Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series)
Page 14
He loved her.
One day, in the not so distant future, he’d give Anna the bigger, newer house she deserved. For now they’d make do. And if the ultrasound showed that the baby girl Anna carried was—
He hugged her tighter, smoothing his hand down her back and tangling it in her long, thick, silky soft black hair. “Nothing could keep me from missing it. I’ll meet you at the hospital at three.” He kissed her lips. “Who’s watching the boys?”
“My sister.” She glanced at their sons, who, completely oblivious to his and Anna’s anxiety over the new baby and pregnancy, continued to stuff their faces with Fruit Loops. “She said if we needed to…if things don’t go well and we need…” Tears filled her eyes. She blinked several times and pulled away.
He held her tighter. “Don’t go there. We’ll deal with whatever God gives us. Okay?”
“Come on, Vin,” she said, gripping his arms. “We’re scraping by as it is. Your insurance is okay, but it won’t be enough to cover—”
“Don’t go there,” he repeated, the guilt weighing heavy on his heart. He made forty-five grand a year and the government took a shit-ton of it. His schooling was costing them, but he had only one more year to go and he’d have his degree. They’d have a better life. He’d do whatever it took to make sure of it.
Drawing back, he settled his palms on his wife’s hard stomach. “It’ll be okay. No matter what happens, it’ll be okay. And we’ll love this one just as much as those two monkeys.”
“Hey, I heard that, Daddy,” Gus said, waving his spoon at them and grinning.
Benny giggled, then shouted, “Loop.”
Anna smiled at their sons. “That explains why you two love bananas so much,” she teased their boys, then widened her eyes. “Vince, holy crap, look at what time it is. You’re going to be late.”
“Crap,” Benny echoed, shoving a fistful of cereal into his mouth.
“Potty mouth,” Vince said and kissed the top of Benny’s head. He pulled his black company-issued coat off the back of Gus’s chair and kissed him, too. “I’ll be fine. Traffic is always lighter when the kids are off school.”
“What are you talking about?” She handed him his lunchbox and thermos of coffee. “Spring break doesn’t start until next week.”
“Holy crap,” he yelled and jumped around as if freaked by the time. When his sons laughed, he did to, then he grabbed his bride of seven years. “I’m teasing you. I don’t have to pick up Troy today, so I had a few extra minutes this morning. Just enough time to give my beautiful wife an extra kiss and my two stinky monkeys a couple of tickles.”
Anna relaxed, while the boys giggled. “You’re still making me nervous. Go before you really are late.” She ushered him toward the back door leading to the detached garage. “Remember. Three o’clock. Second floor of—”
“Honey, stop. Between this pregnancy and the last two, I’ve been to how many ultrasounds? I will be there.”
She crossed her arms. “Maybe I should cancel and try to get a later appointment.”
Three o’clock was the latest appointment. “Anna, please stop worrying.” Damn, she was a ball of nerves. Normally she was the cool one, the calm voice of reason. “Don’t you remember me telling you I asked Lance Stevens to switch routes with me today?”
Frowning, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You know I have pregnancy brain. Refresh my memory.”
“Even if I’m not finished with all of my deliveries, with Lance’s route I’ll still be close enough to the hospital that I can park my truck and run in for the ultrasound.” He grabbed his car keys off the hook hanging by the door. “But if that happens I’ll be late and won’t be able to take Gus to his soccer practice. You’ll be on soccer duty.”
“What’s Lance’s route again?”
He turned the knob and opened the storm door, noticed it could use a coat of paint and added that to his mental chore list for next weekend. “He handles the small businesses and housing developments in Beachmore and Wilshire Park. I’ve done this route before, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Wait, isn’t that fancy neighborhood I like over in Wilshire Park?”
Vince grinned as he recalled Anna showing him a house she’d found online. Her dream house, she’d told him, and only worth seven hundred thousand dollars. He knew Anna had been joking around with him and would never expect to live in a ten thousand square foot home. Still, he wished he could give her that dream house. For now, a dishwasher would have to do.
“Yeah, Rosewood Estates is in Wilshire Park,” he confirmed. “Unless things have changed, it should be the second last stop on the route.” He checked the Timex Anna had given him for his last birthday. “If I don’t get out of here I really will be late.”
He leaned forward for one more kiss, this one longer and meant to show her how much he loved and adored her. That no matter what happened, he’d be there for her.
“Eww. Kissy-kissy,” Gus called from the kitchen table.
“Crap,” Benny added with a big smile.
Vince laughed. “On that note, I’m outta here. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” his wife replied.
“See you soon you two big baboons,” he yelled to his boys.
Gus broke into a fit of giggles, while Benny kept saying “crap.”
Smiling, Vince closed and locked the door behind him. His smile fell as a cool spring breeze blew in from the east. In order to keep Anna’s spirits high and the worry off her shoulders, for weeks he’d been trying his damnedest to pretend the pressure and stress hadn’t been affecting him. But it had. The bills, the concern over how they would outgrow their small bungalow once the baby was born…the baby’s health.
