Shadow Pawn, page 2
No straight answers were going to be forthcoming from her. He was confident in making that prediction already, after less than a minute.
That didn’t prevent him from asking, “How do you know me?”
“I don’t, except by reputation. And quite a reputation it is too. Top scoring sniper on your team. An impressive number of confirmed kills.”
What the— No one should have access to that information.
“Your record was stellar…right up until the end, that is,” she continued.
Jaw clenched, he drew in a breath through his nose at the reminder of what he’d rather forget.
Who the hell was this woman who knew too much about him?
Was she with the military? Or the government? Maybe one of the three-letter organizations.
That wouldn’t make him trust her. Far from it.
He drew in a breath. “Was there a purpose to your call?” Other than a trip down memory lane he’d rather not take.
“Yes, in fact there is. I have a proposition for you, Master Chief.”
Her addressing him as such put a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe he should change that order to a beer and a shot instead of seltzer.
“I’m no longer addressed by that rank,” he reminded her, though he was sure she knew that already.
“Yes, but you could be again.”
His nostrils flared with the angry breath he drew in at her insinuation that she could perform the miracle that would turn his upside down life, right side up again.
“Look, I don’t know who you are but—”
“I don’t expect you to blindly trust me, Master Chief. I’m prepared to offer a show of good faith. After you see I’m serious and can do for you what I say I can, we can talk business.”
“What kind of business?”
“I’ll be in touch again. Have a good dinner, Master Chief. Enjoy that salad.” She disconnected the call.
He stared at the cell in his hand through narrowed eyes.
Damn smart phones. Who knew who was spying on them all? Obviously, this woman had been.
He tossed it on the table, hoping she’d enjoyed monitoring him during his riveting day of handyman work.
When he got home, that sucker was going to get powered down and spend the night in his truck. Tomorrow, he’d head to the store and see about getting a flip-phone. But they could probably monitor that too.
The waitress approached the table with his meal, but dammit all, he’d lost his appetite.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
He’d hit the bottle pretty hard right after what happened had happened. First it was just an escape. To forget. But later, it started to feel too much like he’d needed it.
That had scared him enough he’d taken steps to turn his life around. He hadn’t had a drink of hard liquor in months. And only had an occasional beer once in a while.
But after all the bull shit of today, the old craving was back. And damned if he didn’t give in to it.
“Yeah. Draft beer and a shot of whisky.” He eyed the cell when the waitress left and scowled. “You hear that, Charley? Three months without a drop of hard alcohol and one call from you and I’m double fisting. You happy about that?”
He imagined her smiling. It didn’t help his mood…
An hour later, he stood outside the door of his apartment, a six-pack of beer he’d bought from the gas station in one hand and the box filled with the leftovers from his salad in the other as he juggled the key in the lock.
Inside, he flipped on the light and set down what he carried.
Reaching for the fridge door, he stopped when a thick envelope on the counter caught his eye.
He picked it up. It was heavy in his hand.
Frowning, he slipped a finger beneath the flap and peered inside, his eyes widening when he saw the stack of bills.
A white piece of paper stood out against the green cash. He slid it out and unfolded it.
My show of good faith. Enough to cover next month’s rent plus. Yours to keep. Consider it up-front payment for your time speaking with me when I call again. And no, I’m not happy my call upset you. But whether you drink or not is your responsibility and your choice. It has nothing to do with me. I’ll be in touch. Charley.
Mother fucker!
Rage rose hot within him.
In the old days, fueled by alcohol and anger, he would have punched a wall. And broken his hand.
Not now. He couldn’t afford it. He’d lost his health insurance along with his career.
Scowling, he shoved the six-pack and takeout box onto a shelf in the fridge, but he didn’t take out a beer as her little censure about whose fault his drinking was nagged at him.
He slammed the fridge door shut then turned back toward the envelope.
Flipping through the bills again, he counted them.
It was more than enough for rent plus the tires he needed for the truck.
All for what? Taking the time to talk to her on the phone?
He took the cell out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter, eyeing it like it was alive. Wasn’t it though?
At least the surveillance technology inside sure was.
He’d forgotten to leave it in the truck. He supposed that was a good thing, considering she’d paid him so handsomely in advance to take her next call.
He’d listen to her. But that didn’t mean he’d believe a word that came out of her mouth. Or that he’d take her up on whatever proposition she made him.
Motion caught his eye as a cockroach shot across the wall and disappeared behind his single cabinet.
He eyed the stack of cash, sitting so incongruously on the cheap, chipped countertop in the one room shithole of a rental. It was a far cry from what he used to be able to afford. Before the military had stripped him of everything he’d worked for.
Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he considered the situation. All she knew. All he didn’t know. What she could do for him. What he’d have to do for her—or whomever she worked for—in exchange.
Maybe he would take her up on her offer.
