by Brynne Asher
I bite my lip and my heart catches. “Really?”
“Really.” His answer comes instantly. “Seein’ him with you, bein’ with you? He’s different. I’m just sorry it took him so long to find it.”
I don’t like being the topic of conversation, so I ask, “What about you? Who’s in your life?”
He gives his head a shake and tries to blow me off. “I’m divorced. As you know, being gone with no communication is hard. She’s a good woman, but couldn’t handle it. She’s since moved on but we’ve got two kids. I don’t see ‘em enough, but I’m trying to rectify that.”
“I hope you do, Asa.”
I know what it’s like to be alone, and I hate that for him. Even if he seems a bit closed off to me, I feel sorry for him after getting to know Crew. The life these men chose to lead is difficult, and it’s probably harder being a dad. Asa’s handsome with his medium brown hair, with only a few flecks of gray at his temples. He keeps his beard full, yet trimmed. I know he’s older, but just like the rest of the men in their secret sect, he’s built for the job they’ve chosen.
It’s late and it’s been a long day, but I don’t forget where this conversation started before I got sidetracked with the topic of Crew. “Any update on Sheldon O’Rourke?”
He gives me a smirk like he’s on to me. “How much Crew tells you is his business. I’m sure it’s more than he’s supposed to since you are what you are to him. I like you, Addy, but I’m not putting my ass out there to update you on a CIA investigation.”
“Asa, I’ve had the ABC, the Health Department, and just today, the IRS knocking my door down accusing my winery of a menagerie of wrongdoings. That’s no coincidence. I can’t think of anyone else I know who has the reach or means to make that happen besides O’Rourke. I like flying under the radar, and as much as I appreciate you making sure my true identity is safe, someone’s trying to screw with me, and I think that someone is O’Rourke.”
Asa mulls this over, taking another drink before finally giving in. “I’ll see what I can find out, but even if I do find something, doesn’t mean I can tell you. You looking at me with those big, brown eyes might make me want to tell you everything, but I can’t.” His smirk grows, creating tiny lines around his hazel eyes, softening his face nicely when he shakes his head. “My boy, Crew. He’s fucked.”
That makes me feel good, but I ignore it and push on. “So you’ll check into it for me?”
He smiles. “Oh, I’ll check, just not making any promises on what I’ll tell you.”
“You know—your mysterious little group of killers are quite resourceful. I’m finding you handy to have around,” I tease as I get up, anxious for my bed—even if it is empty—after my very long day. Giving him a genuine smile, I mean it with all my heart when I say, “Thank you, Asa, and thank you for being here. I’m glad Crew’s had you all these years.” Before I leave the kitchen, I turn to him one more time. “By the way, I have no love for the CIA after what they put my mom through. You can tell them to hurry the hell up, I’m sick of being quarantined. If they could put a stop to O’Rourke and his cronies yesterday, it’s too long for me.”
His smile turns into a big grin, transforming his face from an all-business killer to a captivating man any woman would gawk at for hours. “I’ll relay the message.”
I give him a sweet and fake-like smile, before heading upstairs. “Relaying messages to the CIA for me, you’re the best.”
As I head out, I notice he has a nice laugh and feel sorry for him. The life these men have chosen seems to come with solitude and loneliness. I hope he gets to see his kids more.
Chapter 24 – Hacked
Marc Whittaker –
Fuck, this place is always busy. Today I’m grateful for it because the powers that be are pissed, and I need to talk to him.
I make my way through the morning crowds of the Pentagon City Mall, through the food court to the coffee bar where he’s standing in line. A group gives me a dirty look when I cut in front of more than half the line to stand next to him.
I don’t beat around the bush, they’re angry and waiting for answers. “What the fuck does she know?”
Sheldon turns, surprised to see me and lifts a brow.
“She knows something,” I hiss under my breath, not able to control my temper. “They’ve hacked into her computers and you’re all over her search history. She even looked me up a few times, but mostly it’s you.”
