Joy glanced at the rearview mirror of the Fiat 500 she was driving. She'd been ducking and diving between the light traffic following Smith. She'd almost lost the guy at the airport but had found him and trailed him to the rental counter. The drive out of DC had been dicey, and she'd had to take calculated risks to keep up with him, but it was pretty fucking clear he was heading towards Virginia. The question was why?
She tapped the steering wheel as traffic became lighter. The small city of Charlottesville was easy enough to navigate through as she followed the little green car that Smith had folded himself into. She decelerated and let another car slip in between them. The road wound between some pretty impressive hills. As she topped a hill, she noticed his car was no longer in front of the two vehicles she'd put between them. There were three roads where he could have turned off. Joy glanced at her rearview mirror, slowed, and pulled into the first place Smith could have turned off the highway. She followed the drive through a tree-lined approach. At the end of the drive, a house sat on top of the ridge. It had all the signs of being constructed in the seventies, but it was beautiful. A small white dog bounced off the porch and barked excitedly. She quickly surveyed the area. The car Smith was driving was nowhere in sight. She whipped the Fiat around and left before the owners decided to investigate the dog's alarmed bark.
She pulled back onto the road and eyed the second drive before she tucked the Fiat off the road and stared down the access point. There was no way the small car Smith had driven had gone down that road. The ruts were deep, and it looked like a logging road rather than a drive. She waited for another car to pass before pulling back out onto the road. She turned down the next drive and slowly made her way up the drive. Stopping just before the crest of the hill, she pulled the Fiat off the road and left it. Smith's actions were completely out of norm for the big guy. She didn't like the feeling of this unexpected road trip. She glanced down at her clothes. She'd worn a pant suit because she needed to blend in. Dammit, she should have changed, but she'd deal. A smile slipped into place. She'd wanted to try out these shoes for over a year. An old lover had given them to her as a joke, but they were pretty fucking amazing.
She tiptoed over the frozen ground and made her way through the trees. Her feet were damn near frostbitten, but she wasn't cold enough to abort the mission. She'd zeroed in on Smith's little green car. It was parked beside an outbuilding. Joy's eyes scanned the regal colonial home that sat atop another ridge. There was a limo parked out front and several men loitering about the car. One was smoking a cigarette; the others were leaning against the car. The chauffeur and perhaps a bodyguard or assistant?
A faint sound drew her attention to the outbuilding where Smith's car was parked. She watched the men in front of the house as she edged closer.
"You don't understand." Smith's voice carried through the open door to the building. Joy moved directly across from the building.
"What we understand is you didn't do your fucking job."
"I did! I told you everything. I–"
Joy winced at the sound of a fist hitting Smith. From the resulting grunt and moan, she could picture the act shutting him up. So, Smith was what? A snitch? For who? Stratus? What was he supposed to tell these people? She crept closer after casting a furtive glance at the men in front of the home to make sure they hadn't moved. Joy crept to the building and plastered herself against the brick.
"The fucking senator has a whore."
"No, he doesn't!" Smith's denial met with more blows.
"You didn't tell us about her. They could use knowledge like that. You failed to do your job. You know what that means?"
"She isn't a whore. She's a lady. I–" Smith's statement halted again. Joy closed her eyes. A lady. Fuck, she'd threatened to slice his throat. A lady was something she definitely was not. But why had he not told these people about her? And who were they? The wealth was obvious. She glanced over the estate again. She shook her head and sprinted into the woods. She raced back to her car, started it and pulled onto the drive. Smith hadn't told them about her because he was protecting her or Dixon. Either way, he was going to be killed because he was protecting them. Hopefully, those fuckers wouldn’t extract too much from Smith before she got there. She had a much better chance of surviving this situation. The ideal would be if she could work it so Smith was acquitted of not telling the bastards about her.
