Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  The droning voice of the news anchor he’d been listening to buzzed in the background. No. He wouldn’t kill them yet. After all, he needed something to do to occupy his time. Besides, if they ran into a computer glitch, he’d need Harrison’s expertise.

  “Santiago,” he said to the Columbian. “Bring me a pair of scissors and a garbage bag.”

  Harrison jumped from the couch. “I don’t know what—”

  Ric shoved him back onto the sofa. “Sit. You’re not to get up unless you’ve been given permission. Understood?”

  Harrison didn’t answer and kept his gaze riveted on Mickey, who didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Considering the end result the last time he’d asked for a garbage bag, he thought for sure Mickey would have reacted. Then again, maybe he really was dumb.

  When Santiago entered the room carrying the scissors and a garbage bag, he rose from his throne chair. “Vlad, bring Mickey over here,” he said, motioning to a spot on the hardwood floor that was near the TV, but far enough away from the area rug and furniture. “Santiago, have Mickey stand on the garbage bag and hand Vlad the scissors.”

  “Look at the TV,” he ordered Mickey and used the remote to raise the volume. “Look at what you’ve done.”

  When Mickey didn’t obey and kept his head down, he nodded to Santiago. The Columbian grabbed the dumb brother by his hair and yanked, forcing Mickey to watch the TV.

  “Much better,” he said and turned to Harrison. “Why don’t you fill your brother in on all the excitement?”

  Harrison’s jaw clenched. He drew in a deep breath and stared at Mickey. “We, ah…” He cleared his throat and blinked several times. “The devices you and Santiago planted are explosives. At seven o’clock our time, the first device exploded and blew up the Rosewood Bar & Grill in San Francisco. No one was hurt.” Harrison ran a shaky hand along his forehead, shoving his bangs aside. “The second explosion went off at eight and took out a large part of the Sun Valley Hotel and Convention Center in Henderson, Nevada. Last we heard, fourteen people are dead.”

  The depths of grief, clearly written all over Harrison’s face, both fascinated and disgusted him. He hadn’t mourned his parents’ deaths, or his grandparents’ for that matter. In his defense, it was rather hard to grieve for his father, considering he’d been the one to kill him. His mother had been a decent woman, but he certainly wasn’t heartbroken when she died. Her inheritance belonged to him. Still. How could Harrison feel an ounce of pity for people he didn’t know? The dead, the injured, were mere casualties in his cause.

  “In Idaho,” Harrison continued. “We blew up a middle school. So far nine are dead.” His Adam’s apple worked along his throat as he hardened his jaw. “One was a twelve-year-old kid.”

  Mickey had yet to move, but a tear slipped down his pale cheek.

  “And,” he prompted Harrison to continue torturing Mickey with the deadly results.

  “And about fifteen minutes ago another explosion destroyed a nursing home. We haven’t heard how many people are dead or injured yet, but I…it doesn’t look good.”

  More tears streamed down Mickey’s cheeks as he stared at the carnage showing on the TV.

  “Nothing to cry about,” he told Mickey. “Those people were old and in a nursing home for a reason. If anything, I did Americans a favor. Now we have less people feeding off of Medicare and Social Security.” He pointed to the tray of refreshments Ric had brought out earlier. “Care for a Danish?”

  His face twisting with hatred, Mickey slid his gaze to him. “Fuck you.”

  Vlad and Santiago gripped Mickey by the arms and jerked him. He held up a hand and motioned for them to stand down. “Fuck me? Is that anyway to treat the man who gave you a good paying job, who brought you into his home and offered you shelter, food and drink? Your manners are atrocious. Both you and your brother need to understand that I do not tolerate belligerence from anyone. You—”

  “You’re a fucking murderer,” Mickey shouted. “A monster. I didn’t sign us up for any of this. Because of you, we killed innocent people.”

  The wave of rage coursing through him momentarily blurred his vision. He backhanded Mickey in the face, then grabbed the man’s chin. “How dare you interrupt me when I’m speaking,” he said, pressing his thumb and index finger, forcing Mickey’s mouth to contort and open slightly.