His face remains neutral and he ignores me. When the line progresses ahead of us, he steps forward to order from the barista. “Americano and fill it to the top. I don’t need room for anything.”
He doesn’t glance my way again, but I give him the chance to pay and we move to the side out of earshot.
“You’d better fucking talk to me. They’re up my ass about it and think this is my doing. This is not what I signed up for, Sheldon. I want answers.”
He slides his hands in his pockets, looking happy when he replies, “This is what you get when you’re picked to be the messenger. No one’s up my ass, Whittaker. This is what happens when you play with the enemy.” Then he cocks his head, narrowing his eyes. “You wanted to be the messenger. If you can’t play, you’re fucked. Once you’re in, they never let you out. I don’t think I need to tell you what it means to be fucked.”
“Just tell me what she fucking knows and why she’s researching us. It’s new, been happening for just a few days. And she’s combining us on searches with ‘treason,’ ‘KGB,’ ‘CIA,’ shit like that. They don’t give a fuck that she won’t leave her property, it’s open to business during the day, they’re ready to move in and take her out.”
Finally, his face cements as he turns fully to me, his body tightening. “They’d better fucking not. I don’t know what she’s searching for, but whatever’s goin’ on, this is their doing. They opened this fucking can of worms by digging shit up that should’ve been left buried with her father. Their antics the night of the White House dinner, chasing them down and shooting at them didn’t help. They brought on whatever attention they’ve got all on their own.”
“You’re not giving me answers,” I seethe.
“I don’t have any, they need to drop it. I’ll call them myself, I could give a fuck who they want to communicate with. They can’t take people out just because they get cold feet. It might work that way where they’re from, but not here in the States. They start on a rampage here—we’ll all get attention we don’t want.”
“Fuck,” I mutter and run my hand through my hair as they call his name to get his order.
He takes a sip of his steaming brew and tips his head to me over the rim. “You need to learn to control your shit, young Marc. This is my last piece of advice to you, you show weakness, they’ll know how to get to you. My guess? They already know. This is no more than a game and you’ve already given up your poker face. You think I’m fucked? You should look in the mirror.”
He turns to walk away, leaving me in the busy food court.
He’s right, I need to get it together. I need to turn the tables—control them—I didn’t sign up to be anyone’s puppet. Doing my best to calm myself, I scan the room. For what, I don’t know, but I’ve had a weird feeling lately. Knowing what they’re capable of, what they’ve threatened to do to O’Rourke, I’m getting bad vibes.
Seeing nothing besides tourists, skaters, moms pushing strollers, and suits like me either getting coffee or cutting through to the Metro, I force myself to relax. This shit is so consuming, I’m sure it’s in my head. There’s no fucking way I’m being followed, I would know.
I move the way O’Rourke did to make my way back to the Metro. It’s only one stop to the Pentagon, it’ll be faster than walking.
On my way, I pull out my secure cell to make the call I’m dreading. Because I have no fucking answers. I’m gonna have to do what I’ve been doing—make shit up as I go along.
*****
Asa –
I’m on my way to the big
barn, the men should be back from their morning run soon. Their times are getting better by the day. Crew and Grady run with them, but I fucking hate running. Always have. I force myself to do it a couple times a week to stay in shape, but I prefer to lift, and at home I’ve got my rowing machine. I could row for hours, even though the machine doesn’t come close to the real thing, but it’ll do.
I pull my cell from my pocket and grimace at the name on the screen. He was on my list to call first thing this morning for Addy, but he beat me to it, and I don’t like that.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Whittaker and O’Rourke just had a meet in the mall.” Carson doesn’t bother greeting me. Then again, he never does. “We’ve got tails on both of them. It’s reported Whittaker is lookin’ more tweaked by the day. It was busy, nothing was heard but the one tail who had full view of Whittaker can read lips. He was talking about Addison Wentworth, she’s been hacked. If she’s been researching them, she needs to stop. She’s bringing attention to herself, attention she definitely doesn’t want. You need to keep a closer eye on her with Vega gone. My guess, if you secure her system now, it’ll tip them off.”