Fuck it. What did he have to lose? There was nothing left.
CHAPTER THREE
Angela awoke with a start and, for a few short moments as she hovered in that space between sleep and consciousness, forgot where she was and what had happened.
Those few seconds of peace ended as the panic slammed into her along with her memories.
Sitting up, she flipped back the plush comforter and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her bare feet sunk into the carpet.
People paid hundreds of dollars a night for accommodations this lush. But she'd give every dollar she had in exchange for her freedom from her gilded cage. Give anything except what her captors wanted.
When she moved from the bedroom to the mini bar area, she saw someone had left a newspaper creased neatly in half next to the coffee maker and electric kettle provided for her use. It was all so very civilized—if you didn't take into account the forced imprisonment.
She unfolded the paper and drew back as her own face stared back at her from the printed page. Her very limited Chinese wasn't good enough to read the headline above the picture or the article below it.
Not even her name—Angela Lewis—was spelled out, but the photo was clearly her. It was the head shot from the corporate website that went along with her bio as CEO.
The photo had been taken in the good old days when getting her hair professionally straightened regularly and her nails done hadn't felt like a luxury. Then, that had been just two of the many things on her never ending To-Do list.
She tangled her hands in the thick coarse hair that had since reverted back to its natural state. A mass of wild black curls.
Her lack of available hair and nail services was the least of her concerns. The article was what had her tearing at her hair.
What did the article say about her?
Lies—that she was dead.
Facts—that she'd been missing for weeks. Or maybe closer to a month. She’d lost track.
Housekeeping came in twice daily to straighten up and bring her food. So far, the staff had been limited to two women. Both spoke English.
Could one of them be convinced to translate the article for her? The women no doubt worked for the people holding her here. But what harm would interpreting the newspaper do?
Someone had obviously wanted her to see it. They’d left it here for her.
One of the women always treated her with kindness. But the other one was silent and stern, getting in and out quickly with as few words as possible.
Angela had a couple of things of some value in her possession to use as currency for a bribe if it came to that. Her hospitable kidnappers had kindly transported her suitcase along with her from the airport.
She tried to draw in a breath and felt the familiar tightness in her chest at the memory. She had to have faith.
Faith in the person she'd left in charge of the most important thing in her life. Faith in her board of directors to protect the company while she was gone. Faith that this nightmare would all end. One day.
But how? How would it end when she had no doubt her captors could hold out as long as necessary to achieve their goal?
She'd held strong so far, but what would happen if they stopped playing nice? Would she be so strong in the face of physical or even mental torture?
The corporate training retreats weren't designed to educate the executive staff on how to withstand torture. Or even how to evade capture. Perhaps they should have been.
But no. Lack of training aside, there were two things on her side.
One, she was strong. She had to be. When she was clawing her way to the top of her field, only two black women had ever led a Fortune 500 company. She was now the third. That had to count for something.
The second thing helping her hold fast was her goal to get home to the person who needed her most.
Frustrated, she slapped the paper down on the counter and glanced around. Sitting and waiting wasn't in her nature.
She was on the top floor of a hotel facing the Huangpu River in a room with windows that didn't open or even break—she'd tried—so she couldn’t even signal someone on the ground.
One of the amenities listed in the brochure she’d found in a drawer in the desk was soundproof rooms. For an upscale hotel, its rooms functioned pretty damn well as a prison.
Of course, the phone touted to be included in each room was missing in hers. No surprise there. But there had to be some detail they'd missed.
If not some way for her to get outside, then some way for her to get a message out. In the laundry. In the garbage.
Hell, maybe even down the drain.
Wait. That might work.
If she managed to clog the pipes on one of the lower floors and the hotel called in a plumber, would he find a note if she protected it with a plastic bag?
Would he bring her note to the local authorities? Did whoever was holding her own the hotel and the police as well? It was possible.
All she knew was she was going to find a way out of there somehow. Too much waited for her back home to give up now.
She just hoped she didn't die trying.
CHAPTER FOUR
The mysterious Charley didn’t call that night, nor the next morning.
By the end of the next day, after answering every damn call from every blocked and unknown number, all of which he would have normally ignored, Adam was good and annoyed with Charley and whatever game she was playing.
He’d been forced to field unwanted calls from a scammer’s computer telling him he was going to be arrested by the IRS, from a woman who insisted he needed his chimney cleaned even though he had no chimney, and from a man who wanted to warn him that the extended warranty on his vehicle was in danger of running out, even though he’d bought his truck used from a teammate for cash.
Walking into the bar after a day spent fighting off Mrs. Tuttle’s advances and trying to get the tire shop to cut him a break on new tires for the truck, he was frazzled and done.
He couldn’t make Charley call him, but he could have the bartender make him a drink. But as he stepped up to the bar, he found himself ordering a cranberry juice with seltzer and a turkey burger instead of a beer and a shot. He felt the sense of calm that decision afforded settle over him.
