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

by Kristine Mason

  She looked at Harrison’s profile. The man clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he turned to her. “Kill me. Please.”

  No way. Her heart pounded hard. She couldn’t do it. But she also couldn’t trigger the next explosion. Other than Christian, no one else needed to die today. Anger consumed her and ate away at her fear. “You promised. Ric told me you’d stop with the damned messages once I came to you.”

  “I changed my mind.” He shrugged. “I decided you kept me waiting too long and now you deserve to be punished for your insult.” He looked at his watch again. “Two and a half minutes. What’ll be, Rose? Harrison’s life, or detonating the bomb?”

  “I can’t shoot him.”

  “I can do it for you. You’d probably miss anyway.” Christian raised the gun and aimed it at Harrison’s head. “Two minutes, Rose. Make a choice. Harrison or the bomb?”

  *

  Bloomington, Indiana

  2:58 p.m. Central Daylight Saving Time

  Vince slammed the truck into park. The damned thing had been too big to park in the garage and he’d had a hard time finding a spot large enough in the campus parking lot. After circling a couple of times, he’d discovered an opening on the street about a half a block from one of the hospital’s entrances. Not the entrance he wanted, and the location would require him to run through half the hospital to the area where the ultrasound would be done, but at least he’d made it in time.

  His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and quickly answered. “Hey, hon,” he said as he made his way inside the back end of the truck. “I’m here. Just locking up.”

  “Thank God.” Anna let out a sigh. “The tech finished her last appointment early and is ready to take me back.”

  By the time Anna undressed, climbed on the table and the ultrasound tech began placing the goop they used during the testing on Anna’s stomach, he could be there. “I’ll be less than five minutes. Plenty of time. Let me go so I can make it.”

  “Okay. See you in a few.”

  He pocketed the cell phone. As he rushed toward the front of the truck, his boot caught on the dolly and he fell forward. He grabbed the shelf. A package fell to the floor, followed by the telltale sound of shattered glass. He glanced down and swore. Liquid oozed from the cardboard box, along with the strong scent of alcohol.

  Just my luck.

  Before the booze—that was obviously not packed properly—contaminated the packages on the floor of the truck, he moved to the cab. He searched for the cheap paper towels, a standard BH-Xpress supply. Not his usual truck, he finally found the roll buried under a medical kit near the fire extinguisher. After tearing off a long sheet, he tossed it on the wet spot. “Damn it,” he muttered. He didn’t need this right now. The towel did jack to soak up the liquid and he had to apply more.

  He ripped off another long sheet. He’d make sure the alcohol didn’t reach the other packages, then forget about it until after the ultrasound.

  But he’d only give the mess another minute.

  Time was ticking.

  *

  Norfolk, Virginia

  3:59:35 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

  Although a chill ran through her, Naomi’s underarms grew damp, along with her forehead. She stared at the gun Christian held, then to the laptop on the table, then to Harrison. The choice between Harrison’s life and the possible casualties from the detonated bomb weighed heavy on her heart and conscience. In the depths of her soul, she knew the only solution.

  “Kill me.” She shoved off the sofa and pounded her hand against her chest. “That’s my choice. Put me out of my misery and kill me, not Harrison and not anyone else.”

  Christian looked thoughtful for a split second before grinning. “I intend to eventually, but not before we’ve had a chance to get reacquainted and take a walk down memory lane. Twenty seconds, Rose. Hurry and decide. Or maybe I should just do both. Shoot Harrison and detonate the bomb.”

  Ric laughed softly. She ignored the sick bastard and looked down at the laptop, then slid her gaze to Harrison.

  Tears trailed down her cheeks as she stared at Harrison. The acceptance, sadness and pity in his eyes filled her with despair. Their situation was both dire and hopeless.

  She’d been raised in a good, loving home. She’d been taught to be empathetic, to show kindness and put others needs before her own.

  What had she done to deserve this? Why her? Why couldn’t the bastard have left her alone?

