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

by Kristine Mason

  “Every single bombing has a Rose Wood link. The riverboat that exploded in St. Louis was called the Delta Rose. The wood connection there should have been Hazel Wood, but she was fortunate and wasn’t on board. Then there’s Leavenworth, Kansas, where a bomb went off at the Chapel Woods Presbyterian Church during the funeral for Rose Michaels.”

  “The school in Idaho?” Christian asked, widening his eyes as he looked between both agents.

  “Rosewood County,” Hicks answered with disgust. “The Sun Valley Hotel and Convention Center in Henderson, Nevada was located on Rosewood Court. Let’s not forget Smithfield, Wyoming, where an explosion ripped through Saint Dorothy of the Roses Nursing Home which is located in Wood County.”

  Christian held up a hand. “Please,” he said, forcing a word he never used. “I…this is unbelievable. You’re telling me that these terrorist acts were all because of a woman?”

  “Ms. McCall says you were sending her a message.” With a smug tilt of his mouth, Hicks leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “She says she’s been hiding from you for years and that this was your way of forcing her to come to you.”

  He allowed a bit of his anger to surface for effect. “She’s lying. I’m happily married. I have children. And if I wanted to have an affair—which I don’t—I’m sure I could go about it in a much more discreet manner.” He let out frustrated breath. “I plan to run for the Senate this fall. I’m friends with your director, with senators and congressmen, with the Vice President of the United States. Why would I jeopardize my marriage and potential political career? Let’s not forget that I not only lost valuable employees, but an eighty-six million dollar plane. My company is going to take a huge hit. I’m terrified customers will associate BH-Xpress with violence.” He shook his head. “More than all of that, I’m a devout Protestant and follow Christ’s teachings. Mass murder is not part of my DNA or my moral fiber.”

  “What about abortion?” Suts asked.

  “Agent Suts, I just told you my religious beliefs. I’m also a Republican. Abortion is not something I believe in—at all,” he said with indignation. “I’m sure that’s not why you brought it up, though.”

  “No. Ms. McCall alleges that you got her pregnant and then had Ric, and a man claiming to be a doctor, abort the baby.” Hicks face twisted in disgust. “Without proper medical care or equipment. Because of this, she can no longer have children.”

  Christian slammed his palm against the table. “Again, I did not have sex with that woman. If I did and I impregnated her as she claims, the child would be alive and well. I don’t believe in abortion. I couldn’t even imagine looking into my son and daughter’s eyes knowing that I had taken part in destroying a child that belonged to me.” He gripped the edge of the table. “What evidence do you have for this ridiculous allegation? Where is the doctor? Where did this supposedly take place? Instead of questioning and accusing me of things I had nothing to do with, maybe you should look more into not only Ric and Santiago’s background, but Ms. McCall’s. I’m sorry she’d been put through what she had today, and these…terrorist messages.” He rested his forearms on the table. “I’m not saying I don’t believe her, but have you looked into her mental health? Or her financial situation? I’m worth billions. She wouldn’t be the first person looking for a bit of my wealth.”

  Instead of acknowledging his gripping rebuttal, Hicks moved forward and sifted through his file. “At twelve twenty-six p.m., Central Daylight Saving Time Monday afternoon, Ms. McCall called Ric’s cell phone. We have a recording of the exchange between them. Where were you at that time?”

  “I told you,” he said with a tired sigh, when what he really wanted to do was punch the wall. The bitch had been working with someone after all. He’d find out who and make sure they were taken care of, as well. He would not allow any of this to taint his company or political career. “At my warehouse apartment and in my office.”

  “You didn’t hear or witness this exchange?”

  “No. Is my voice on this recording?”

  Suts shook his head.

  “So, again, why are you questioning me? What Ms. McCall is accusing me of is a ridiculous travesty. From where I’m sitting, and from what you’ve told me, it’s clear Ric was behind everything. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen Ms. McCall tied to a chair and witnessed what Ric and Santiago did to each other…I wouldn’t believe Ric capable of such horrors.”

  Hicks lifted a piece of paper and looked it over. “At any point today did you witness Ric on his phone?”

  “Of course. He set up my press conference and fielded several calls. Plus he—”

  “Not just phone calls,” Hicks said while still looking at the paper.

  Considering his current position, he’d let the arrogant agent’s rude interruption slide. “Meaning?”

  “Did you see Ric using his smart phone for research?”

  “I…maybe, I’m not sure. We were busy discussing business in the morning, then when the plane went down, our focus was on that.”

  “Records show that Ric had Googled Rose Wood several times throughout the day. Each time he’d done it had been shortly after one of the bombings. You know nothing about this?”

  Of course he did. From the start, he’d refused to allow any evidence to be tied back to him. Having Ric look for information from his phone had been a calculated stroke of genius, along with the perfect way to keep the evidence on Ric and off of him.

  “No. I don’t.”

  Hicks set the paper on the table and took out another photograph. “Do you know this woman?” he asked and slid the picture across the table.

  Christian stared at the driver’s license photo of Allison Hobar and instantly remembered how the maid had serviced him. “Yes. She works as a kitchen maid at my house. Why?”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  He pretended to think. “I’m not sure. My wife is better at that sort of thing. She would know. Better yet, check with my head of housekeeping.”

