Jane held her face down in the rug. She was afraid to speak because she didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d made her cry. She also felt humiliated as he lectured her with her ass in full view.
The loud smack and sting that followed didn’t help her temper, either. Growling with pure fury, she had herself twisted to the side and flung her elbow as hard as she could into his solar plexus. The pain caused him to completely stop breathing for a second, so she seized the opportunity to roll off of his lap and reach her hand into her bag as he finally began gasping for air.
If she thought knocking the wind out of him a couple of times was going to stop him, she was mistaken. He reached forward for her as soon he was able to breathe again, but was suddenly prohibited from further progress by a Glock 17 pressed into the middle of his forehead. It was then he noticed the wet tears that streaked her pinks cheeks and small wisps of hair pressed to the wetness.
She frowned as she held her weapon to his head with her right hand and pulled her underwear back up under her skirt with her left.
“I’m leaving. And don’t follow me,” she ordered through her teeth as she stared him down.
“Jane.” He huffed, still finding it difficult to catch his breath. He sat on the floor and looked over at her as she knelt next to him. The look on her face said she was as serious as a heart attack, but her eyes were still glassy from crying. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.
“I’m not crying!” she replied in the toughest voice she could muster. She swallowed and pressed her pistol forward as he tried to move. “You need to let me go.”
She looked wrecked. He knew she would never shoot him, but she obviously needed to recover a little of her dignity. And he would let her. She’d pay for pulling her gun on him later, though.
Jane grabbed her bag and backed out of the room, still aiming her weapon at him. Why? Who knew anymore. No one had ever made her as incensed as Conrad Thomas. He’d actually made her lose her fucking mind. She turned as the cold air outside blasted over her. Now on to her work. She’d deal with him later. She had work to do.
* * *
George took a breath as she walked down the lonely marble floored hallway to the dean’s office. She’d have to question him and get him to talk before anyone would miss him. Interrogation wasn’t a problem for her. And things would be way easier when they didn’t involve the handsome Dr. Conrad Thomas.
Her problem was getting the dean to talk without making too much noise. Someone would hear if he screamed.
His assistant wasn’t at the desk in the alcove outside of his office, so she approached the doors and reached her hand up to knock. She noticed a camera perched high in the corner, suddenly wondering if it had been there when she’d broken in or if the alarm company had installed it with the Sentinel 5000. Footsteps advanced behind her. She took a deep breath. This was it.
She had to be a kid first, get him in the office, and then resume being the federal agent and torture him. The getting there part hadn’t been hard at all. Social media made getting into serious trouble at school pretty easy. She’d simply posted a meme with the dean sprouting horns and it had spread around the campus to everyone’s social media accounts like wildfire. The refectory proctor had found her during lunch and instructed her to immediately go to the dean’s office.
The footsteps stopped behind her. She turned to plead her case with him, but something slammed into the side of her head and sent her to the floor. She couldn’t see straight as she tried to look up, and suddenly everything went black. She’d passed out.
Sacrifice the Fed
Her head was pounding and she was freezing when she finally awoke.
She found herself on a cold concrete floor, locked file cabinets stacked against the walls around her. Trying to sit up, she found her hands were tied behind her back. She jammed her knees into her chest and worked her bound hands down her back and around to the front of her body. It was the only first step she knew to take.
Her hands were not handcuffed. Rope and duct tape. Smart. She pushed up on her elbow and sat up as her eyes focused. The room was about the size of a classroom and lit with a floodlight by the door at one end. She winced as she brought her tied hands up and felt her head, then sighed.
She could have been anywhere.
She tried to open all of the metal file cabinets. Locked and bolted to the wall. Okay, secret files in a secret file room. She felt around for hidden air vents and weaknesses in the structure. Nothing. She felt around on the door and realized that the echo sounded thick, deep. The room was soundproof. Whoever had built it certainly didn’t want anyone knowing what was on the inside. Or knowing of its existence.
She leaned back against a file cabinet and tried to collect her thoughts. Why was she here? Who was behind it? The door clanked, as if bolts were sliding back and her captor was about to enter and torture her with metal tools of mutilation.
Her suspicions were unconfirmed as the door slowly swung open and someone entered. Not who she expected.
The headmaster, Dr. Byrd, cautiously walked towards her in a three-piece suit, a huge wooden bat thing in one hand, a cell phone in the other. He slowly stepped towards her as she stood and leaned back into the cabinets.
“So, you’re the one who’s been harassing Ben Howard,” he said, voice deep and powerful. His dark hair was cut short and he made no attempt to cover his male pattern baldness. Dark eyes glared at her under wrinkled skin. These weren’t kind eyes like Conrad’s.
She didn’t reply as she stared him down. It just didn’t make any sense. Dr. Howard was the scumbag behind everything, she’d been certain of it. How did the headmaster fit in?
She eyed his hands.
“Oh, looking at this?” he asked, holding up the large wooden thing. “My old cricket mallet. This is what we do with naughty children around here.”
“You lock them in file rooms?” She scoffed, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. It wasn’t a sharp metal tool of mutilation in his hand, but it looked like it would hurt all the same.