  Outrage and fury blackened her heart, while misery weakened her convictions. She’d stopped feeling sorry for herself years ago and had accepted her fate. She didn’t need Harrison’s pity. If anything, she pitied him. With a gun to his head, he obviously wasn’t here by choice and, at the moment, his fate looked bleaker than hers.

  “Twelve seconds, Rose,” Christian taunted. “You better hurry up and decide. I’d hate to have to kill Harrison and set off the detonator.”

  “Don’t do this. Please, Christian. I’m here. You have me now.”

  “Are you begging me?”

  God, she hated him. “Yes.”

  “Get on your knees and beg.”

  She dropped to her knees. “Please, Christian.”

  Ric’s laugh grew louder.

  Harrison’s breath grew labored.

  “Five seconds. What will you do if I spare his life and not set the explosion?”

  “Anything,” she said on a sob.

  “Promise?” Christian asked and lowered the gun a fraction.

  The modicum of relief did nothing to slow her heart rate. “Yes.”

  “Liar.” He raised the gun and aimed it at Harrison’s head. “Time’s up.”

  “I’m not lying. I’ll do anything. Please. Don’t—”

  Harrison lurched forward. “I’m as good as dead,” he muttered and hit a key on the laptop.

  Panic seized her lungs and stole her breath. She reached for his wrist, but the damage had been done. In a split second, that single key, that simple press of a button changed the lives of many. How many just died? How many lives had she destroyed?

  “You insolent, fucking fool,” Christian shouted. “You’re right. You are as good as dead.”

  She whipped her head toward Christian, just as he pulled the trigger.

  And screamed.

  PART III

  The future depends on what you do today.

  — Mahatma Gandhi

  Chapter 14

  GUN RAISED, JAKE spun to the right. Filled with primal fear, he sprinted across the second floor of the warehouse toward the stairs.

  His skin pricked with terror. His heart pounded hard.

  Naomi.

  If he lived to be one hundred, he’d never forget that chilling scream. He had to find her. Now.

  Dante caught up with him. “Third floor. Go.”

  Taking two steps at a time, careful to keep silent, he rushed up the stairs. When he reached the third floor landing, he stopped and pinned himself against the wall near the metal door. Dante did the same on the opposite wall next to the door. “Try the handle,” Dante whispered.

  Praying the door wasn’t bolted shut, Jake wrapped his sweaty palm around the handle and slowly turned it toward him. After a soft click, the door eased open. With one eye, he peered through the small crack he’d made, angled his head and scoped the area. He slipped back and turned to Dante.

  “Empty. Long hallway. Three doors, all closed.”

  Dante gave him a single nod. “I’ll text Rachel.”

  “No.” He didn’t want to go against Ian’s orders, but knew he would. Naomi’s life was more important that Ian’s precious evidence.

  A muscle flexed in Dante’s jaw. “You’re a Marine. You know the drill. We follow protocol.”

  “Fuck that and turn it around. Would you sit on your ass and wait? Or would you go after what’s yours?”

  Dante let out a short sigh. “Fine. But we don’t—”

  Jake opened the door and edged in
to the hallway. He didn’t care what Dante had to say. He wasn’t a Marine following orders and protocol. This wasn’t Iraq and he wasn’t fighting insurgents.

  He was fighting for Naomi’s life.

  With his steps muted by the carpet lining the hall, he rushed to the far end and pressed his ear against the door. Nothing. He held his breath and turned the knob. In his peripheral vision, he caught Dante behind him, gun raised and aimed at the door.

  Confident Dante would shoot whoever was on the other side should they rush them, he cracked open the door, then released a quiet sigh. Utility closet.

  Dante tapped his shoulder and nodded toward the next door.

  Jake took a few steps, then pressed his ear against the wood. “I hear something,” he whispered. “I’m gonna check.”

  Dante knocked his hand away from the door knob. “This much,” he said, holding his index finger and thumb a half an inch apart.

  Keeping his gun raised near the side of his face, Jake slowly turned the knob and cracked open the door.

  “You sick bastard,” he heard Naomi cry. Grateful she was alive and pissed as hell, he glanced at Dante. The relief on the other man’s face matched his own.

  A man laughed. Hunnicutt? Damn it, he wished he had a visual.