He climbed into his 1998 Chevy pickup and started the truck. His mom was a fan of saying, ‘God never gives you more than you can handle’. Anna’s obstetrician had also assured them that the choroid plexus cysts, found on the baby’s brain during the last ultrasound, would likely go away on their own and not have any side effects. The research they’d done on the Internet had told them otherwise and had scared the hell of them.
Vince glanced at the clock on the dash as he backed out of the driveway. Six hours from now, the weeks of waiting, wondering and worrying would come to an end. He just hoped to God the news was good. In the meantime, he was grateful to have to go into work. Delivering packages all day would keep his mind off the baby and on his job.
Yeah, today was definitely one of those days he could use a major distraction.
*
Woodbine, Georgia
9:50 a.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time
Jake let go of Naomi, leaned back on his heels and stared at her bloodshot, tear filled eyes. Disappointment, resentment, anger and overwhelming grief collided together and sank deep into his bones. He’d loved her and she was nothing but one enormous lie.
“Who’s Lisa Monroe?” he asked, fisting his hands on his thighs. Damn it. He’d been so sure of himself, so sure that he knew her. Her name change and the reasons behind it were important, and he’d had every intention of going after the son of a bitch who’d forced her into hiding. But he’d decided not to dwell on any of that. Blinded by love and lust, he’d given her the benefit of the doubt and had enjoyed his time with her. Only she’d taken her lies to another level. Hell, she’d stripped away his trust in her. And it fucking hurt.
She rose from the chair, but he quickly grabbed her arm and forced her to remain seated. “Answer me, damn it,” he demanded, through with her bullshit.
“Is that all you care about?” she sobbed and pointed to the TV. “People are dying because of me.” She shoved at his hand and fought against his grip. “Let me go. I have to go to him. I have to stop him.”
Guilt crept in, but he didn’t release her. “Stop fighting me. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”
She swiped the tears from her face with her free hand. “Fine. I made up Lisa Monroe to get you to stop questioning m
e.”
“And the stalker?”
“He’s real.” She glanced away. “What I told you about him wasn’t a lie.”
“Bullshit. You’re still lying to me.” Disgusted with her and with himself for believing in her and in them, he released her and stood. “CORE’s computer forensic analyst has assured me that there’s no way in hell you can change your name and social security number without leaving a paper trail. The only way that’s possible is through a government agency like Witness Protection. Are you part of that program?”
Rubbing her wrist she shook her head.
“Then who gave you the new identity?” When she didn’t answer him, he knelt in front of her, gripped her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “Who? Damn it, Rose, answer me.”
Her eyes narrowed with outrage and bitterness. “Don’t ever call me that again,” she said, her tone seething and threatening. “Rose Wood is dead and has been for eight years.” Her chin trembled and more tears filled her eyes. “He murdered her and her entire family.”
A chill washed over him. Naomi had claimed that she was an only child. Her mom had died in a car accident and her dad of a heart attack. “How? Did you lie to me about how your parents died, too?”
She shook her head again. “No. Only…” After drawing in a shaky breath, she reached out and touched his jaw. “I knew the truth. He showed up at both of my parents’ funerals and made sure I understood that he’d stop at nothing until he owned me.” She pressed the heel of her palm against her temple. “Owned me,” she repeated. “When he showed up at my mom’s funeral and made his threats clear, I tried to warn my dad. But he was so grief stricken, he refused to listen to me. When I told my brother, he agreed that—”
“You have a brother?” Damn, did he ever really know her?
Nodding, she dropped her hand to his shoulder. “His name was Thomas.”
“Was?”
“He’s dead too.” Another tear trickled down her cheek. “Because of me.”
“Oh, my God,” the news anchor gasped and Naomi looked over his shoulder at the TV. “We just learned that there’s been another explosion.”
Jake glanced away from the horror in Naomi’s eyes, turned and also focused on the report.
“Minutes ago, there was an explosion in Smithfield, Wyoming. We’re live with local reporter, Scott Maddox, who just arrived on the scene. Scott, I know you don’t have video yet, but can you tell us what you see and what you know?”
“It’s pure chaos here,” Scott informed the anchor. “An explosion ripped through Saint Dorothy of the Roses Nursing Home at nine o’clock Mountain Daylight Saving Time. The Wood County fire department is on the scene trying to contain the blaze and ambulances are standing by.”
Stunned, Jake leaned against the desk.
Saint Dorothy of the Roses…
Wood County…
Rose Wood.
Even after all of Naomi’s lies, he could not discount the four explosions as coincidence. Not with the Rose Wood connection. Not with Rose herself sitting in the room looking terrified, her face ashen, her eyes bleak.
“I have to go,” Naomi said and stood. Instead of rushing from the room, she edged closer to the TV. “He has to be stopped.”
“Go where?” he asked, snapping out of his shock.
She hugged herself. “Please, Jake. Not being able to tell you the truth has been killing me. But if I tell you everything now, I could risk getting you killed. I already have enough death on my conscience.”
“No.” He pushed away from the desk and shut off the TV. “We go together.”
“Leave. This doesn’t concern you,” she said and headed for the door.
He caught up with her. “The hell it doesn’t,” he countered and followed her into her bedroom. “You’re my first concern.”
