack didn’t need to be intimidated by anyone anymore—even Troy. He’d become his own very fine person over the last few years. Hunter had seen the progression from the front row and tried to help Jack see it too with as many psychological mirrors as he could find. But it hadn’t worked. Maybe Jack never would see himself as that capable, confident person he’d become. Maybe that was the sad truth. And, perhaps, in an awful way, Troy’s death had put a cover on that possibility forever. As Hunter had overheard Jack whisper to himself at the memorial service, how was he supposed to compete with his younger brother now?
They’d been friends for a long time, and now Hunter understood why Jack had acted so mysteriously at the bar the other night. He wasn’t going to Florida for the winter to pick up some stupid bartending job. Based on what Hunter had been through in the last thirty-six hours, Jack was into something very dangerous. Though what that was, Hunter had no idea.
All Hunter knew for sure was that the little man who’d demanded information about Jack, used the clear plastic bag as his torture weapon of choice, and ultimately had Amy kidnapped was one serious motherfucker. Hunter had seen the evil in his eyes, and it had terrified him on a level he’d never even known he was capable of experiencing. The man was a predator and that was all. He knew no other way. Even more frightening, he obviously didn’t want to know any other way.
Hunter placed the picture of Jack down beside the picture of Amy and took turns staring at their faces. He had to make a terrible choice between the two people who meant the most to him in the world. That little man had called early this morning and made him listen to Amy scream for help in the background, so he didn’t have much time to decide. He had to make his choice very soon.
Jack had been his best friend for fifteen years, and he’d proven his loyalty time and time again.
Amy was his wife, and he loved her dearly.
He glanced at the cell phone lying on the table beside Jack’s picture. There was one missed call registering on the tiny screen.
“My God,” he whispered. “Somebody help me.”
CHAPTER 26
MADDUX STOPPED O’Hara outside the heavy iron door with a strong grip to the shoulder. They were just about to enter the soundproof interrogation room, which was at one end of the narrow, stonewalled corridor of the farmhouse basement. It lay directly beneath the study in which Maddux had welcomed O’Hara into RCS.
“Put this on, Ryan,” he ordered, handing the young man a crude hood. It was a faded white pillowcase with two small holes cut out of the poly-cotton blend near the closed end of the case. “And keep it on until I tell you to take it off.”
“Are you serious, sir?” O’Hara asked, grinning self-consciously.
“I get the Klan irony,” Maddux muttered as he slipped a hood on himself. “At least you don’t have to wear the robe,” he added in what was now a slightly muffled voice.
He was enjoying this moment, and he allowed himself a grin beneath the hood because now O’Hara couldn’t see his reaction. Something inside Maddux had always enjoyed putting people on edge.
“Put these on too.” Maddux pulled a pair of gloves from a pocket of his jacket and tossed them at the kid. “And make sure your shirtsleeves come down over the wrist end of the gloves at all times while we’re in there.”
“Why?”
“You said it yourself. You’re black and you’re the first one to make it in. Never give away anything about yourself you don’t absolutely have to.” Maddux nodded at the door. “Other than the man we’re interrogating today, there’s a guy from another RCS division in there as well. I don’t want him seeing your hands and figuring out it’s you if somehow he’s heard through the grapevine about you making it in.”
“Are you embarrassed by me?” O’Hara asked tersely. “Is that what this is about, sir?”
It was the first time Maddux had heard the kid’s voice grab even a slightly irritated edge. And this one wasn’t slight, it was pure resentment. “I don’t want you identified at all,” Maddux replied as deliberately as he could, controlling his rage at the kid’s audacity in using that tone with his new superior, but at the same time showing the young man how irritated he was in no uncertain terms. “It has nothing to do with your skin color. I already told you, Ryan. I don’t see color when I look at you. I see bravery.” He hesitated. “The bottom line is I don’t want any of my Falcons identified by anyone at any time. But everyone in RCS knows that we haven’t had an African American make it into the Falcon division before you. If the RCS guy behind the door saw your hands, it wouldn’t take him long to connect the dots. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” O’Hara mumbled. “Sorry.”