“No, we only do that to undercover federal agents we catch,” he replied, swinging his weapon around in a circle. “What are you—FBI? DEA? Come on, I’ll find out eventually.”
She shook her head. “You have me mistaken with someone else.”
Undercover agent rule number one: never reveal who you work for and for God’s sake, never break character. She wasn’t smart like her friend Baylor Burton, but at least she knew that much.
He suddenly swung the bat and whacked her on the shoulder, sending her careening into the file cabinets with an echoing clang. She stumbled around for a second as she leaned over and tried to gather herself. This would be a million times better for her if her hands weren’t tied up. She turned her eyes towards him.
“Care to call your boss and call off whatever raid you’ve been planning?” Dr. Byrd asked, holding the cell phone in front of her.
“I’m only sixteen. I don’t have a boss,” she said, closing her eyes as he smacked the wood against her thigh and sent her to her knees. That one had been on bare skin and was pretty painful. She winced but slowly got back to her feet.
“I’m going to give you some time to think about everything.” He nodded, backing up and smiling. “Then you better think long and hard about your next move, because mine is to break a few ribs.”
She stepped forward, but he slammed the door and locked it behind him. She couldn’t get a glimpse of what was outside. It was dark. Were they still on campus? Was she in some storage facility in the city? Where in the hell were they and what day was it? She’d be missed, and people would get hurt trying to find her.
She sighed and leaned against the door. This was a nightmare. This was why she was intelligence and not tactical.
She was left with only her thoughts and blood crusted hands for hours, maybe even a whole day. She thought about how she’d escape. She thought about Conrad’s notebook and what he’d w
ritten about her. Then her mind drifted to what he’d said to her. He really cared. And she knew that. She knew it and she’d still said ugly things to him. Then she pulled her weapon on him. Idiot.
The next time Dr. Byrd entered, she had a few questions for him.
“Was it about money?” she asked, coughing a couple of times. It had been a couple of days since she’d had anything to eat or drink. The air was so cold, dry, and stale in there. She was a little woozy.
“Money?” he asked, walking towards her. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious.
“Respect, then?” she inquired, shrugging her shoulders as her bloodied hands were still tied in front of her. “The need to display your dominance.”
He whacked her arm and she smashed into the cabinets, this time crumbling to the floor. She looked up at him and frowned, wobbling as she stood back up.
“So it is about dominance. That’s a new one.”
“Make the call,” he said, holding the phone out for her to grab.
She shook her head. “I could call my aunt but that’s about it.”
He cracked the wooden bat onto her leg and she dropped to the cold floor. She turned her eyes up to him, but he was already walking out before she could come up with anything good to say. She couldn’t think straight, and she didn’t know what his game was.
She closed her eyes and slept. Ideas came better to her when she was well rested.
He returned the next day and she somehow had a new-found energy. He took one step inside and she leapt from behind the door, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling back with her tied hands. He flew into the wall and smashed her against it a few times before leaning forward and flipping her weakened body to the floor. She was dehydrated and starving and smelled like urine. She just didn’t have it in her.
“Nice,” he choked, rubbing his throat as he circled her. “You almost signed a death sentence for a student.”
She lifted her head up and grimaced as she slowly sat and leaned back against a file cabinet. “Death sentence?”
“Yeah, we’re headed to New York for the UN Youth Council. I’m supposed to meet with our connection and make nice so I can cover Ben Howard’s ass and the mess he made in DC. If I don’t show up, Ben will give up one of the kids, and you know what happens when those suppliers get their hands on someone who can’t pay.”
George leaned forward.
“I think I’ll give them little Ashton Wynn first. She has enough money to have a casual heroin addiction,” he said, grinning. “People will buy it.”
“Just wait.” George sighed, groaning as she folded her knees underneath her and leaned against the cabinets as she slowly stood up, knees wobbling. This wasn’t Ashton’s fight. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to call off any raid that’s going to undo what I’ve put together over the past decade,” he said, looking incensed.
She tried to swallow, but she was too dehydrated to even clear her throat. The students on the Youth Council shouldn’t have to pay for this. And the Colombians wouldn’t be merciful. Rule number two: no one is innocent, sometimes sacrifices must be made.
She took a shallow breath and looked into his evil eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t as dedicated to her job as she had once thought. “There is no raid.”
Dr. Byrd folded his arms across his chest and paced around. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not here to bust you,” she wheezed, suddenly feeling light-headed. She’d exerted too much energy trying to attack him. Now she was confessing to everything. She didn’t join the Justice Department to execute kids, though, and if she didn’t talk that would be exactly what she was doing. Her body slid back to the floor.
He sighed, grabbed a water bottle out of his coat pocket, then threw it at her. Her tied hands fumbled around with the cap and she sucked down the water as quickly as she could. It felt cool and delicious running down her throat and filling her empty stomach.
“If you aren’t here to bust me then why did they send you to infiltrate my school?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
She caught her breath and wiped the water from her mouth with her taped, blood streaked hands. “Our main objective is to break connections that opiate-exporting countries are supplying. In this case, your supplier, the Colombians.”