  “You should have seen your face when I pulled the trigger,” the man said, and Jake recognized Hunnicutt’s voice from the earlier press conference. “I wish I had a picture of it. Wait. I just had another brilliant idea. Ric, you’ll have to bring the camera out once we’re home. I’m sure we can come up with ways to make Rose look just as horrified.”

  “It would be my greatest pleasure,” Ric said with a chuckle.

  Damn, he wanted to kill Ric Mancini, too.

  “Come, Rose,” Hunnicutt said. “Let’s make you more comfortable. Sit next to me. Santiago, turn on the TV. I want Rose to see the damage she’s caused.”

  *

  Harrison hadn’t crapped his pants since he was four, but he’d come damn near close minutes ago. Honey Badger was a twisted fuck. When he’d pulled the trigger and Rose had screamed, Harrison thought he was a dead man. Until he heard a click, followed by the badger and Ric’s laughter. The prick had played Russian roulette and had, unfortunately, let him live.

  Holding Rose by the arm, Hunnicutt dragged her to his stupid throne chair. “On your knees,” he ordered, then called to Santiago. “Tie her to the chair.” As Santiago secured Rose to the leg of the chair, Hunnicutt looked to Harrison. “It’s fitting for a beautiful woman to be enslaved to her master, don’t you think?”

  Harrison locked eyes with Rose, then quickly looked away. He didn’t want to see her red, tearstained face or the fear in her eyes. He didn’t want to worry about her safety when he had his own and Mickey’s on his mind. It was only a matter of time before Honey Badger killed them. Then the woman would be on her own.

  Hell, he couldn’t let that happen. At least his death would probably be quick. Hers—from the way Hunnicutt had spoken, it sounded as if she wouldn’t get off as easily. Just thinking of the inhumane things Hunnicutt and Ric would do to her had bile rising in the back of his throat.

  Throughout the day he’d been flip-flopping between wanting to die and wanting to survive in order to see Hunnicutt caught and justice served. With Rose finally here, he had a new mission. Save the girl. But how could he do that when he couldn’t figure out a way to save himself and Mickey?

  “I think Harrison is mad at me,” Hunnicutt said to Rose. “Apparently he has no sense of humor and doesn’t care to be the butt of a joke.” He shrugged. “Ric, after you find news about the bombing, see to those refreshments.”

  Ric lifted the TV remote and changed the channel to CNN.

  When Rose gasped, Harrison leaned forward and stared at the TV. The incinerated shell of a black BH-Xpress delivery truck blazed outside of a large building. As firefighters turned the hose on the truck, bits of burning debris and ash floated through the air, along with thick, charcoal grey smoke. The sidewalk, where the truck had been parked, as well as the street, had been blackened from the blast. Pedestrians ran and shouted, while police and firefighters struggled to free a driver from an overturned car that must have been driving past the truck when it had exploded.

  “I can’t hear what the idiot is saying. Turn up the volume,” Hunnicutt demanded, his face grim, his mouth turned down in a furious frown.

  “As you can see, firefighters are trying to contain the flames,” the reporter said, using the chaos on the street as his backdrop. “Again, there’s been no word on the BH-Xpress delivery driver, and we’re still waiting to discover the extent of injuries the man trapped in the overturned car has suffered.” The camera panned out as the reporter extended his hand to the left, revealing the entrance of a hospital. “Other than a few shattered windows, the damage from this latest bombing has been contained and there have been no other injuries reported.”

  The screen switched to the CNN newsroom. “For those of you catching up, there’s been another bombing, this time in the Wilshire District of Bloomington, Indiana, outside of Southwest Hospital. Earlier today in Denver, a BH-Xpress plane exploded during takeoff. With this latest explosion, one wonders if these bombings are as random as they’ve seemed, or if BH-Xpress is the real target.”

  “Turn it off,” Hunnicutt said, his voice low, seething. “Now.”

  Since Ric was in the kitchen, Santiago rushed over and shut off the TV.

  “Santiago, wasn’t I specific?” Hunnicutt asked, steepling his fingertips. “Didn’t I say that the explosion was to happen in Rosewood Estates?”