“It’s for your protection,” Maddux continued. “That’s all. I’d do the same thing for any other Falcon whether he was white, black, green, or purple. It’s always best to fly under the radar whenever you can, even when you’re flying over friendly territory. You’ve probably heard that a thousand times during your training, but it’s true.” He pointed a stubby finger at the kid. “Follow our training techniques at all times to the letter, son. I can’t emphasize that enough. It will save your life one day.”
“So, we stay that secretive even from other RCS divisions?” O’Hara asked.
“Absolutely,” Maddux replied, watching the kid pull the hood down over his face. Maddux focused on the eye holes when the hood was in place, trying to see if anyone could tell the kid was black under there. But the holes were small enough to keep out any gaze, no matter how penetrating. “Pull those sleeves down,” he ordered. “No skin showing.”
“Why do I have to be worried about somebody from another Red Cell Seven division? Isn’t he one of the good guys?”
“He is,” Maddux agreed. “He’s a counterterrorism guy and a damn fine one. But, in my opinion, he’s got a big mouth.” Maddux shrugged. “I mean, he doesn’t say much because he is counterterror, but those guys shouldn’t say anything.”
“I don’t under—”
“Not everyone’s as smart as I am. Not everyone sees it all the way I do.”
“Huh?”
“There’s one more thing I have to make clear to you before we go in there,” Maddux said quickly as he gestured at the door. “It’s the most important to me.”
“What is it, sir?” O’Hara asked expectantly.
“From now on you must be completely loyal to me no matter what happens. Do you understand that, Ryan? At this point it isn’t about the rest of the Falcons, Red Cell Seven, the DOD, the CIA, or even the United States of America. It’s just about your loyalty to me. Am I clear?”
O’Hara swallowed hard and gave Maddux a confused look. “Yes, sir, but if I could ask you just one more—”
“Let’s go.” Maddux hustled O’Hara toward the door. He didn’t like the kid asking so many questions. He needed to put a stop to that ASAP.
Maybe it was a generational thing, Maddux figured. Maybe kids today simply couldn’t keep from asking questions because there were so many ways to get information. As a result, they expected answers immediately all the time. Whatever the reason was, he didn’t appreciate it.
Young people were made to be seen and not heard, like his grandfather had always said.
He’d always liked his grandfather, but then the old man had up and died right in front of him of a heart attack when Maddux was only seven. And then he hadn’t had any protection from his father’s nightly beatings.
“We’ll talk more after the session,” Maddux promised as he pushed the door open.
“Yes, sir.”
It was rare for Maddux to allow so new a Falcon into an interrogation like this, especially a session that would end up getting so brutal. But he had a good feeling about O’Hara, and he wanted to connect with the kid quickly. O’Hara was an expert marksman, one of the best to ever come along. The kid could literally put a bullet through the eye of an eagle in the sky from three hundred yards. Maddux wanted to practice with O’Hara over the next few days to try to improve his own marksmanship, which was excellent, though nothing compared to the kid’s. Maddux wanted every extra bit of training he could get to make certain President Dorn died with the first shot.
Maddux’s second reason for allowing O’Hara into this session was shock value. He wanted to see the kid’s physical reaction to an actual torture session even if he couldn’t actually see O’Hara’s face. He’d still know what was going on behind the hood from the kid’s body language and the debriefing meeting afterward. O’Hara had seen several gut-wrenching videos of sessions during his training, but never the live, in-your-face, blood-and-death performance.
He’d puked a few months ago while watching a particularly vicious session during which a subject had been slowly decapitated, but otherwise the kid had passed with flying colors. Most importantly, he’d never once questioned the need for brutal torture sessions as a tool to protect the United States. Not even if it involved American citizens.
Then there was that third reason Maddux wanted O’Hara in the interrogation session, which was the most important reason of all.
As they headed into the dimly lit room, Maddux motioned for O’Hara to move to the wall opposite the one the subject was hanging near. The guy’s wrists were tied tightly above his head by a thick rope leading to a hook on the ceiling, and his feet barely touched the floor. He was moaning loudly while he tried to keep himself balanced on his toes as he strained toward the ceiling.
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