His eyes flickered slightly. She knew he was upset that she was so onto him. She knew he was surprised that she’d discovered he was dealing with the Colombians. And she knew he’d be nervous to find out the extent of her knowledge of his little operation.
“So you’re here to find?”
“Your supplier.” She groaned, closing her eyes and shifting around on the hard concrete floor. “We aren’t here for you. I am not here for you. And frankly, I’m getting tired of getting the gaw damned shit kicked out of me all of the time. So how about this: you cut me in on ten percent of your take and I’ll leave your name completely out of it. No federal record, you get to keep your job. Come on.”
“How about this.” He sneered, towering over her. “You keep your little fucking mouth shut and I won’t kill any of the kids.”
“You aren’t a killer,” she said, not taking her eyes off of him.
“Don’t be so sure,” he muttered, glaring at her ominously.
She blinked a couple of times before she gasped and pressed back into the cabinets. Oh no. Oh God. “You… You killed Ross Quinton?”
“The little shit was just like you. Wanted money or he was going to the authorities. Young people today amaze me. It’s all about money—no integrity.”
“These kids trust you!” she shouted, leaning forward as her head spun a little. She swallowed and tried to remember her point. “You can’t…”
He grabbed the back of her hair, her head now bruised and aching from where he’d originally knocked her out, and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and cried out in pain as he pulled her out of the room.
Sunlight blinded her. She closed her eyes and turned her head. She tripped over the edge of an antique couch. Her eyes opened and adjusted to the mid-day brightness. They were in his office. He had a secret room right in his office? Why hadn’t anyone noticed this before? She began to understand why the DOJ had sent her in to check out the school. Trouble ran deep.
“Clean yourself up,” he ordered, throwing a wet hand towel at her. “We’re leaving for New York in thirty minutes. And don’t even think of running.”
She slowly wiped her face as she stared at him. “New York?”
“You’re the newest member of the UN Youth Council,” he said, setting a tray of cheese cubes obviously left over from some faculty meeting in front of her.
The faculty. Conrad. Was he missing her? Would he even care after the way she’d treated him?
“And eat those. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to straighten things out with our suppliers.”
She frowned but complied. She wasn’t thinking straight. The Youth Council was traveling today. It was Friday, so she’d been there since Tuesday without food or water. She knew one thing, though. He’d deliver on his threat if she didn’t do what he wanted.
She was just eating the last cube of cheese when he walked forward and grabbed her hands, flicking a knife open and cutting the tape and rope off. Then he shook his head at her.
“I have at least a dozen various weapons spread around. Try anything, and someone gets hurt. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He sneered, putting her red coat on her shoulders.
She nodded, red hair hanging straight over her sunken cheeks. He smiled and buttoned her coat for her, slinging her backpack on her shoulders. She winced as he held his arm out for the door.
“Try and run and you’ll have all of these children’s blood on your hands,” he muttered, pushing her out into the hallway and down the large staircase.
She’d been a prisoner before. A couple of times, actually. Her advantage, however, was that she rarely ever worked with a partner, and w
hen she did she knew it was duty first. This time she didn’t have a choice. These kids were totally innocent with their entire lives ahead of them. She had to do what she could to ensure their future. Screw rule number two.
She squinted in the sunlight and shivered as they walked to the parking lot towards the van that would take them to the train station. She spotted Conrad running towards them and shook her head slightly. He stopped running, looked a little hurt, then watched as she climbed into the Cadillac with Dr. Byrd and drove away, the van full of kids following. She saw his confused face as they pulled away. For all he knew, Dr. Byrd was on their side, helping to catch Dr. Howard.
He didn’t know his boss was part of a worldwide pyramid of illicit controlled substances and a lying murderous bastard.
Pretenses were kept, so they parked and got on the train with everyone else. They were in their own compartment to New York, but he never spoke so she had time to work things out a little bit. She had the chain of command figured out. Byrd got what he needed from his supplier, organized Howard to go and pick it up, and Christian was just a pawn selected by Howard to be his fall guy. She’d seen it before, but never this deeply involved in the administration. And were they buying the stuff already cut? That part didn’t make sense to her, but she figured it was just lack of nutrition causing her confusion.
“Drink more water,” Dr. Byrd ordered, handing her another bottled water. “I can’t have you fainting when we meet with my supplier.”
“We’re meeting them tonight?” she asked, a little confused. She’d expected some time to think of how she could break away and make a call to Nelson.
“You’re the one who scared them out of DC last weekend,” he sighed, sipping his drink. “Killed a lot of their buddies. They’ll be pleased when I give you over to them. I already gave them Whitman and Clancy, but they’ll love a fed.”
She shook her head as she looked out of the window. If she had her strength, she would have snapped his neck right there. He’d killed Ross Quinton himself, then given two boys over to the country notorious for hosting one on the world’s deadliest drug cartels. As it was, she could hardly lift the water bottle to her mouth.
The Widow: Federal Hellions Book 1 Page 26