  “Si,” the Columbian replied. “I personally placed the C-4 on the truck. I also double checked the driver’s route. He must’ve changed—”

  “Enough.” Hunnicutt slammed a hand on the throne chair’s armrest. “I don’t want excuses. Damn it, there’s no do overs and now the Rose Wood link is lost.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Ric said as be brought a tray into the room.

  Hunnicutt glared at the man. “Explain.”

  “No one will suspect you’re behind destroying your own plane and truck, and possibly damaging your company’s business.”

  “I’ve got the Vice President and several senators and congressmen in my pocket, and the Director of the FBI is a close friend. No one would suspect me anyway, you fool.”

  Ric dipped his head. “Of course. Regardless, you should probably make a few calls. The press will want a comment and I’m sure the Director—”

  “What the hell do I pay you for? Take care of—” Honey Badger’s cell phone rang. “That’s probably him now.” He looked at the phone’s screen. “Oh, joy. It’s Liliana. The bitch can wait. I’m not in the mood to listen to her.” He glanced down at Rose and the wickedness in his eyes worried Harrison. He’d witnessed that same gleam several times today, and when he did, each time things ended badly for Mickey.

  “Vlad,” Honey Badger called. “Bring Mickey into the room.”

  “Sir,” Harrison said, tasting a new kind of fear. Hunnicutt made it clear he would be leaving with Rose soon, and he suspected the time had come to tie up any loose ends. “My brother—”

  “Come now, Harrison.” He stroked Rose’s hair as if she were a dog. “We can’t let all of your hard work go to waste. Rose needs to see the masterpiece you’ve created.”

  The woman cringed and jerked her head back.

  Hunnicutt chuckled and yanked on the twine binding her to the chair, then grabbed her arm. “It’s been a while. By the end of the night, my touch will be as familiar as it was eight years ago.” He looked over his shoulder when Vlad brought Mickey into the room. “Actually,” he began and faced her again, “after I show you the surprise Harrison made for you, we’ll go into my bedroom and reacquaint ourselves. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you naked.”

  Her pretty face contorted with outrage. “I let you touch me once. There was never anything familiar between us.”

 
; “Your memory is obviously skewed.” He dragged his thumb across her mouth, then lower until he held her by the throat. “I’m going to enjoying giving you plenty of reminders. But first, Harrison’s gift to you.”

  Hunnicutt released her when she gasped and her eyes widened with horror. Smiling, the bastard turned toward where Vlad stood, holding up Mickey.

  Harrison hadn’t seen his brother since he’d been forced to take the knife to his torso. Although it had been several hours since he’d cut Mickey, blood soaked the t-shirt clinging to his brother’s skin. Mickey’s head hung forward, his injured leg to the side with no pressure on it. If Vlad wasn’t half-carrying him, Mickey would probably fall to the hardwood floor.

  Filled with hatred and sadness, he fisted his hands and dropped them in his lap. Never in his life had he felt more trapped. Not even in prison, when he’d been caged behind bars and his every movement watched. There, they’d at least been treated humanely and had been able to countdown the days until freedom. Here, there was no compassion, only pain. And absolutely no hint of freedom.

  “Harrison,” Hunnicutt said. “Go to Mickey and move his shirt so Rose can see what you’ve done for her.”

  Impotent, powerless and vulnerable, Harrison stood and approached his brother. When Vlad made eye contact, he saw no sign of the Russian who had given him advice. Instead, the man’s ice blue eyes were devoid of any emotion whatsoever. To think he’d trusted Vlad. Thank God he hadn’t told him about the program he’d uploaded in the laptop. Then again, both he and Mickey might have been put out of their misery by now, instead of suffering their different tortures.

  “Do it,” Hunnicutt demanded. “I’m anxious to be alone with Rose.”

  “Please, don’t,” Rose sobbed. “Oh, my God. What have you done?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Hunnicutt said. “Harrison did this for you. Now stop your damned crying. Your face becomes ugly when you cry, and I’d prefer to be face to face when we…rekindle our intimacy.”