  The dumb brother lived up to his name and spoke. With the way he held Mickey’s face, he couldn’t decipher what the man had said. Letting go, he took a step back and reached for a napkin setting on the refreshment tray. “Didn’t quite get that,” he said, wiping his hand. “Dare to repeat it.”

  Although Mickey started at him with defiance and hatred, he kept his mouth shut.

  He turned and dropped the used napkin on the tray. “I didn’t think so. You and your brother are both a couple of puss—”

  “Fucking crazy son of a bitch,” Mickey shouted.

  He froze. Time to show the piece of white trash just how crazy he could be. Straightening his tie, he faced the dumb brother. “Open your mouth.” When Mickey didn’t comply, he nodded to Santiago. The Columbian threw his fist into Mickey’s stomach, causing him to double over. “Other than blowing up another eight places, I have nothing on my schedule. We can end this quickly or I can drag it out all day. Your choice.”

  “Do it,” Harrison encouraged. “Please, Mick. Just do what he tells you.”

  He jerked his head toward Harrison, but kept his eyes on Mickey. “See? That’s why he’s the smart brother. You might want to listen to him.”

  Mickey shifted his gaze toward Harrison, then opened his mouth.

  “Good. Now stick out your tongue.” He looked to Santiago. “Hold his tongue in place.” Once Santiago complied, he nodded to the scissors Vlad held. “Vlad, cut off his tongue.”

  “Wait,” Harrison cried over Mickey’s fearful grunts. “Please, don’t do this. You’ve proved your point. Please. I’m begging you not to do this.”

  Oh, but he really wanted to cut the shithead. Make him understand that no one interrupted with him, that he was the one who held the power.

  With a shrug, he turned to Ric, who said, “He deserves it.”

  The sadist would say that. But Ric was also right. Without a tongue, the dumb brother could no longer utter a word and the smart brother would likely change his tone, too.

  “Agreed, he does deserve it. Vlad, do it.”

  The Russian used his thumb and index finger to open the scissor. As he rested both blades on either side of Mickey’s tongue, the dumb brother jerked his head and struggled against the grip Santiago had on his slippery flesh. As he fought, the sharp blade nicked and scraped Mickey’s tongue. If he kept it up, he’d sever the damned thing off himself. Although the irony would amuse him, the process would result in a bloody mess.

  “Ric, hold a gun to Harrison’s head. Let’s see if Mickey feels his tongue is worth his brother’s life.”

  Mickey stopped struggling the moment the barrel of Ric’s .38 touched Harrison’s temple. “Now there’s some brotherly love, eh? Vlad, do it.”

  “He’ll bleed all over the place,” Harrison said, his eyes shifting from him to Mickey.

  “Not if Santiago duct tapes his mouth shut.”

  “Then he’ll die of asphyxiation. He’ll choke on his own blood.”

  The smart brother had a valid point. And he wasn’t ready for Mickey to die. Yet. Although Harrison had showed Ric how to send the signals to the devices, if he ended up needing Harrison’s computer skills, he might also need to use Mickey as motivation and leverage.

  Nodding, he held out his hand toward Vlad. “The scissors.” Once he had them in hand, he motioned for Ric to drop the gun. “Again, this is why you’re the smart brother. You’re right, I don’t want a mess and I doubt the garbage bag would keep the blood contained. So, why don’t we keep it simple?” He stood in front of Mickey, who now had his mouth pressed shut, his tongue safely inside. “You’d like to keep your tongue intact, co
rrect?”

  Mickey nodded. While his face regained color, his eyes held a strange combination of hatred and gratitude.

  “I don’t blame you. But I still need to set an example.” He grabbed Mickey’s scruffy blond hair and held his head in place. “Just one that’s a little less bloody,” he said and stabbed the scissors into his left eye.

  Mickey gaped, but no sound escaped from his mouth. Thank God. Harrison’s screaming and yelling was more than enough noise. He looked away from the blood oozing down Mickey’s cheek and turned to Vlad. “Take him back in the room. Remove the scissors and throw duct tape over his eye. I’d like to keep the mess to a minimum.”