I sigh. “How am I supposed to tell her to quit researching them without telling her she’s been hacked? She thinks someone’s trying to tarnish her business and assumes it’s O’Rourke. You know anything about this?”
“I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ll look into it, but he’s done nothin’ that I’ve seen and we watch his every move. I don’t know why, but if anything, seems O’Rourke’s trying to deflect attention from her.”
“It’s probably why she’s looking into him. Check Whittaker, too. I told her I’d look into it, but I doubt it’s them. What I didn’t tell her is it’s not their style to cause small headaches. They’d rather put a hole in your head and be done with it.” I watch Jarvis emerge from the forest first, no one on his heels. I pull my phone away from my ear to look at his time, and if it’s possible, he’s getting faster and more efficient. He’s a machine.
I fucking hate it when Grady’s right.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anymore,” he replies, ready to end our call.
“Any word from Vega and Cain?” I ask.
“They’re gettin’ close, should be wrapping up soon. Cain appears steady, and you know Vega doesn’t like to talk to me. I won’t hear from them again ‘til the job is wrapped.”
I shake my head thinking about Crew. From the beginning, he hated working with the CIA, always keeping his communication to a minimum. Less than a minimum, if possible. I hang up immediately after demanding, “Call me if something changes.”
I watch the other three recruits appear in close intervals, but nothing close to Jarvis. Crew and Grady had better wrap their job up quick. I signed up for this to work close to Crew, not to babysit recruits all on my own.
I yell toward the clearing where they’re cooling down, “You’ve got two minutes for water, then get your asses to the mats.”
Nothing like getting the day started after ten miles.
Chapter 25 – Not Unusual
Addy –
I jerk awake, disoriented since it seems I just fell into a restless sleep—the only kind of sleep I’ve been getting for almost three weeks now.
Beeps from the keypad by my bedroom door woke me, but not the alarm sounding. Someone has disarmed my security system. Before my feet hit the floor to investigate, my cell rings from the nightstand.
Looking at the screen, I’m not sure if the name of the caller makes me feel better or not. “Asa, what’s wrong? Did you turn off the system?”
“The sensors went off,” he explains quickly. I can tell he’s moving as he speaks. “The recruits are on their way from Crew’s camp on foot and I need to communicate with them. Someone’s on your property. So far, I only see one, but I’m headed out to look. Stay put and arm your system.”
“Can you see—” I start to ask, but realize the line went dead. He hung up on me.
Once I rearm my system, I run to my bedroom window. I see nothing but the dark of night. I don’t know whether I should stay here or go downstairs. I should’ve asked where they were on my land. Ninety acres is a big area. What if it’s more than one person? Asa only has his four recruits—do they even know what they’re doing yet? Then again, I don’t even know what they’d do if they did know what they were doing.
I throw on a robe and decide to go to the main floor. I can’t see anything from way up here—the moon isn’t even out tonight.
Twenty-five minutes later as I pace the hallway by the front door, my ringtone breaks through the silence. It’s Asa and I ask immediately, “Are you okay?”
“Open your front door,” he growls.
After disarming my system, I turn to my antique door and when I swing it open, six men are at the bottom of my steps. Asa’s standing to the side with three others. He’s holding huge cans in each hand by their handles. I immediately smell gasoline, but can’t even think what that means. My eyes move to the left and I recognize him immediately.
It’s the guy Crew was battling it out with on the mats over a month and a half ago, Jarvis. His hair is longer now, and this time he’s wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, and tennis shoes without socks, but I know for a fact it’s him. He’s even more built than I remember, every muscle on display is flexed, tense, and bulging since he’s got another man, smaller than the rest of the group, in a hold so tight, it looks painful.
I throw my hand out in front of me and I’m breathy when I ask, “Who’s this?”
“We were gonna ask you the same thing,” Asa says, looking over to the captive who just groaned when Jarvis roughly yanks his arms farther up his back.
