AT Stake (An Alex Troutt Thriller, Book 7) (Redemption Thriller Series 19)

by John W. Mefford

  “She’s bat-shit crazy. Hard to guess,” I said. “So, we’re fairly certain that Maya and Avery were working with her and that they were behind the bombing?”

  “That was all based upon evidence we found on her computer. During the interviews, she didn’t say a word. So, we’re still not sure why Maya and Avery took their own lives, or what their true motivations were for helping Sinclair pull off these crimes. We may never know.” She arched an eyebrow, winced, and put a hand to her forehead.

  “Too soon for that,” I whispered with a wink. I knew the feeling well, after all.

  “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Ezzy and Nick…I understand from Stan that they’re about ready to go home.”

  “Should be today,” she said with a warm smile. “Apparently, Nick has been convincing Ezzy to come over and cook for a dinner party he and Antonio are having.”

  “It’s good for her to feel like she’s needed.”

  I waited a moment and then changed topics. “So, I think within the next week, Mackenzie and I are going to head back to Austin.”

  She nodded. “We haven’t gotten the final green light, though, on the JustWin investigation.”

  “I think Mackenzie is ready.”

  “But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “We need to start living a normal life again. Besides, I need to figure out what my life looks like without Nicole in it.”

  She put her hand on mine. “I get it. I know you’re still grieving over her loss.”

  I shrugged, unsure really what I should feel. I just knew that at times I could sense Nicole’s presence near me. I’d even talked to her a few times out loud—something I’d never admit to anyone. But she was my sounding board, my rudder, so to speak. The funny thing was, she would say the same about me. That was why we worked. Would have worked for a long time. We’d complemented each other. I tried to picture my new life, and I just couldn’t do it. But, for Mackenzie, it was time to try.

  The side door to the courtroom opened, and Sinclair shuffled in, escorted by two guards. Her attorney whispered something in her ear. She didn’t say anything back. The judge entered, and we all rose for a moment. The judge began the proceedings.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking up the aisle. I flipped my head around—and my eyes went wide.

  The guy looked like he’d just gotten out of the ring at a UFC fight, maybe worse. His arm was in a sling, his face looked…I don’t know, like it had suffered major burns. His clothes were tattered, and he dragged his left leg like it was an appendage that wasn’t attached.

  I tapped Alex on the shoulder. She followed my gaze.

  “You don’t deserve a trial, you fucking bitch,” he yelled out. “You turned Maya, Avery, and me into killing machines. You deserve the death penalty, nothing less.”

  He pulled something out of his coat as guards ran for him. Alex scrambled over people to get to him as he lunged for Sinclair. He had a gun. People screamed and ran for the door. It was chaos.

  A shot rang out, and Sinclair threw her hands to her head. The man was tackled by guards.

  There would be no trial for Sinclair. Only a burial.

  43

  Alex

  I lifted my mug of hot cocoa and took a sip, sitting around the fire pit in the backyard of the home I was renting—until I figured out where we’d live permanently. The setting sun splashed streaks of purples and orange across the darkening sky. The fire crackled, and I reveled in the sound and the smell. Ozzie opened the back door, and I could hear the kids inside the house, talking up a storm with Ezzy and Nick.

  Ozzie joined me on the patio with a drink in hand.

  “What’s your drink of the night?” I asked.

  “Normally, I’m a Knob Creek guy. But Nick brought over some whiskey he’s been saving for a while. Wanted to share it with me. It’s called Glenmorangie Signet.”

  “Sounds fancy…and expensive.”

  “Two hundred bucks a bottle. But man, it’s the smoothest I’ve ever had. Want me to spruce up your cocoa?”

  I told him Brad was on his way to take me out on a date, so I’d wait.

  “Oh, this is the night, huh?”

  “It’s just a dating anniversary. Nothing crazy.”

  “Uh-huh. And Christmas is just another day.”

  “Funny. Not.” I winked.

  “You and Brad seemed to have worked through your issues.”

  I shifted my eyes to him and then back to the fire. “You were right, Oz. It was all about communication. I had no idea that his father had come back into his life, and he was really stressed about it. He hadn’t seen the guy since he was a little kid. And now he has liver disease, probably won’t live more than two or three months.”

  Ozzie rested a foot on the stone siding of the fire pit. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, but then his eyes flicked back to me. “How’s he handling it?”

  “Better, since we talked it out and I said I’d be there for him.”

  “That’s very cool.”

  “Yeah, me and my grandiose notions of worrying about this age difference were…I don’t know. I guess I was just creating something out of nothing.”

  “It happens to all of us. No one is invincible.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  We sat there for a few minutes, looking into the flames.

  Ozzie broke the silence, inquiring more about the de-brief I’d received from Jerry after their interview with Quinton Pierce—the man who’d shot and killed Sinclair. Apparently, Pierce, even against the advice of his attorney, was an open book. Sinclair, who called herself “Pluto,” had kidnapped Pierce, Maya, and Avery, and then brainwashed them. They were known as nothing more than numbers, and over a period of weeks, Sinclair used devious mental-torture tricks to convince them to be loyal to her and her cause above everything else, including their own lives. As for killing Sinclair, he’d stolen the gun off the security guard in the first-floor public restroom of the courthouse.