  Dazed, the color drained from his face again, Mickey didn’t move and Vlad, with the help of Santiago, had to practically carry the man from the room. Disappointed that ramming scissors into a man’s eye socket had ended up being anticlimactic, he took a seat in his throne chair. With a bored sigh, he rested his elbow on the mahogany armrest and his chin in his palm. He eyed Harrison. The man’s head hung and he held his hands over his face. His shoulders shook, leading him to believe Harrison wept for his brother. Touching.

  “So,” he began, “are there any other smartass comments you’d like to make about my chair or the people you’ve blown up?”

  Harrison dropped his hands in his lap and raised his head. His face flushed, his eyes bloodshot from crying like a child, he shook his head. The defeat in Harrison’s eyes outweighed his disappointment. He’d proven to the brothers who held the power, but based on their tenacity, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d have to give them a few more reminders throughout the day. He smiled at the prospect.

  Torture really wasn’t his thing. Sure, he’d killed plenty of men and women, but he’d never tortured them, and had always left the messy stuff for Ric. A gunshot to the head was quick and easy, and the way he went about his business. Still, inflicting pain on the dumb brother had been quite…satisfying. He’d always considered holding a gun to a person’s head the highest form of power he could have over someone. While he still believed this, he also couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline he’d experienced when he initially struck Mickey with the scissors.

  Ric took a seat next to Harrison. “Santiago is finishing helping Vlad duct tape Mickey’s eye.” He grinned and elbowed Harrison. “Bet Mickey didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Bad joke,” he said with a chuckle. “Rather insensitive, too.”

  “Right. I see your point.” Ric laughed and then looked to the TV. “Once the next device goes off, I’ll give it fifteen minutes, then call a press conference. We’re only twenty minutes from corporate headquarters, so I figured you can give your speech around eleven-fifty.”

  “Perfect. By the time I’m finished and reporters have asked their inane questions, the next device will have gone off.”

  “And you can show America your outrage and support,” Ric said with a conspiratorial wink.

  He snagged an apple cinnamon Danish from the tray. “Don’t look so glum, Harrison. Mickey will be fine. Once the shock wears off he’ll be back to his old, potty-mouthed self. In the meantime, have another Danish or some of this fruit. You need to keep yourself hydrated and nourished.” He glanced at his watch. “In less than thirty minutes, guess what you’re going to blow up?”

  Harrison blinked several times before glancing away. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean no disrespect.”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile. “You want to keep your eyes and tongue. Please, ask away. If I don’t want to answer, you’ll be the first to know.”

  After drawing in a shaky breath, Harrison said, “You have everything. Why are you doing this?”

  Gripping the mahogany lion’s head, he leaned forward. Since the man would not leave this warehouse alive, he had no problem answering his question. “Some men give women flowers, others give chocolates or diamonds.” He plucked a grape off the tray and shrugged. “I blow things up. And guess what? If she hasn’t received my message by now, she will after you set off the next device.” He grinned. “If you think this is fun, wait until she comes to me. That’s when the real entertainment will begin.”

  Chapter 9

  Kingsland, Georgia Airport

  10:38 a.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

  NAOMI’S HEART RACED as she buckled the seatbelt. Less than forty minutes ago she was packing her bags, ready to turn herself over to the bastard who had ruined the lives of so many innocent people. But Jake wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he’d made a call to CORE, chartered a private jet out of Kingsland, Georgia, a short fifteen minute drive from her home in Woodbine, and was forcing her to go to Chicago.

  “Local time is ten thirty-eight,” the pilot announced over the intercom. “We’re expected to arrive in Chicago at six minutes after twelve. Please turn off all electronic devices. Once we’re airborne, I’ll let you know when you can resume using those devices and are able to move about the cabin. Enjoy the flight.”