She pulled right up to the building, got out and strode into the shelter where Smith was being held. Joy ignored the men running across the massive lawn toward her and walked through the open door as she called out, "Mr. Smith? Why did you want me to come all the way out here? Mr. Smith? I'm here, but why am I here?"
Smith's face was bloody. She watched him as he recognized her. He shook his head. She stopped him before he could speak, "You know I'm supposed to pick up Senator Simmons tonight. I don't understand..." She stopped and raised her hand to her chest. "Oh, my! Mr. Smith! What's going on?"
Joy spun around. The three men from the front of the house flew through the door behind her. She spun on her heel and pointed at Smith. "You set me up? Why? What have I ever done to you?"
She waited until one of the men behind her laid his hand on her before she moved. She needed to make sure the fucker’s attention was fully on her. "Smith? Why? Why would you do this to me?" She called out again before she spun and punched the fucker holding her. He dropped like a lead weight. She dropped into her ready position and blinked at the other men as they circled. She counted ten. Fuck. She probably wasn't getting out of this, but hopefully, Smith would. Fuck, she hoped she read the man correctly.
Dixon ran his finger through the silk of his tie after he soundlessly shut and locked the door behind him. His new suite at the W was plush and afforded every comfort the small apartment they'd used immediately after the bombing hadn't. The one thing it didn't offer was a security system. He had hired security in the hall. Security he hadn't vetted.
Dixon leaned over and reached under the large table in the hall, pulling his weapon from the Velcro that secured it out of everyone's vision. The rooms were dark and quiet, but after the explosion, he took his time clearing each room.
It was almost ten at night, and he was exhausted. What he wanted was to take a shower and fall into a week-long sleep, but without Joy or Smith in the suite, he had a rare, private moment.
Dixon poured himself a drink and took a sip of the whiskey before he set it on the bar and grabbed an ottoman to retrieve his computer from the top of the closet shelf where he'd hidden it. Paranoid, maybe, but he didn't care. He carried the footrest to the closet and used it to step on so he could make sure the thread he'd laid on the top right-hand corner was exactly where he left it. Old school, but effective in telling him if someone had moved the equipment.
He hit the flashlight on his phone, illuminating the upper portion of the shelf. It was gone. The thread was missing. With his cellphone's light, he examined the far corner of the closet where he'd stashed the laptop. There were fingerprints in the dust, smeared prints. From them, he could only determine the size of the fingers that made the marks. It looked as if someone short had placed their hand in several positions on the shelf before they located his computer. Whoever the woman was hadn't banked on the small thread. It was nowhere to be found.
That meant two scenarios were in play, neither of which he relished. One, someone with access to the rooms, a cleaning lady or management, had searched and found his computer. Or two, someone from Stratus had searched his rooms and found his computer.
No matter how he played it, the computer had to be considered compromised. Installing a program to monitor all his keystrokes would take only a couple minutes, and it would have been almost impossible for him to detect had he not had the software designed by Jewell that was installed on all Guardian computers. Fuck him, he should have downloaded the damn thing onto a CD before he flew out. Hindsight was always 20/20. He couldn't risk using the laptop without it being cleared first.
&
nbsp; His computer system at the new Senate office was secure, but again, with so many new people and given the fact the computers were hosted on a shared server, he couldn't risk using those systems for anything other than legit Senate business.
Dixon stared at the laptop for a moment before he grabbed it and took it out of the bedroom into the large living area. He opened the refrigerator and put the laptop on the shelf and grabbed another unopened mini-bottle of scotch from the display by the fridge as he shut the door. If someone had enabled the mic or the camera, he wasn't going to risk having them learn anything but his drinking habits, because that was all they would see tonight.
He cracked the seal on the travel-sized bottle of Johnnie and tipped the bottle into the tumbler he'd used earlier. Fuck ice. Waiting for Stratus to reach out now that he'd thumbed his nose at them wasn't his idea of a good time. The way Smithson left this afternoon was concerning, but what really had him upset was the fact that Joy hadn't checked in. He glanced at his watch again. Dammit. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and flopped into a modern and very uncomfortable piece of designer furniture.