  “Maya’s health issues?” Ozzie asked.

  “A result of serious malnourishment while in captivity.”

  “It sounds like Jessica had them under a spell. How did she do it?”

  “There was a big case back in the 1970s. Patty Hearst was the granddaughter of a big publishing magnate, William Randolph Hearst. She was kidnapped by a terrorist group called the Symbionese Liberation Army. She was found—or rescued, depending on who you ask—nineteen months later. She had actually participated in some of the crimes with members of the SLA. And this came after they’d raped her and threatened to kill her. At least, that was her account of it.”

  “Her name sounds familiar. Probably something from one of my history books. Didn’t she serve time?”

  “The prosecution believed she joined the SLA of her own volition and was found guilty of bank robbery. Eventually, as people learned more about what she experienced, her sentence was commuted by Carter, and she was pardoned by Clinton.”

  “Wait—this is the case that people associate with Stockholm syndrome, right?”

  I nodded. “It’s where victims live in fear for their lives, and whenever their captors show them even the smallest act of kindness, they become more and more transfixed on the needs of their captors instead of themselves.”

  “So, Pierce and the others became human robots for Sinclair, willing to carry out her acts of vengeance.”

  I looked into the fire, and for a second, I thought about those minutes of uncertainty, of wondering whether my family had survived the bombing at our home. I took in a deep breath and then sipped on my cocoa.

  I told Ozzie about the one additional connection between Sinclair and Elise that Quinton had shared.

  “They were both really into Greek mythology. So, that sculpture at Elise’s home had nothing to do with her and the other cofounders of IBIT. She just thought it was a really cool piece of art. The three-headed dog, though, were the three college kids: Quinton, Maya, and Avery. A
nd Sinclair—‘Pluto,’ as they called her—was their puppeteer.”

  “All those years of resentment,” Ozzie said, shaking his head. “Hard to believe there are people like that walking the streets.”

  “Tell me about it. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember there are lot of good people in this world, because I come across so many bad. Sometimes, I wonder how much longer I can do this…how much longer I want to do this.”

  “Thinking about retirement?”

  I shrugged. “Right now, I’m just thinking about having some fun with Brad.” She smiled.

  “How’s Elise doing?”

  “Better. She’s in discussions with Immigration on what to do with the latest batch of kids she brought over. Apparently, she was known in her circles as the modern-day Harriet Tubman. You know, the woman behind the Underground Railroad during the Civil War? Times have changed, of course, but we can’t ignore how wars are destroying a generation of children. And just because it’s not happening in this country doesn’t mean we should ignore it.”

  Ozzie lifted his glass. “Damn straight.”

  Brad walked out to the back yard, said hi to Ozzie, and then planted a kiss on my lips. He held it an extra second and wrapped his arms around me. It was comforting. It felt right.

  Brad pulled out a brochure from his jacket pocket and tossed it in Ozzie’s lap.

  “What’s this?” Ozzie asked. He picked it up and busted out a laugh. “You’re a celebrity, Alex.”

  He was laughing at the picture I’d taken alongside Danny O’Shaughnessy. He’d insisted I hold up my FBI creds for the picture as he gave a thumbs-up. The caption under the picture said, “Boston Sport Fishing—Proud to support the FBI during the capture of the marathon bomber.”

  I tried to be grumpy about it, but honestly, it was pretty hilarious.

  I stood up and wrapped my arm around Brad’s waist, curling my finger around his belt loop.

  “You kids have fun,” Ozzie said.

  Before we took off for our night of fun and frolicking, I said, “Hey, Oz. I forgot to tell you that Quinton said no one on their team had anything to do with trying to run you over in the hospital parking lot.”

  Ozzie pursed his lips.

  “I think you should wait to head back to Texas. Let me get an update on where things stand on this JustWin investigation.”

  Ozzie sat back in his chair and held up his drink. “We’ll see.”

  “Just don’t leave while I’m gone, okay?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said, laughing.

  Ozzie and I were too much alike for me to fully believe that.

  44

  With a bouquet of roses draped across his arm, the man walked up to the door and paused. He knew red roses were her favorite; she’d said as much on their first date two months earlier. He picked up the scent of his cologne, which brought out the ravenous seductress in her.

  He tried not to gag at the thought.

  He adjusted his tie to ensure it wasn’t crooked, tousled his hair a bit—she loved that slightly disheveled-hair look—and took in a deep breath.

  Taking one for the team. He pushed the doorbell. A moment later, she opened the door. It had only been a week—during which time he’d traveled to important meetings in London, Paris, and Austin—but he’d forgotten how short she was. She barely reached his pectoral muscles.

  “Oh, Justin, you shouldn’t have.”

  Her voice grated at him. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Worse. Like a nail in your eardrum. It was impossibly high-pitched and completely “off” somehow. He’d never heard anything like it.

  Add to voice the fact that she was not exactly a looker, and…hell’s bells. She was downright homely. Even worse, though, was her state of mind. When he’d just happened to run into her at a local watering hole, she was desperate. Desperate for affection, desperate to feel appreciated, desperate to be loved.

