In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite), page 24
“Here’s the way it’s going to work, JP,” Brooks said. “You’re going to set up a meet with Frank. You need a nice isolated spot—”
“Boyle’s going to set the terms—”
“Your job is to make sure you can get a shot at him,” Brooks interrupted.
That’s what JP figured was going on. “He’ll know what I’m doing.”
“That’ll make it more challenging, won’t it?”
“What about Abby?”
“She’ll be safe with me until you come back. If you don’t, she’s dead.”
“What about my son and my brother?” Abby sounded surprisingly in control. But he could hear the undertones of fury. And fear.
“That’s up to JP.”
“Ron could shoot Cole and Steve. Or JP could accidentally hurt—”
Brooks laughed. “JP doesn’t have that type of accident, do you? JP’s one of the best. Better than Wade, better than Frank.”
This was definitely going where he didn’t want it to go. Abby did not need to hear this.
He had to get Brooks to talk about what he’d done, not what JP and Wade did for the Agency. “The job in Jordan. That’s why you picked us, isn’t it? The report you filled out on the op after it went to hell would make sense if you used us.”
“Wade always said you were a quick study.”
“I’ll take care of Frank as soon as I get the boy and his uncle to safety.”
“You’re not in any position to negotiate the terms here,” Brooks replied. “I call the shots. You do as you’re told. Now, hand Abby what you found in the house.”
JP waited a second, hoping Brooks would move his pistol away from her. If he could just distract the man long enough to get her out of the car and send the pictures on his cell to Ethridge.
“I said, give her what you found.”
JP reached inside his jeans’ pocket and pulled out the note. He turned slightly to hand it to Abby, in an attempt to see as much of Brooks in the backseat as he could, hoping for an opportunity to make his move. But all he needed to see was that Brooks did, indeed, have his gun aimed at her head.
Abby took the paper.
“Hand it back to me, over your shoulder.”
She did as ordered.
A moment passed. “This is in code,” Brooks said.
JP didn’t bother to answer. He heard the crumpling sound of paper as Brooks wadded up the note.
“Call Frank, set up the meet,” Brooks ordered.
There was nothing JP could do without risking Abby. He called Frank Boyle.
It rang several times before Frank answered. “Found it?” he asked.
“I have it.”
“What is it?”
“A note.”
“Gotta hand it to Wade,” Frank said. “No high-tech stuff, but he was detail-oriented. Bring it to the electrical substation on County 45, six miles west of the freeway.”
“Let the boy and his uncle go.”
“After.”
“Let me talk to them.”
“The boy’s calm. He thinks we’re playing a game. Let’s don’t upset him. Abby wouldn’t like that,” Frank chuckled. “Let’s make it…oh, eight o’clock.”
JP heard the line go dead. It would be dark by eight. Boyle planned to use the night as cover.
“Is Cole okay? My brother?”
“They’re fine,” JP said, knowing they could actually be dead.
In the backseat, Brooks shifted. “Where?”
“The substation, on the county road west of the interstate,” JP replied.
“When?”
“Eight.”
“We have plenty of time, then.”
“Time for what?” Abby asked. “The substation is only a few miles away.”
“Start driving,” Brooks said.
“Where? It’s too early,” she said.
“Go under the overpass. I’ll tell you where to turn.”
Abby pulled out. There was no traffic, not on the freeway and not on the county road. They were headed west.
Brooks had forgotten the phone. All JP needed was a chance, just one.
Brooks rolled down his window. But JP didn’t dare risk making any noise sending the pictures to Ethridge, not with the laser on Abby’s neck. A smoky smell filled the car.
“There goes your proof,” Brooks said.
One look in the side view mirror and JP watched the small paper, engulfed in flames, hit the road behind them and scatter in a burst of flying sparks.
He pretended to be upset. “Why the hell did you—”
“Here,” Brooks interrupted, ignoring his outburst. There was a dirt road running to the right. “Turn here and drive until I tell you to stop.”
Silence stretched as Abby turned and slowed to handle the bumpy road.