Tapping out a staccato beat on the arm of the chair, he weighed his options. Shit was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon. He removed the burner phone he'd been using with Joy and unlocked it.
His eyes bore a hole into the face before he pulled up the text program. Still nothing from Joy. He punched in a phone number and scrubbed his face. Dixon stood and paced the distance of the living area. He stopped at the window and stared out into the city. Fuck it. He tapped out the text and pushed send.
Dixon dropped the phone on the low bureau that held a seventy-inch television. He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and stared unseeingly out the glass. New York was a beautiful contradiction. It boasted the elite of the world, cuisine, art, finance, diplomacy, engineering, architecture, and all points in between. From where he stood, it could be easy to convince himself that the city was something it wasn't. It wasn't home. No matter how well he fit in, no matter what he could do with the Senate seat, this city would never be his home. The phone beside him vibrated. He glanced at it and smiled. Finally.
"Senator, you have a call on line one, it's Mr. Smith." Avery's voice pulled Dixon from a mountain of paperwork.
He picked up the phone and punched the button. "Are you all right?"
"Yes sir, but you aren't." Smith's voice was off, and the warning resonated as quickly as the man's tone.
"Excuse me?" Dixon snapped his eyes to the empty doorway, immediately alert.
"You failed to vote the way you were instructed." Smith's words shattered his hope the man wasn't connected to Stratus. Everything fell into line. The reason Smithson helped him dispose of the body and coordinated his Senate office, the text message from Stratus where he 'happened' to appear at the right moment to keep them from being killed.
Smithson Young was part of Stratus. Dixon leaned back in his chair. "I voted the way I wanted."
"There was a night when your father was alive, I told you that you should have chosen. Do you remember it?" Smith's calm voice filtered over the connection.
"I do." How could he forget? He didn't choose, and both people died.
"Don't make that mistake here. You need to make a decision now. Vote the way you are instructed, or Ms. Nguyen will die."
Dixon bolted to his feet before he took a purpose-filled breath and tried to relax so he could think. "You're lying. You don't have her."
"I have never lied to you, sir."
"I'll need proof of life." And proof they were cagey enough to surprise and apprehend Joy. If he knew that woman, and he did, she'd fight like hell or even die before she'd be taken.
"That can be arranged. This phone line. Three minutes." The line went dead. Dixon glanced at his watch. Less than a minute had transpired since the beginning of the call. Even if he could get a trace on the conversation, it appeared Mr. Smith knew to disconnect before the source could be narrowed. Fuck! Dixon grabbed the phone and hit the intercom. As soon as Avery picked up, he was speaking. "I'll personally answer the next incoming call on this line. I need you to ensure no one comes into my office."
"Ahh...sure, I mean, yes sir." The woman's confusion was clear, but Dixon didn't have time to be diplomatic.
He waited for the phone to ring with his eyes fixed on the second hand of his Breitling. Exactly two minutes and fifty-five seconds after Smith hung up the phone, it rang again. Dixon snatched it out of its cradle and punched the button.
"Joy?"
A disembodied mechanical voice answered, "No. You are required to vote for the bill which is being tendered for a vote to the Senate tomorrow. You will vote yea. If you don't, Ms. Nguyen will die."
"I won't vote for the bill if I don't know for an absolute fact that she is alive and will remain that way once I vote." Dixon's voice carried confidence he didn't feel. He was literally playing with Joy's life—that was if the bastards hadn't already killed her.
There was a low chuckle, "You do not get to make demands, Senator."
Dixon channeled Joseph and let loose with his own low, malicious laugh. "That is where you are absolutely wrong. Communicate this to your superiors. I will vote yea only if the minute before I cast my vote, I get a call on my cell from her telling me she is safe. If you don't, I'll vote nay, and both of your precious bills will fail." Dixon listened to the silence. "Obviously you failed to think this through to a logical conclusion. If Ms. Nguyen is not free, you don't get my vote."
