by R Weir
Chapter 50
The walk over to where Olivia was being held was quiet. Brushstroke and Valerie strolled side by side, while Hunter followed, Travis lingering behind, his gun held down at this side. The building she was confined in was the same one Hunter was incarcerated in, with another room and hallway dividing them. A fact Hunter did not know but did now. Whether it afforded him any type of option of getting them out of there would remain to be seen.
When the door opened, they let Hunter go in first. Olivia, happy to see a familiar face ran over to hug him. He embraced her back, happy she appeared unharmed.
“Are you here to take me home?” she asked, still clinging tightly.
“I’m sorry to say, not yet. But hopefully soon.”
He could feel the joy slither out of her, her body sulking from the news.
“Why not?”
“They want something from me. I’m now sure what. But I will do everything in my power to get you home as quickly as possible.”
She released Hunter; her face blanketed with concern. “What happened to Deion? They took him away and didn’t say why.”
“He’s home. They released him as a trade for me.”
“Why only him?”
“Leverage.” Hunter stopped, figuring more details would only frighten her. “But don’t worry. They have promised not to hurt you.” Hunter turned to face Brushstroke and Valerie. “Isn’t that right?”
“As long as he provides what I need, you’ll be safe,” replied Brushstroke in a less than reassuring tone, his cigar burning down to the end.
Hunter wasn’t completely certain he could believe the man. Once Brushstroke got what he wanted, all bets were off. Hunter knew he needed to continue thinking over options to at least get Olivia free of their clutches.
Olivia sighed. “It’s so boring here. There is no phone, no internet, no Netflix and a horrible selection of movies to watch.” She paused, tears filling her eyes. “I want to go home and see my family.”
Hunter hugged her again. He wasn’t certain it helped much, but knew she needed consoling. He had held her many times when she was only one, trying to fill the void of her absent father. Certain times, she would be crying and unhappy about events going on around her, or if she’d hurt herself in some way. It was a long time ago and a feeling he’d long since forgotten. It was painful not being able to see the youngster when he and Paige had broken up. But he had shielded himself ever since from those emotions, knowing fatherhood was likely not in the cards. Now he was back in her life again. He knew he had to find a way to protect this young lady from whatever evil the people around them had planned.
“It won’t be long, before you see a family member,” remarked Brushstroke. “In the meantime, we must discuss what job Hunter is required to accomplish to secure your release.”
Hunter looked Olivia in the eye and then whispered in her ear. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. Whatever it takes.” He then kissed the top of her head, before walking out, the door locked behind him.
“Let’s go back to my studio and discuss why you’re here,” declared Brushstroke, the stump of his cigar now tossed away.
The four of them headed back to the house. Along the way, Hunter studied and absorbed everything. The buildings, of which there were four, the sprawling landscape, the vehicles and the manpower, nearly all of it armed. From the Saskatchewan license plates he was certain they were in Canada, in a remote farm area. He saw a few trees and rolling hills in the distance, with snow on the higher peaks. The air was crisp and clean, far from any large city pollution. Only the smells of spring flowers starting to bloom and a few horses running loose out in the grassy fields. He memorized it all, hoping to use it when the time presented itself. But he needed to make certain Olivia was safe and with him when that happened. How he would accomplish this was still a mystery.
Now back inside the main structure, he was led to the studio, where Brushstroke worked. He had several paintings sitting on easels, in various stages of completion. A few finished works were mounted, others lied up and leaning against the wall. The man did an unbelievable amount of artwork. His works were of smiling people, peaceful landscapes and of violent, disturbing images. Peace turning to violence, possibly reflecting this man’s unstable psyche. His moods changing quickly; calm and then irrational. Displeasing him wouldn’t end well. Now all Hunter had to learn is what the man wanted and if he could provide it.
“Leave us,” ordered Brushstroke of Valerie and Travis.
“Is that wise?” wondered Valerie. “As you said Hunter can be dangerous, if unguarded.”
“We must talk business, man to man,” demanded Brushstroke with a tone of anger, before returning to a dulcet tone. “Taking action against me will only get the lovely young lady Olivia damaged. Hunter knows this, which will temper his aggressive nature. Isn’t that right?”
Hunter would have loved to strike out and prove him wrong but he knew now wasn’t the time. He nodded in agreement, Valerie and Travis leaving the two alone, closing the door behind them as they went just outside where they were ready to strike if called.
Brushstroke removed one of the partial paintings from the easel and replaced it with a blank canvas. He sat on his painting stool, grabbing his painter palette and a brush, applying fresh dabs of the primary colors to the palette. He glared at Hunter with one eye closed, sizing up the man before him, envisioning how to capture him.
“I’ve done my research on you, Hunter Divine,” he remarked, while blotting at the paint after wetting his brush. “Years of work as a US Marshal didn’t afford you much of a private life. Numerous affairs with women, including those you’ve worked with. It must have been a lonely…shallow life.”
A shiver went up Hunter’s spine knowing the creepy man had stalked him.
“I was hardly lonely,” disputed Hunter, standing up surveying the room.
“Bedding all those lovely ladies, doesn’t alleviate loneliness.”