“Now,” Brooks said finally. “Hand over your cell phone. Carefully.”
Shit. He’d have nothing. Not Wade’s note, not even a picture of it.
“Now, JP.”
And so he handed over the last hope of clearing his name.
The dirt road dead-ended at another dirt road, more of a track, where a large SUV came into sight.
“Stop.”
“What are we doing here?” Abby asked.
“You know, don’t you, JP?” Brooks asked.
He did. Brooks wanted Frank gone. Dead. Whatever his boss’s role in the events that had destroyed Wade and JP, Brooks didn’t want anyone to be able to tie him to a single thing. And he wanted JP to do the job.
“I bet sweet little Abby doesn’t know, do you?”
Brooks would tell her. Tell her and destroy what little she had left of the man she’d once loved. And there would be no chance for him. For them.
Reality was worse than a kick in the balls.
And if everything worked out as Brooks intended, only Brooks would walk away alive.
“Your dear departed husband was our top man,” Brooks said, his tone mocking. “And the best shot. That is, until he recruited your friend here.” He paused. “Wade wanted a Delta sniper. Did you know that they’re called long-gunners? Their job is to watch for days, sometimes weeks, get to know their quarry, then blow their brains out. JP’s much better than Wade ever was. He’s a master assassin.”
Even in the semidarkness, JP saw Abby flinch, saw her turn toward him, expecting him to deny the truth.
But he’d tried so hard not to lie to her. He let the ugliness of Brooks’s words rip open the distance between them, widening it irreversibly. He couldn’t look at her face, couldn’t see how she’d reacted. And he refused to explain, or make excuses. It was what it was.
All he could do was save her, her son, and her brother, by doing what Brooks wanted. For that, she might be willing to look at him with something other than utter horror.
Maybe.
…
Assassin. The word sounded wrong. Out of place. Out of character.
Wade. JP. Assassins.
The secrets, the lies, all because of this one word.
She tried to wrap her mind around such a crazy idea, tried to think of when she’d seen an indication of it and totally missed it. But she couldn’t.
And now Cole’s life, Steve’s life, depended on that very, terrible thing the two men she loved were—assassins.
Yes, she had loved Wade. And she did love JP. No point in denying it. No matter what they’d done. It had to be some sort of flaw in her, something that drew her to men like that.
Apparently all it took was complete ignorance.
Or denial?
“You’re going to get a .338 Lapua with a FLIR scope, just like yours, from my car. It’s not loaded,” Brooks said. “No point in trying anything. Get out and bring it back here.”
JP nodded. He never once looked at her, wouldn’t even turn his head. His jaw was clenched, his profile hard, intense. Did he really think she could condemn him, repudiate him, over a single horrible word?
“You and Wade, always such qualms about collateral damage. That was something you never understood—that I could never afford the luxury. And I certainly can’t now.”
Without comment, JP got out, walked to the SUV, grabbed something from the backseat, and turned, holding a rifle in a camo cover.
When he climbed back in the car, Brooks said, “Take it out.”
Abby didn’t dare look at JP. She was afraid he would make his move and she’d flinch, giving him away. He took the rifle, a big one with a scope, out of its protective cover with the easy movements of longtime practice.
Delta, he’d said. Delta Force.
“Drive, Abby,” Brooks said finally. “I’ll tell you which way to go.”
Still JP did nothing. It was like waiting for a snake to strike. The rifle cover lay on the floor at his feet, the rifle cradled across his thighs, pointing toward the door. She could see it even without glancing down.
Brooks ordered her to drive to within a mile of the meeting place and pull off the narrow track. The last light had faded from the sky. When she stopped the car beside a cluster of hardwoods, he said, “Put it in park, roll down the window, and turn off the engine.” He got out, the little red light steady on her.
Standing just beyond her window, far enough away that he didn’t have to bend to see her or JP, who was still in the front seat, he said, “JP, get out.”
“I need the ammo,” JP replied.
Brooks threw something beyond the car, into the woods, on JP’s side. “You got it,” he said.