The bartender threw some ice and a lime wedge into a glass and then poured the juice and seltzer.
Adam took the glass and was about to head for his usual table in the corner when the bartender said, “Hey. Your name’s Adam, right?”
He turned back. “Yeah.”
The guy pivoted to retrieve a brown envelope from next to the cash register. He slid it across the scarred surface of the bar. “A woman dropped this off for you an hour or so ago.”
A woman? Who the fuc—
Charley. The name swept through his mind like wildfire.
He reached for the envelope and schooled his expression, keeping his reaction in check.
“Yeah? What did she look like?” he asked as he broke the seal and peeked inside.
It was a mother fucking cell phone.
Of course, it was. It made sense. Charley, whoever she was, was controlling this transaction. Her phone. Her rules.
He glanced up and saw the bartender grin. “She looked like someone you’d want to talk to. Maybe get to know a whole lot better.”
The way he’d answered the question told him more than the words themselves. So Charley in person was as intriguing as she was on the call.
Interesting.
Covert operators were usually one of two types. Plain and non-descript, meant to blend in and go unnoticed. Or hot as hell. Their looks used as a weapon, or a tool. Meant to distract or lure in and destroy the target.
Judging by the bartender’s comment, Charley was of the latter variety of spy. If that’s what she was. He didn’t know who she was or who she worked for.
But he did have a phone.
He folded the top of the envelope over and tipped his head toward the bartender. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll send the waitress over with your order as soon as it’s up.”
Adam nodded and headed for the dim far corner. Once there he glanced around.
The place contained the usual crowd—or lack thereof.
Besides the bartender and the waitress there would also be the cook in the back.
As for patrons, there was the same wobbly old man who sat at the end of the bar every afternoon nursing a blackberry brandy. And he also recognized the woman who ran the nail salon in town as she sat and sipped on a low carb beer while making small talk with the waitress.
No one in there even glanced in his direction, not even the waitress who was supposedly going to be bringing over his order shortly.
Happy for the lack of attention, he slipped his hand inside the envelope and pulled out the cell phone.
After checking inside for anything he might have missed, he tossed the empty envelope onto the table and turned the cell over in his hand.
It wasn’t his first phone, but it was certainly his most mysterious. Learning nothing from just looking at the non-descript device, he supposed it was time to turn it on.
Curiosity and anticipation mingled within him as he pressed and held the power button, bringing the screen to life.
The black screen brightened as a graphic of an eagle appeared, only to be consumed by a burst of animated fire. He watched in fascination as from that image emerged a different bird. A burning phoenix that rose from the flames to fly away.
The sequence ended with a static logo as the screensaver. An anchor, trident and phoenix arranged too similarly to the Navy SEAL insignia for it not to be intentional.
He blew out a low curse beneath his breath.
Who were these people?
The cell vibrated in his hand. She knew exactly when he’d powered on the phone. Whoever this woman was, she had some damn good tech toys.
He muttered another curse, hating being in the dark as he poked at the screen to answer the call. “Cute cartoon.”
She laughed softly. “Thought you might like that.”
“Did you do that just for me?” he asked, hoping to keep control of the conversation. Maybe get her to spill something.
“Actually, no. So, how was your day?” she asked as if this weren’t the strangest conversation he’d ever had.
“Just peachy, thanks. Yours?” he returned in a tone that no doubt had him sounding like a smart-ass.
“Concerning,” she answered.
This was new. “Oh?”
“I’m hoping you can help me with that.”
“I’ll do my best. What’s up? Your closet door sticking too?” he asked with a good dose of attitude to remind her he knew damn well she was monitoring his calls and he didn’t like it.
“Not quite. But I’m thinking your skills as a handyman might come in handy, so to speak.”
“Is that so?” He shook his head, letting out a short laugh.
It was hard to take this woman seriously as she spoke to him in riddles. Hell, even without Charley and her sex-operator voice, this situation was too strange to not have a certain level of humor to it.
“Have you ever been to China, Adam?”
He had no doubt she knew everywhere he’d ever been. Even the places he wasn’t supposed to be, so he decided he might as well answer honestly.
Besides, the Navy gave up their power over him when they kicked him out. Or rather, forced his resignation. He owed them nothing and that included his continued discretion about where he’d been in the world on their behalf.
“Officially? No. But we uh, trained, shall we say, in the waters off the coast.” Trained. Spied. Whatever. “Why?” he asked.
“The job is in China. In and out. Fast and uncomplicated. Just how you like it,” she cooed.
He lifted a brow at her words as much as her suggestive tone.
If this woman and how much she knew about him wasn’t as scary as fuck, he might consider her sexy. But as things stood, he wouldn’t screw her with someone else’s dick.