“I don’t know who he is.” I shake my head because all the men in front of me are looking up at me for answers.
“We found all this on him,” Asa says, jerking his chin to one of the three guys standing next to him.
One of the recruits holds out his hands, showing me a flip lighter, cell phone, box cutter, and my eyes widen when I see a handgun. The recruit tosses it to the ground out of reach, and looks up to me with a look mixed with boredom and disappointment. “He was easy to catch.”
Huh. I wonder if he’s disappointed he didn’t get to kill anyone?
I don’t get the chance to ponder this this because Jarvis throws him to the ground. Not expecting it, the captive lands face first on the stone of my walkway. Jarvis doesn’t stop there. His foot follows the guy down, landing in his side when he demands, “Who the fuck are you?”
A groan emanates from the crumpled body as he rolls into himself when Asa warns, “Watch it, Jarvis.”
Now that I think about it, Jarvis is a strange name. I wonder if it’s required to have an odd name to be recruited to the killers?
Jarvis doesn’t heed his warning. He leans down and yanks him up by the back of his shirt, looking into his bloodied face where he raises his voice. “What’s your fucking name?”
The guy groans again, holding his midsection and mumbles, “He said this would be easy.”
“Who said that?” Asa asks, stepping closer.
“I just needed to make some extra money, I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” the guy keeps on.
“Listen, fucker,” Jarvis jerks the guy around again. “I’ll beat you bloody ‘til you tell us your worthless fucking name. You’ve got two beats to spit it the fuck out.”
“D-Dan,” he stutters. “Dan Smithson.”
“Why were you pouring gasoline on the vines?” Asa asks.
“What?” I scream and start down the steps to them. “He poured gasoline on my vines?” I look at the contents of his pockets and realize what almost happened tonight. When I do, I look right at Dan, lying on the ground and my blood boils. “You were going to burn my vineyard?”
At that, Jarvis pulls his arm back and his fist lands square on Dan Smithson’s jaw.
“For fuck’s sake, control it, Jarvi
s,” Asa mutters and comes over to block my way so I don’t get too close. Asa takes out his phone and messes with the screen as he looks down to Dan. “Who were you talking about? Who said this would be easy?”
Dan doesn’t answer, but Asa starts talking into the phone, I guess to nine-one-one, but who knows. Maybe he called some secret society these killers have on speed dial. I do know he reported a trespasser and talked a little about arson.
When he gets off the phone, he looks back at Dan. “You’ve got the time it takes for the police and fire department to get here to tell us who the fuck you’re talking about. If you don’t, I’ll let Rambo here loose on your ass.”
Bruised, bloodied, and in pain, Dan all but gives in when he looks up to us. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears.
“McCann. Tobin McCann.”
*****
I cannot believe he went as far as he did, but after investigations by the police and speaking to the ABC, Health Department, and the IRS, it’s confirmed. Tobin McCann was responsible for everything, calling in anonymous tips that were nothing but lies. All the hell my sweet little vineyard has gone through the last few weeks has been at the resentful and wretched hands of a man who wasn’t given what he wanted. And like a spoiled child, he threw a fit.
Although, his fit was in the form of false allegations and attempted arson. Local Sheriff’s Deputies paid him a visit yesterday and I was told he initially refuted everything. But thanks to Dan-Dan the Pay-Off Man, not to mention further information from all the agencies who have caused havoc the last few weeks, he requested counsel, refusing to answer any additional questions without his lawyer present.
Lucky for me, Asa and his killers got to Dan-Dan the Arson Man before he could do any real damage. He was only able to spread gasoline on a half row of vines—it could’ve been worse.
Morris and I were worried what the chemicals would do to the soil. First thing the next morning, we hired a hazmat crew to clean it up properly. I hope they got to it in time and the ground hasn’t been contaminated, but we’ll need to test the soil in months to come. We’re close enough to harvest at this point, Van and Morris thought it smart to reap the contaminated row, and a few surrounding it immediately, just in case. Van said he’ll use that batch to experiment with some new ideas.