JP turned back toward the windshield. “Trust me,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “Do whatever you have to do. Stay alive. I’ll get them back, I promise.”
“Get out!” Brooks shouted.
“Remember Ethridge,” JP added, turning away. “Trust me.”
From her position in the driver’s seat, she saw him lift the rifle, open the door, and get out. She couldn’t see his face, just the relaxed grip he kept on the rifle.
“Back here. One hour,” Brooks said. “That’s all you have if you want her to live.”
JP didn’t turn, or hesitate, just kept walking away. A deadly stranger, a professional killer, holding the instrument of his trade.
She should be sickened. She should be horrified.
She waited for revulsion to sweep through her. But it never did.
Instead, she felt a trickle of hope. Hope that JP, with his training and experience, could end this nightmare, and keep them alive.
On the heels of that hope came profound terror. Terror that they’d miscalculated the evil surrounding them.
And as he disappeared into the trees, she felt an even greater terror.
That she’d never see him again.
…
Even though it was almost completely dark, it took JP only seconds to find the box of ammo in the weeds. By then, Brooks had already ordered Abby to drive away.
He didn’t want to think about her reaction to Brooks’s over-the-top description of what he and Wade did, so he ruthlessly pushed that image away. But other images, of her in the barn, the sunlight shining on her and Cole, her laughter at unexpected moments, the look in her eyes as he’d made love to her—those he clung to. Clung to those for sanity. To get him through this.
Alone in the rapidly fading light, he quickly scanned his location. He had never completed an op stateside—it wasn’t in the Agency’s jurisdiction. But he knew this area. Silently, he thanked Wade for insisting he visit and understand the land close to his family. Wade must already have suspected Frank. That was why he’d wanted to show JP around, to give his family a fighting chance if things went wrong.
Damn. How could he ever have thought the man could be disloyal to him or his country? Everything he’d done was to protect those he loved. And he’d died doing just that.
It was up to JP now. Up to him to salvage the situation, to make it all work. To protect Wade’s family. Any way he could.
He opened the box he held in his hands. His heart plummeted to his stomach.
The damn bastard.
Brooks had given him a single bullet.
…
The minutes dragged by in slow motion. Brooks wouldn’t let Abby start the car again. The interior was getting hot, stuffy. Stifling. A trickle of sweat rolled down her chest, another down her right temple. He must have been sweltering, too, because he finally ordered her back out of the car. They waited at the edge of the woods as dark enshrouded them.
She needed a miracle, but Brooks, silent and sinister, gave her no opening to run. Finally, out of nervous desperation, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
He kept quiet for what seemed like an eternity, then finally said, “The opportunity for a fortune. Isn’t that what anyone would grab?”
She ignored his question. “And Ron—Boyle? Why is he involved?”
“Boyle’s not used to staying put. We gave him a new identity and he got tired of it. Said the backwoods weren’t for him. His skills were still good, so he started marketing them. We decided we’d both benefit by working together.”
“And Wade? What did he have to do with it?”
“Nothing. I have no idea how he stumbled onto Boyle, but he did. Found him in this Godforsaken backwater when he decided to settle down here. Then he started asking questions. Wade with a bone to pick was a real nuisance.”
“So you killed him, just like that.”
“We let it play out a while, but Boyle said he asked too many questions.” Brooks shook his head. “Wade was stubborn. There was nothing else to be done.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact. As if killing an innocent man was nothing to him. She remembered how Wade had looked in his casket. “You tortured him first.”
“Wade wasn’t supposed to make it home. I’d told Boyle to make it clean—take Wade and JP out at the same time he dealt with our last op. But Boyle missed them both, so he came home and told Wade he wanted to talk about the old days.” Brooks shook his head. “Stupid strategy. He thought he could force Wade to tell him what he had on us. Wade was always tougher and a better operative than Boyle. He got away.”
Oh, God. Wade.
“Where did you find the note?” Brooks asked.
She didn’t want to answer, but it made no difference now. “In the house. In a picture frame.”
Brooks shook his head. “Hell.”