  Naomi didn’t think she could ever truly enjoy anything after what she’d witnessed today. Goose bumps rose over her skin as the images of the dead and injured flooded her mind. How could he have done this? After all these years, what could have possessed him to go to this level? He’d killed her parents and brother. Their deaths had devastated her and left her wallowing in guilt. But he’d gone beyond murdering her family and was now killing innocent people.

  Because of her.

  As the plane began to move and pick up speed, her throat and chest tightened. Tears welled in her eyes. All four explosions combined had killed thirty-six people and injured well over one hundred. She brought the photo of the twelve-year-old boy who had been killed at the middle school to mind. Her chin trembled. She fisted her hands as anger and unfathomable sorrow imbedded itself onto her heart and soul. What a waste. What he’d done went beyond criminal. The killings were vicious and wicked.

  He was pure evil.

  And the only one who could stop him was her.

  She jerked when Jake took her fisted hand in his, then fought from crying as he forced her to unclench her fingers and hold his hand. How could he bear to touch her? From the moment they’d met, she’d done nothing but lie to him. She hadn’t wanted to and had hated herself a little more each time she gave him another fabrication. Over the years, she’d been able to justify her lies and half-truths, telling herself that keeping Jake in the dark would also keep him alive. She still believed that and now worried about CORE’s involvement.

  If the bastard was willing to kill innocent people to send her a message, she didn’t even want to imagine what he’d do to CORE’s agents, should they opt to help her. Actually she wasn’t even sure they could help her. His wealth was practically limitless. His reach was far and powerful. Worst of all, the man had no conscience and his innate narcissism knew no bounds.

  “Are you still afraid of flying?” Jake asked as the plane leveled in the air.

  She expected him to add, or was that a lie too, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued to hold her hand. “Today I learned there are scarier things in life,” she said and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Jake. I never wanted you to be involved in this.”

  His jaw clenched. “Obviously. But I am now. So, no more lies. Are you in Witness Protection?”

  “No.”

  “Then what government agency gave you the new identity?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Then make it uncomplicated.”

  “Jake, I—”

  “Okay, folks,” the pilot’s voice came over the speakers. “Feel free to use the restroom and any electronic devices.”

  She let go of Jake’s hand and reached beneath her seat for her purse. After she pulled out her mini-tablet, she turned on the device. The explosions were going off every hour on the hour. Nearly eleven, she prayed he would stop the senseless killing and that another bomb wouldn’t be detonated.

  “You’re not goi
ng to answer me, are you?” Jake asked, stretching his long legs into the aisle. “I guess it doesn’t really matter who gave you the identity. The only thing that does is the man behind the bombings. Maybe now you’ll tell me his name.”

  She trusted Jake, more than anyone on the planet. But she refused to tell him until she met his counterparts at CORE. For all she knew the private agency dealt with cheating spouses or worked for insurance companies to investigate suspicious claims. If that were the case, CORE would not be an asset, but a hindrance. They would waste her time and, by not allowing her to go to the bastard and put an end to the bombings, could place more innocent victims in danger.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to talk about him,” she said and, with guilt and embarrassment weighing heavy on her shoulders, she kept her attention on the tablet.

  “Then what are you ready to talk about?”

  Nothing. She wanted to crawl into a hole and bury herself underneath her secrets and lies. “Tell me more about CORE and what you do.”

  The tick in his jaw indicated his frustration, but he gave her a curt nod and said, “CORE stands for Criminal Observance Resolution and Evidence. We handle a variety of cases. From recovering stolen property to helping the authorities solve murder investigations. We also deal with cold cases, too. Remember me mentioning the murders in Bola?”

  Had it only been a few days ago that they’d been sitting on her back patio, sipping iced tea and catching up on the lost years? “Yes. You said CORE recruited you after the murders were solved.” She’d almost forgotten about that part of their conversation and realized CORE wasn’t just an average private investigation agency.

  “Right. Trust me. The people I work with will help us come up with a solution. Chances are my boss will want you to go to the FBI. There hasn’t been any mention of their involvement on the newscasts, but I wouldn’t be surprised if their people weren’t already making the Rose Wood connection.”