"If you do not vote the way we dictate, we will release evidence that you killed your father."
Dixon rolled his eyes responding with scathing insult, “Of course, you would. I saw your next move like it was written in crayons on the wall and have taken steps to insulate myself. Yours is an empty threat. This is our deal. Ms. Nguyen for my vote.” He maintained his confrontational attitude. Immediately flipping to a submissive 'yes man' would send an earthquake of tremors through Stratus.
"We will watch the proceedings. When the vote is taken, we will comply. But please note, Mr. Simmons, if you do not vote in our favor, we will find her, and we will kill her. Additionally, your father's death will be levied on your head, and we have an eyewitness that will testify as to how you killed him."
"Smithson Young."
"Not very smart for a genius, are you senator? Depending on a thug."
Even with the synthesized voice, Dixon could discern the mocking tone. Oh, he was smart, and he had the bastards playing into his hands.
"You have two minutes to get Joy on the line." Dixon dropped the phone into the cradle. He'd offer his left nut on a plate if it meant he'd get to speak to Joy. Smithson Young had sealed his fate. He didn't know what Smithson's deal was, but he was not a thug. His education and intelligence had become evident over the last month. Dixon's hand dropped to his keys and the fob that held the hidden thumb drive with all the files Smith deleted. He had the dates, and he would find out what Stratus had on the big guy.
The phone rang, and Dixon pounced on it. "Go."
"Hey, Quick Draw." Joy's low, husky voice slid across the line.
A chill ran down Dixon's back. Fuck, they had her. A small part of him held out the hope that the son of a bitch was fronting. He grappled for words, "Screwed up and got yourself into a jam, didn't you?"
She made a disgusted sound and replied, "No. Not really." He listened hard, and he could tell she was struggling to speak. Fuck, if they'd beaten her...
He envied her calmness because knowing those motherfuckers had probably hurt her had lit a fuse in him that nothing was going to extinguish. "Are you okay?"
He heard a low moan and a whoosh of breath before she sighed, "Been worse. You know that song I was telling you about?"
Dixon's mind did the ping-pong thing. The question was so far away from what they were dealing with it took him a second to connect the dots. "The one from the movie you and your sister like, the one about the rain?"
"Yeah, li
sten to it." She grunted in pain. Those motherfuckers were handling her roughly. They'd pay, and they'd pay dearly.
"Okay, I will. But Joy, I'm going to get you out of this. I'll vote the way they want me to vote." He needed the mother fuckers to hear and believe that fact.
She gave a low chuckle and then with more venom than he could imagine coming from her, she hissed, "Well that's awesome, because I only do death on my terms." Her grunt of pain was the last thing he heard.
When he realized it was disconnected, Dixon dropped the phone to the cradle. He had no idea how long he stared at the desk blotter. His mind reeled, seeing nothing but the next series of moves he needed to make.
"Sir?"
He blinked up and focused on Avery. "Sorry, what?"
"Your three-thirty is waiting, and you have a new meeting scheduled at five. Not my doing, by the way." She raised her eyebrow, obviously pissed at the scheduler again.
Dixon stood up and grabbed his suit jacket. "Cancel my three-thirty, give whoever it is my sincere apologies, cancel the five o'clock meeting," he glanced at her and winked, "with emphasis."
A huge smile spread across her face. "Most definitely, sir."
"I need you to change my travel plans. I'm heading to D.C. now."
"Now, sir?"
"Yes, now. I'm heading to the airport, make the arrangements. Oh, and Avery?"
"Sir?"
"I need your cell."
"My...my phone, sir?"
"Yes, I promise to take good care of it and compensate you for the time I have it."
"Ummm...okaaay..." She strung the word out as she grabbed the phone from her top right-hand drawer.
He glanced at the locked face. "What's the code?"
Dixon Page 19