  But that was exactly why their relationship had taken off so quickly. And for that, he was thankful. It also helped that he knew there would be an end to it all. He wasn’t sure when, but it was more about the journey, not the “when.” Each step was unpredictable in its timing, and he had to be on his toes, alert, flexible. He felt confident he could close the deal and be done with her in short order, maybe just a few weeks. And that excited him more than anything. Almost anything.

  “Let me put those in some water.” She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, but he gently cradled the back of her head and steered her to his lips. He gave her a kiss she would not soon forget, the kind military members receive after a tour of duty.

  “Holy smokes, Justin.” She staggered back a step, nearly turned an ankle in her four-inch heels.

  He tried not to laugh. “It’s been a while. I didn’t want you to forget how I tasted.” He brought her close, lifting her off her feet until they were chest to chest. “Why don’t we just skip our date and…you know.” He motioned his head toward her bedroom.

  She giggled and then quickly covered her mouth. “How did I get so lucky?”

  Oh, he so wanted to snap off a comeback. “You? I’m just a regular guy, with a regular job. I was living a dull life until you entered it. So, you’re wrong on that one—and you’re rarely wrong. I’m the lucky one.”

  He slowly set her down, and she put a hand to his cheek. He took her hand and kissed it.

  She hustled into the kitchen. He could hear water pouring from the faucet. He saw her computer on the desk, and he shuffled in that direction. He tried to read the screen—something about a de-brief on the recent marathon-bombing investigation. She walked back into the living room, and he pulled his phone from his pocket and pretended to be studying something important.

  “Do you have work stuff going on? I don’t want to get in the way of your career.”

  He slipped the phone in his pocket. “How important can paper cups be?” he said with a chortle.

  “Well, you are the top paper-cup salesman in North America.”

  “Not exactly something I want written in my obituary. Life is about so much more than false praise and accumulating trophies. It’s about those special moments with those special people in your life.”

  He winked. She dipped her head, giving him an aw-shucks smile. It would have been cute had it not been so damn repulsive.

  The team. Taking one for the team, he reminded himself. “You must be relieved to have all of this bombing stuff behind you. I know you texted me and said that ogre, Randy, was making you work ’round the clock.”

  “Well, I don’t mind working hard. It’s kind of my hallmark. But…” She looked away.

  Another opportunity to bolster her fragile ego, perhaps?

  “Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes. Did that Randy person harm you?”

  “Oh, no. He’s full of hot air. It’s just that we went through so much to catch the people behind this horrible bombing, and…I don’t know. I feel ashamed of myself for even thinking it.”

  He took hold of her hand. “You can tell me. I thought we share everything.”

  “You’re right. I have to learn to open up and trust.” She exhaled a deep breath. “It just seems that, no matter how much I contribute, I get no credit.”

  “They don’t recognize your hard work? You’re the real brains behind the machine, from what you’ve shared with me.”

  “I’m just a bot to them. They push a button, and I do all the research, all the time-consuming tasks. It would take them hundreds of hours to accomplish what I can get done in one afternoon.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like the sound of that. I sound conceited.”

  “Far from it. We all need to feel valued in our job. It’s what we do every day. Maybe over dinner, once we’ve popped the cork on some champagne—we are celebrating our two-month anniversary—then you can open up some more and talk about how you kick ass. I find your brain quite sexy.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered—they looked fake, but he
smiled in return.

  “Oh, I’ve got so much to share, Justin. How my boss…well, she’s not really my boss, but how she gets all the attention. Hell, she even has her picture on the website of a boat owner, acting like she’s a big celeb and all that. Who does she think she is, a Kardashian?”

  He looked at his watch.

  “Don’t want to be late,” she said, walking over to her closet and grabbing her coat.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  She stopped instantly. He gave her the once-over.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He twirled his finger.

  “Oh, you want me to turn around?”

  He nodded, and she did a pirouette—the most awkward, non-graceful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Do I have a hole in my dress?”

  “I’m just not sure this is going to work.”

  “Why?”

  “How am I going to fend off all the other men at the restaurant?”

  She put a hand to her chest. “Oh, Justin, you’re so funny.”

  He swung the door open. “You look absolutely gorgeous, a vision of loveliness.”

  “You mean the world to me, Justin. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

  He was counting on it. “It’s my honor to be by your side tonight, Gretchen. Now, let’s get out of here before I’m unable to stop myself from taking you straight to the bedroom.”

  She squeaked out a giggle. “You’ll get the ride of your life later, mister.”

  He was, indeed, taking one for the team.

  Dear Reader,

  Did you enjoy the return of Alex? Well, you get to take a breath. But make it a quick one.

  In Alex’s latest adventure, from the very first word of the book, it takes you by the throat and doesn’t let go. The mystery is a twisted hairball, the suspense off the charts, but it’s the deceit that will leave you breathless.

  I hope you enjoy AT Any Cost!

  Best,

  John

  P.S. Leaving a review for AT Stake would be wonderful if you have a quick minute. Thank you.