She had to force her next words past the constriction in her throat. “You killed a good man, and you’re letting Boyle threaten my family.” Anger and fear threaded their way through her at the thought of Cole, so afraid. “You have betrayed your country.”
“Such indignation,” he said, a mixture of humor and disbelief in his tone. “You really had no idea what Wade did for a living, did you?”
She refused to answer, and Brooks laughed. Then, as the silence grew oppressive, as she tried to stop her careening imagination, she realized she should have known.
Maybe she had known all along. At least subconsciously.
Why else hadn’t she pressed Wade about what he did? Why else had she been so easily dissuaded from asking the tough questions? Had she somehow feared the answers?
And JP. She’d seen him, witnessed firsthand what he could do, in the house in Ocean Springs. But she hadn’t asked him, either. Had rationalized it away by the circumstances. It was us or them. She’d even ignored what Brooks had said when he’d searched for JP. JP was capable of anything. She should have guessed when he said he’d been in Delta Force. Yet she’d blithely ignored all the evidence staring her in the face.
And gone right ahead and fallen in love with a stranger. With the wrong man.
Again.
But JP had said it himself. Someone has to do it. And if her country’s government and military didn’t denounce his trade, but in fact had hired him to do exactly what he did, how could she fault him for it? How many innocent lives had he saved by doing his job well?
Now she just prayed he was as good at it as Brooks said he was. That he made no mistakes. That her baby and her brother were safe in his hands. Because of his deadly skill.
She had nothing else to hold on to.
…
The kill zone Frank Boyle had set up left JP few, if any, options. Cole and his uncle were handcuffed together inside the chain-link fence of the electrical substation. Steve squinted against the bright lights that bathed the small building. Transformers and wires were everywhere. All it would take to set it off was one spark. There were safety features against fire, breakers that would cut the power, but the danger still existed. Even if Boyle missed his human targets, a bullet ricocheting off any part of the substation, or one that cut a wire, could cause lethal sparking or a deadly electrical surge.
JP chambered the single bullet and, through the scope, began a methodical and deliberate search for Boyle.
Nothing. He wasn’t anywhere JP could see.
“Can’t find me, can you?” came a mocking tone from behind him, to the right. “Just take Wade’s proof down to the fence.”
If he walked out of the woods, they’d all be sitting ducks. Even if he could find Boyle, he only had the one shot, and that with an unsighted, untested rifle.
JP said nothing. He needed one more auditory connection, one more chance to pinpoint Boyle.
Years of training, of practice, took over. He waited. Listened. His breathing slowed, his heart rate settled.
A shot rang out. Dirt flew up in an arc in front of the substation fence. Steve pulled Cole close to his body and turned his back to the shot, protecting the child as well as he could. But JP knew any bullet that hit Steve would hit Cole, too.
But that single shot was all he’d needed. He now knew Boyle’s position.
“I’m coming out,” he shouted.
…
Three shots. Or had it been four? They’d come so fast Abby hadn’t thought to count. Now there was an echoing silence. And unbearable dread.
“It appears I overestimated JP,” Brooks said, sounding annoyed.
Startled, she stared at him.
“I only gave him one bullet.”
It took a few moments for her to understand. Then it came to her in one crashing blow. JP had only one. But there’d been three shots.
Cole. Steve. JP.
Ice griped her heart, shut down her breathing. She lost her focus on the night, on Brooks. Despair overtook her, black, cold, unmoving, and deep. Overwhelming.
“Boyle’s going to set the terms—”
“Your job is to make sure you can get a shot at him,” Brooks interrupted.
That’s what JP figured was going on. “He’ll know what I’m doing.”
“That’ll make it more challenging, won’t it?”
“What about Abby?”
“She’ll be safe with me until you come back. If you don’t, she’s dead.”
“What about my son and my brother?” Abby sounded surprisingly in control. But he could hear the undertones of fury. And fear.
“That’s up to JP.”
“Ron could shoot Cole and Steve. Or JP could accidentally hurt—”
Brooks laughed. “JP doesn’t have that type of accident, do you? JP’s one of the best. Better than Wade, better than Frank.”