Hunter shrugged. “It was necessary. Part of the life I had as a US Marshal. Settling down didn’t make sense.” It had been his defense for many years now, though not a solid one.
“An excuse it would seem. I’m sure many agents in the service are married and even have children.”
“And many are divorced too,” countered Hunter knowing the statistics for law enforcement officers was high. “I didn’t want to create that hardship for a woman I loved.”
Brushstroke continued to paint without losing rhythm. “I guess your wife was the job then.”
“Possibly. I was passionate about the work.”
“And then you had it taken away from you. Ripped from your life because of some rich powerful man whose kid died on your watch.”
Hunter knew the story, having lived it. He didn’t care to drudge up the past, wondering why this man was bringing it up. “What is your point?”
“That your wife was taken away from you. The Marshal service life you led, was now gone for good.”
Hunter grew tired of this line of questioning. “Is this a mind fucking your attempting? If so, it’s not going to work. Why don’t you get around to explaining why you went to all the trouble to bring me here to Canada?”
Brushstroke laughed, cleaning his brush, before mixing a couple of colors together until it was exactly right.
“Smart man, figuring out the country you’re in. Too bad it won’t do you any good.”
“Come now…Brushstroke,” Hunter said, dragging out the moniker with a spiteful tone. “Paint me a fucking picture already of what the hell I’m doing here?” Hunter’s anger was growing.
Brushstroke ignored the anger, feeling no fear of the man before him.
“How would you like to return to the duties of a US Marshal?”
Though it would have been great to return to the job he enjoyed, Hunter knew that reality had been ripped from him to the point that it wasn’t possible. And he doubted this man had any power to make it happen and was only teasing him.<
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“Not sure how that would happen,” he stated with a frown. “Unless you can turn back time.”
“I’m a powerful man, but not blessed with magical skills,” replied Brushstroke his eyes on the canvas. “But I can give you a taste of your old job.”
Hunter crossed his arms and sighed. “Doing what?”
“I want you to track someone down for me. A person you had contact with years ago as a US Marshal. I need you to find this person and bring them to me. Or more precisely have one of your people find them and bring them here. Athena would be a good choice. Valerie would be thrilled to see her again.” His smile while he spoke the words came across as creepy.
“You’re kidding. I’ve been out of the service for nearly five years. How am I supposed to find someone for you?” Hunter was wanting to lash out, his anger building.
“Keep your cool,” stated Brushstroke, while pointing his brush at Hunter, he had noticed his building rage. “You know what WITSEC is?”
Hunter took a couple of deep breaths before answering. “The Witness Protection Service.”
“Which you worked in as part of your duties?” His hand worked furiously at the canvas.
“Yes. But it’s been many years.”
“Hardly my problem. That is the task at hand. Find this man in Witness protection and bring him here. Only then will I allow you and the lovely Olivia to leave.”
Hunter smirked at the idea of the chore given him. “And what if I can’t find this person?”
“Then as I mentioned, the lovely Olivia will get a taste of horror no woman should ever encounter at her young age. Hopefully I don’t need to paint a picture of what I mean and how capable I am of this after what you witnessed earlier.”
Hunter had no problem imaging what he meant and didn’t care to dwell on it. He’d seen the horror on the monitor of the torture the two men had gone through. Leaving little doubt Brushstroke had no morals to prevent him from hurting her.
“Who do you want me to find?”
“Adin Dillenberg.”
Hunter thought for a minute, searching his memories of the past. It had been many years, but he did recall the name. A witness he had helped find a new life. It then dawned on him who the man painting before him was. He decided to hold the information in reserve for now.
“And who is Adin to you?” inquired Hunter, though he was certain of the answer.
Brushstroke continued to paint, keeping quiet. He mixed several colors together until they were the correct shade. He worked quickly, creating the background, dabbing a little more color to the mix making it more to his liking. He was inspired to finish up his latest masterpiece in short order. The silence lasting several minutes.
“Come on Reinbach,” proclaimed Hunter, growing tired of waiting, deciding to call out the man’s real last name. “I know he was your brother-in-law and testified against you and your organization.”
Brushstroke showed his white teeth with a joyous grin. “Excellent Hunter. I had a feeling you might remember who I was once I mentioned Adin’s name.”
“You’ve obviously had some work done on your face and body. It was familiar but I couldn’t quite place you.”
“Subtle changes, makes me appear younger. A new hair color and contacts to change the eyes. Liposuction to siphon off the extra weight, nearly a hundred pounds worth. Weight I’ve kept off through discipline. My evolution made me inconspicuous to most people.”
“Good enough for Conn Ives Reinbach to hide from the authorities for all these years,” remembered Hunter from the indictment he’d read years ago. “Reinbach the German gangster who ran a huge criminal empire around the world, with seeds in the US. Seeds it took the US government and the FBI years of investigation to bring down.”
“It’s nice to be famous, except for when the law is after you. Fortunately, I was able to escape and disappear.”