  “We have. Miss Hobar’s family reported her missing three days ago. They said she never came home from your house.”

  “Are you now accusing me of doing something to my maid?”

  Instead of replying to his question, Suts asked, “Why did you give Ric the cottage on your property?”

  “I didn’t give him anything. He pays rent. He’s also single and I admit to being a demanding CEO. I liked having him within arm’s reach.”

  “You grew up on your property.” Hicks pulled out more photos and began laying them across the table. “Tell me about the underground tunnel leading between the cottage and the main residence.”

  They’d searched his property. He hid his panic and looked at the photographs of the tunnel, the private chambers Ric had created for Rose, and the basement of the cottage. “According to family history, the tunnel was used to hide Confederate soldiers during the Civil War. Later, during the prohibition era, it was used to smuggle alcohol.” He continued to study the pictures, his earlier panic abating when he focused on the photo of the cottage’s basement. “What are these?” he asked, playing ignorant and pointing to the evidence markers throughout the picture.

  “Each marker indicates blood evidence,” Suts replied. “DNA testing proves Allison Hobar had been in the cottage basement.”

  Christian looked up from the picture and widened his eyes. “And she’s still missing? Do you think Ric?” He shook his head and pushed the photo away. “I’m stunned. I thought I knew him. My God, do you know how many times he’s been in my house? Around my wife and children? Whatever way I can assist you in finding—”

  “We already found her,” Hicks said. “She was buried in the flowerbed behind the cottage.”

  Christian rubbed his forehead. “I feel responsible. I let that monster into my life. I trusted him and he…oh my God. I—”

  The door to the room opened. He looked up just as Martin entered.

  About fucking time.

  “Agen
ts,” the director said with a curt nod. “We have everything we need.”

  Chapter 16

  Two days later…

  NAOMI TOOK THE last piece of clothing from the bag she’d taken with her to Chicago, and stowed it in her dresser drawer. As she put her toiletries away, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in eight long years, she stared at a free woman. Unfortunately, that freedom had come with a huge cost.

  As of this morning, two hundred and seventeen people had died from the bombings. The number of those injured remained at one hundred and eight, with a third of those people suffering from lost limbs, third degree burns, disfiguration and broken bones. Yes, freedom didn’t taste as good as she’d dreamed it would. Instead, all she tasted was regret and guilt.

  Tossing her make-up bag beneath the cabinet under the bathroom sink, she let the tears fall. Considering how much she’d cried these past two day, she’d thought the well would eventually run dry. With so much sadness and grief remaining, there would be no drought. The psychologist Ian had suggested she speak with over the phone last night had told her to look for symptoms of survivor’s guilt. That she might experience anxiety and depression, insomnia, nightmares and uncontrollable crying jags.

  She finished putting away her toothbrush and toothpaste, then looked at her reflection again. What the psychologist didn’t realize was that she’d been experiencing all of those symptoms since the death of her parents. Anxiety and depression had been commonplace. Since leaving Jake, insomnia and nightmares had been a constant in her life. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. If only the crying could cleanse her of the guilt. Of course the psychologist had said that once she came to the realization that the consequences of the bombings and the deaths of the innocent were the result of misfortune and not her actions, she could move forward and look at herself as the victim, not the cause.

  After tossing the tissue into the trash can, she moved into the bedroom and slumped on the bed. Yes, she was a victim, but the psychologist was wrong. She was the cause. She hadn’t detonated the bombs, she hadn’t asked for Christian’s unwanted messages, but she’d been the reason behind them. Although she wanted to live, a large part of her didn’t think she deserved to be alive. How could she celebrate life when her name had now become synonymous with death?

  Christian had scarred her in more ways than one. The night he’d had her restrained so Ric and that quack of a gynecologist could abort the child she carried—Christian’s child—had been one of the worst nights of her life.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Monday afternoon, after she, Jake and Dante had been brought to the FBI’s Norfolk Division, the agents had separated them, sticking her in a room for over two hours before finally debriefing her. Their line of questioning hadn’t been what she’d expected, and after an hour’s worth, she was glad Jake hadn’t been in the room. While she’d never had the impression that the agents thought she’d been involved in Christian’s terrorist attacks, they kept twisting and turning her words against her. Knowing Jake, he would have raised hell and told the agents to screw themselves—just not that eloquently.

  As the exhausting and stressful debriefing had gone on, she’d given them a graphic and detailed version of the forced abortion, hoping to shed light on the type of man Christian truly was. The agents had, in turn, grilled her about a date, time, location and the name of the gynecologist involved. But she hadn’t been able to answer any of their questions. She’d been drugged and when she’d woken, she had found herself bound and at the mercy of Ric and the doctor. Reliving that night had been hell. What had made it worse was seeing the doubt in the agents’ eyes. In a small way, she couldn’t blame them. She had no proof. Not about the abortion, about her parents’ or brother’s murders, about the stalking or the night Christian had ordered the Columbian to hold a knife against her throat.