This was definitely going where he didn’t want it to go. Abby did not need to hear this.
He had to get Brooks to talk about what he’d done, not what JP and Wade did for the Agency. “The job in Jordan. That’s why you picked us, isn’t it? The report you filled out on the op after it went to hell would make sense if you used us.”
“Wade always said you were a quick study.”
“I’ll take care of Frank as soon as I get the boy and his uncle to safety.”
“You’re not in any position to negotiate the terms here,” Brooks replied. “I call the shots. You do as you’re told. Now, hand Abby what you found in the house.”
JP waited a second, hoping Brooks would move his pistol away from her. If he could just distract the man long enough to get her out of the car and send the pictures on his cell to Ethridge.
“I said, give her what you found.”
JP reached inside his jeans’ pocket and pulled out the note. He turned slightly to hand it to Abby, in an attempt to see as much of Brooks in the backseat as he could, hoping for an opportunity to make his move. But all he needed to see was that Brooks did, indeed, have his gun aimed at her head.
Abby took the paper.
“Hand it back to me, over your shoulder.”
She did as ordered.
A moment passed. “This is in code,” Brooks said.
JP didn’t bother to answer. He heard the crumpling sound of paper as Brooks wadded up the note.
“Call Frank, set up the meet,” Brooks ordered.
There was nothing JP could do without risking Abby. He called Frank Boyle.
It rang several times before Frank answered. “Found it?” he asked.
“I have it.”
“What is it?”
“A note.”
“Gotta hand it to Wade,” Frank said. “No high-tech stuff, but he was detail-oriented. Bring it to the electrical substation on County 45, six miles west of the freeway.”
“Let the boy and his uncle go.”
“After.”
“Let me talk to them.”
“The boy’s calm. He thinks we’re playing a game. Let’s don’t upset him. Abby wouldn’t like that,” Frank chuckled. “Let’s make it…oh, eight o’clock.”
JP heard the line go dead. It would be dark by eight. Boyle planned to use the night as cover.
“Is Cole okay? My brother?”
“They’re fine,” JP said, knowing they could actually be dead.
In the backseat, Brooks shifted. “Where?”
“The substation, on the county road west of the interstate,” JP replied.
“When?”
“Eight.”
“We have plenty of time, then.”
“Time for what?” Abby asked. “The substation is only a few miles away.”
“Start driving,” Brooks said.
“Where? It’s too early,” she said.
“Go under the overpass. I’ll tell you where to turn.”
Abby pulled out. There was no traffic, not on the freeway and not on the county road. They were headed west.
Brooks had forgotten the phone. All JP needed was a chance, just one.
Brooks rolled down his window. But JP didn’t dare risk making any noise sending the pictures to Ethridge, not with the laser on Abby’s neck. A smoky smell filled the car.
“There goes your proof,” Brooks said.
One look in the side view mirror and JP watched the small paper, engulfed in flames, hit the road behind them and scatter in a burst of flying sparks.
He pretended to be upset. “Why the hell did you—”
“Here,” Brooks interrupted, ignoring his outburst. There was a dirt road running to the right. “Turn here and drive until I tell you to stop.”
Silence stretched as Abby turned and slowed to handle the bumpy road.
“Now,” Brooks said finally. “Hand over your cell phone. Carefully.”
Shit. He’d have nothing. Not Wade’s note, not even a picture of it.
“Now, JP.”
And so he handed over the last hope of clearing his name.
The dirt road dead-ended at another dirt road, more of a track, where a large SUV came into sight.
“Stop.”
“What are we doing here?” Abby asked.
“You know, don’t you, JP?” Brooks asked.
He did. Brooks wanted Frank gone. Dead. Whatever his boss’s role in the events that had destroyed Wade and JP, Brooks didn’t want anyone to be able to tie him to a single thing. And he wanted JP to do the job.
“I bet sweet little Abby doesn’t know, do you?”
Brooks would tell her. Tell her and destroy what little she had left of the man she’d once loved. And there would be no chance for him. For them.