Hunter knew the story. Reinbach had escaped under the cover of darkness and possibly a bribe or two to help him slither away. He had been on the FBI’s most wanted list for years now, no one knowing where he went. Likely moving around, using his wealth that was stashed in countries where it was safe. His criminal empire still operating, mostly by those who had been under him. But he may have remained in control, calling shots in the background, while keeping a low profile. Then reports came he had been killed in a car bomb. Death at the hands of those he worked for. A ruse it would appear, the evidence of this there before Hunter.
“And you believe I can find Adin for you?”
“I do. You’re a resourceful man. You were his handler at one time and were aware of his new identity and city he was living in.”
“Which could have changed since then. We’re talking about over five years ago.”
Reinbach shrugged, not caring. It wasn’t his problem. Hunter would have to come up with the answers, or else.
“And you went to all this trouble, kidnapping two kids to bring me here.” Hunter was still trying to understand. “An elaborate ploy on your part which makes no sense.”
“Was I supposed to call you and ask for your help?” countered Reinbach with a smirk. “I had no idea where you were. But your name came up in the research when we started to put together this plan. We dug around and found out about your past with Paige Hawkins. We were certain you’d come running when she called. If she didn’t bring you in, then we would have told her to track you down as part of the ransom. Though it shouldn’t have taken several tries to get those kids. My fault for not taking charge up front.”
Hunter was perplexed. How the hell did they learn about his relationship to Paige? This was way before the social media days when every detail of people’s private lives were on full display for the world to see. Then it dawned on him, where that information came from. A suspicion he’d had, now to be proven correct.
“Crap,” yelled Hunter.
“It would appear you figured out how I learned about you and your past love Paige?” announced Reinbach, reading the visual cues from his face.
There was a knock on the door, the voice of Reinbach’s assistant Norvin saying he had a visitor. The door opened and in walked Isiah Sellers, his pompous face smiling. The birth father of Olivia in living color, apparently a part of the operation.
“Nice to see you again,” he proclaimed to Hunter. “I’m pleased in your part of reuniting me with my daughter.”
Rage filled Hunter’s soul.
Chapter 51
“You son-of-a-bitch!” yelled Hunter.
He lunged at the man, taking a powerful swing, striking the smaller man in the jaw, dropping him to the ground. Hunter hung over him, like the famous photo of Ali over Foreman at the end of The Rumble in the Jungle. He waited, hoping Isiah would get up, in hopes of popping him again. Instead he lay there, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, holding his hands up in surrender.
“You pig,” yelled Hunter. “How could you sell out your child for this maniac’s vengeful purposes.”
It took a minute for the cobwebs to clear. “She’s my daughter. I have a right to see her.”
“Not this way. Do you know what you’ve put her through? And her parents? I’m talking her real parents. The ones who raised her and were there for her every day.”
Sellers showed no remorse. “It was the only way.”
“Wonderful,” called out Reinbach, slapping his brush hand on his knee. “I love bringing old foes together. What a painting this would make. Hunter standing over Isiah in total control.”
Hunter backed up, worried his actions would have consequences. He rubbed at his right fist, which was sore from the blow. His knuckles would show bruising soon. But it was worth it to see the idiot father lying on the floor in total surrender, spitting blood from his mouth, hand checking his jaw.
“You’re a creep Sellers,” stated Hunter, his finger pointed. “If you believe this will get you close to your daughter then you maybe more insane that old Brushstroke here.”
Sellers worked hi
s 6’1” out of shape frame to his feet. Grabbing a hanky from his back pocket, he soaked up the blood from his mouth, while making sure he had all his teeth. Swelling and bruising starting to show on his cheek.
“It was the only way to see her again,” remarked Sellers. “She was my baby once and that bitch Paige always blocked me from coming back into her life. Now I can at least visit her. Talk with her. See how much she’s grown. Build a relationship.”
Hunter cringed at the words. “You do realize this man here, is using her against me for his own personal revenge tour. If I don’t do as he says and find his brother-in-law, he threatens to do horrible things to her.”
Sellers looked at Reinbach, surprise on his face. He didn’t realize this was part of the plan.
“Isiah don’t sweat it,” noted Reinbach, who put down his painting palette and brush. “Hunter won’t let anything happen to your sweet little girl. He’ll do what I ask, and she’ll be safe. And you’ll get to see her again. An action her mother never allowed. We all will win in the end.”
“Don’t believe a word of it,” countered Hunter. “If I put my foot down right now and said I’m not going to help, he would parade her in here and hurt her to make his point.”
Reinbach walked over to Hunter and whispered in his ear. “Say it again and I’ll show you I mean business big boy.”
Hunter wanted to put his hands on Reinbach’s throat and squeeze the life out of him. But he was certain Travis or Valerie would be in the room in a flash to stop him. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Irrational actions weren’t going to help him or Olivia.
Walking over to Sellers, Reinbach put a hand on his shoulder. “Go and speak to your daughter.” He called out to his assistant, who came in. “Norvin, show Isiah here to the guest room so he can have a happy reunion with his beautiful daughter. While Hunter and I finalize our agreement.”
Sellers left, with one last stare at Hunter, who tried to let him know through his eyes he wasn’t lying about the danger Olivia was in. Once alone, Reinbach returned to his stool picking up his paint palette and brush, staring at his work on the canvas, deciding what still needed to be done to finish.