  In the end, along with the senseless deaths of hundreds of innocent people, what they had was a case of he said, she said. Yes, they had the Rose Wood connection, and evidence that a signal had been sent from Christian’s company server to the last device detonated, but would it be enough?

  She shivered and rubbed her arms. Her stomach turned when she pictured Mickey’s abused body. He was dead, along with Ric and Santiago—the man she’d known as the Columbian. Harrison and the tall blond, Vlad, might have severed the twine binding her to Christian’s chair, but they’d immediately disappeared with the laptop. Of the seven people that had been in Christian’s warehouse, only two were available for questioning.

  Her and Christian.

  “Hey,” Jake said with a soft rap on her opened door. “Want me to fix you something to eat?”

  The thought of food made her stomach sour. “I’m good, thanks. But you go ahead if you’re hungry. I’m not sure what’s in the fridge and pantry, though.”

  He walked to the bed and sat next to her. “I see you unpacked,” he said, nodding to the empty bag.

  “You were on the phone and I needed something to do.”

  He draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Monday, after she and Jake had been debriefed, she’d gone to the hotel room Rachel had secured for her. Jake had an adjoining room, and while she would have loved for him to stay with her, wrap his strong arms around her and make her feel whole again, she’d needed time alone. The agents’ line of questioning, the accusation and disbelief in their eyes—living through the abortion, her parents’ and brother’s death, along with the fears she’d harbored for eight years, had been like ripping open a wound that had just started to mend.

  She’d needed time to decompress and digest everything that had happened throughout the day. She’d needed to dress that wound and pray that this time around, it would heal. With the many wasted years looming over her, and freedom from Christian no longer a fantasy, but a reality, she hadn’t wanted to screw anything up with Jake. In the thick of the moment, he’d promised love and a bright future. Now that they were no longer up against the clock and lives weren’t on the line, to secure that future she needed to come to terms with the guilt and bitterness weighing heavy on her heart and shoulders.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Do you plan to put the bag away, or are you going to use it again?”

  Yesterday, she’d kept to her hotel room and slept most of the day. The agents she’d met with the night before had paid her another visit, asking her a few follow-up questions before telling her she could go home. Jake had also come to her room several times, bringing her food and something to drink. During their last conversation, he’d made it clear he wanted her to come back to Chicago with him. Vulnerable, she’d agreed.

  This morning she’d changed her mind. She’d been living in Woodbine, Georgia, for nearly five years. Right now, she needed her familiar surroundings and the quiet, easy pace of a small town. Instead of taking the private jet back to Chicago, Jake had decided to join her in Woodbine, saying he wasn’t ready to go their separate ways.

  “Eventually,” she finally answered. “I’m sorry. I know I said I’d go home with you, but I need to figure out what direction I need to take.”

  “Can you dumb it down for me? Or am I completely forgetting a conversation.”

  She smiled against his chest. “What I mean is that I need to decide what to do now that I no longer have to hide.”

  “Your job and house here? Or me?”

  Drawing back, she took his hand. “The media doesn’t know about me yet, but I think it’ll only be a matter of time before Rose Wood is resurrected. If my face is attached to that name, I’m worried I’ll have to hide again.”

  “None of this was your fault,” he said with vehemence.

  “You keep telling me that, but that’s not the impression I got from the FBI.” They’d made her sound as if she was suffering from psychosis. That she might have brought this onto herself for associating with Ric. That she’d lost contact with reality and had, because of the severity of the situation, projected her f
ears and disillusionments onto Christian rather than Ric.

  “Those agents have no idea what they’re talking about.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Hunnicutt’s an asshole. A pathological narcissist.”

  She cocked a brow. “Did you talk to the psychologist after me?”

  The corner of his mouth tilted in a sheepish grin. “No. Rachel. She loves looking up things and after we had a conference call, she researched narcissism. Everything she found fits Hunnicutt. The man has no boundaries and no shame. There’s no limit to his arrogance, and he carries a strong sense of entitlement and considers himself superior.” His grin grew. “End of quote.”

  She touched his strong jaw. Monday night, she knew then, just as she knew now, she shouldn’t care what those agents had thought of her. She knew the truth and so did Jake. And he believed her.

  But what would the rest of the world believe?

  “When people find out—”

  “If they find out,” he corrected her.

  She stood and hugged herself. “I’ll carry the stigma of being the reason for hundreds of deaths for a long time. It was bad enough knowing I was the reason Christian wiped out my family, but this…” Her chin trembled and her eyes burned with tears. “I don’t know how to carry on from here.”

  He came next to her, sifted his hands through her hair and cupped her head. “Let’s worry about it together. Come back to Chicago with me. You have nothing to hide, and nothing to feel guilty for. You’re just as much of a victim as the people Hunnicutt killed.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t talk to that psychologist?” she asked, and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “I don’t need a degree in psychology to understand the truth. Don’t let him win. Not now. Not after everything you’ve been through. You’ve finally stopped him and he can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “I know. Honestly, although I’m scared about testifying against him, I want him to be given the death penalty. What’s even scarier, I want to witness his execution and make sure he’s confirmed dead.” She sighed. “God, I’m a horrible person.”