After dragging a small suitcase from the bedroom closet, she tossed it on the bed. “What if I don’t want to be?”
“Too bad,” he said and pulled out his cell phone.
She rushed to his side and reached for the phone. “Who are you calling? You can’t tell anyone what’s happening. If he finds—”
“Finish packing and make sure you bring warm clothes,” he said and waited for Rachel to answer his call.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“Chicago. You’ll be safe there,” he replied, and hoped to God he was right. Naomi was a liar he no longer trusted. He resented her for deceiving him and making him look like a fool. But the fear in her eyes, the catastrophic explosions taking place out west and the thought of losing her to a murdering lunatic trumped his anger and pride.
Despite everything, he still loved her.
Damn. He really was fucking pathetic.
*
Norfolk, Virginia
10:15 a.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time
He gripped the massive growling lion heads that had been hand-carved into the armrests of the mahogany, medieval replica throne chair. Although satisfied with the news reports that had taken over today’s regularly scheduled programming, his stomach demanded a mid-morning snack. He looked to Ric, who sat next to the smart brother on the sofa. “How about some refreshments?”
Nodding, Ric rose and headed into the kitchen where Santiago remained at attention. While Ric attended to his request, he studied the smart brother. Ric had told him the brothers were twins, but he couldn’t find any resemblance. The dumb brother was thicker, stockier and had blond hair and blue eyes. The smart brother was the opposite, tall and trim, he had a darker complexion, along with brown hair and eyes. Maybe one of them had been switched at birth and there were two other men roaming the streets who were the exact duplication of the men being held in his warehouse apartment. He smiled at the ludicrous idea, then grinned when the smart brother glared at him with disgust.
Good. The man didn’t show fear, not yet. But he would. In the end, they always did. And the fun he’d have proving who held the power…
“A man who wants to make it in this world needs to be dressed for success,” he said to the smart brother and eyed his faded, worn jeans, scuffed sneakers along with the graphic t-shirt he wore beneath an unbuttoned flannel. “That includes making it to the barber on a regular basis.”
The smart brother knocked his scruffy bangs from his forehead with a defiant jerk of his head. “Thanks for the advice. Maybe you can give me the name of your tailor and when I have a billion dollars I’ll give him a call.”
Chuckling, he ran his finger along the mahogany lion’s mane. “Money is definitely a good thing. But do you know what’s even better? Power. When the renovation was completed on the third floor of this warehouse and the rooms were fully furnished, I decided I needed something in this great room that screamed power. I paid a furniture maker twenty-five thousand dollars to create this.” He rapped his knuckle on the throne chair’s armrest. He was, after all, king of his castle, owner of a shipping company worth billions and had needed to make sure that anyone who visited him was fully aware of who was in charge. Right now, the impertinent shithead sitting across from him was in need of clarification.
“Next to blowing up innocent people, it’s definitely a conversation piece,” the smart brother said, his tone filled with contempt.
He laughed and touched his chest. “Ouch. That little barb stung.” Ric approached carrying a tray filled with water bottles, fruits and a variety of Danishes. “Maybe a snack will help change your attitude and make you less passive aggressive.”
“I wasn’t being passive aggressive,” the smart brother said, reaching for a cheese Danish. “I was being aggressive.”
Laughing again, he shook his head and looked to Ric. “It appears that me and the smart brother have something in common.”
“Yes.” Ric grinned. “You’re always aggressive.”
“Harrison,” the smart brother said, and took the cap off of the water bottle.
He turned to Ric. “What do you suppose he wants me to do with that information?”
“Is that true?” he asked Harrison.
The other man nodded. “Yes, sir. I might be smart, but my brother isn’t dumb. You can also call him Mickey.”
While he knew their names, he’d become quite fond of calling them either dumb or smart. Giving them nicknames gave him power over them. He’d concede though. Not because he needed Harrison to send the signal from the laptop to the devices—he’d already had the man show Ric how to perform this task. He’d call Harrison by his given name…for a price. He would pay dearly for his impertinence.
“Ric,” he began, “have Vlad bring Mickey into the room. I’m sure Harrison’s brother would like to see what’s become of the devices he helped plant.”
Harrison’s eyes widened a fraction and he set the water bottle on the table. Hands on his knees, his body tensed, Harrison looked as if he were preparing to jump up and run. He’d love to see him try. The hour between setting off the signal from one device to the next had become boring. He’d already sat through three full hours, listening to the bleeding heart news anchors and reporters, viewing the destruction, watching the body bags being lined up outside of each establishment he’d bombed. He didn’t give a shit about the dead and injured, or the millions of dollars in damage he’d caused. They were a means to an end.
They would give him Rose.
Grunts of pain caught his attention. He turned just as Vlad escorted a limping Mickey into the room. Eerily pale, the dumb brother looked as if he was already knocking on Death’s door. Maybe he’d lost too much blood. He focused on where he’d shot Mickey. Whatever Vlad had used as a tourniquet for Mickey’s leg looked as if it had been dipped in blood red paint. What a fucking mess. Maybe Ric was right. Maybe he should just kill the brothers and finish the job without them.