Reality was worse than a kick in the balls.
And if everything worked out as Brooks intended, only Brooks would walk away alive.
“Your dear departed husband was our top man,” Brooks said, his tone mocking. “And the best shot. That is, until he recruited your friend here.” He paused. “Wade wanted a Delta sniper. Did you know that they’re called long-gunners? Their job is to watch for days, sometimes weeks, get to know their quarry, then blow their brains out. JP’s much better than Wade ever was. He’s a master assassin.”
Even in the semidarkness, JP saw Abby flinch, saw her turn toward him, expecting him to deny the truth.
But he’d tried so hard not to lie to her. He let the ugliness of Brooks’s words rip open the distance between them, widening it irreversibly. He couldn’t look at her face, couldn’t see how she’d reacted. And he refused to explain, or make excuses. It was what it was.
All he could do was save her, her son, and her brother, by doing what Brooks wanted. For that, she might be willing to look at him with something other than utter horror.
Maybe.
…
Assassin. The word sounded wrong. Out of place. Out of character.
Wade. JP. Assassins.
The secrets, the lies, all because of this one word.
She tried to wrap her mind around such a crazy idea, tried to think of when she’d seen an indication of it and totally missed it. But she couldn’t.
And now Cole’s life, Steve’s life, depended on that very, terrible thing the two men she loved were—assassins.
Yes, she had loved Wade. And she did love JP. No point in denying it. No matter what they’d done. It had to be some sort of flaw in her, something that drew her to men like that.
Apparently all it took was complete ignorance.
Or denial?
“You’re going to get a .338 Lapua with a FLIR scope, just like yours, from my car. It’s not loaded,” Brooks said. “No point in trying anything. Get out and bring it back here.”
JP nodded. He never once looked at her, wouldn’t even turn his head. His jaw was clenched, his profile hard, intense. Did he really think she could condemn him, repudiate him, over a single horrible word?
“You and Wade, always such qualms about collateral damage. That was something you never understood—that I could never afford the luxury. And I certainly can’t now.”
Without comment, JP got out, walked to the SUV, grabbed something from the backseat, and turned, holding a rifle in a camo cover.
When he climbed back in the car, Brooks said, “Take it out.”
Abby didn’t dare look at JP. She was afraid he would make his move and she’d flinch, giving him away. He took the rifle, a big one with a scope, out of its protective cover with the easy movements of longtime practice.
Delta, he’d said. Delta Force.
“Drive, Abby,” Brooks said finally. “I’ll tell you which way to go.”
Still JP did nothing. It was like waiting for a snake to strike. The rifle cover lay on the floor at his feet, the rifle cradled across his thighs, pointing toward the door. She could see it even without glancing down.
Brooks ordered her to drive to within a mile of the meeting place and pull off the narrow track. The last light had faded from the sky. When she stopped the car beside a cluster of hardwoods, he said, “Put it in park, roll down the window, and turn off the engine.” He got out, the little red light steady on her.
Standing just beyond her window, far enough away that he didn’t have to bend to see her or JP, who was still in the front seat, he said, “JP, get out.”
“I need the ammo,” JP replied.
Brooks threw something beyond the car, into the woods, on JP’s side. “You got it,” he said.
JP turned back toward the windshield. “Trust me,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “Do whatever you have to do. Stay alive. I’ll get them back, I promise.”
“Get out!” Brooks shouted.
“Remember Ethridge,” JP added, turning away. “Trust me.”
From her position in the driver’s seat, she saw him lift the rifle, open the door, and get out. She couldn’t see his face, just the relaxed grip he kept on the rifle.
“Back here. One hour,” Brooks said. “That’s all you have if you want her to live.”
JP didn’t turn, or hesitate, just kept walking away. A deadly stranger, a professional killer, holding the instrument of his trade.
She should be sickened. She should be horrified.
She waited for revulsion to sweep through her. But it never did.
Instead, she felt a trickle of hope. Hope that JP, with his training and experience, could end this nightmare, and keep them alive.
On the heels of that hope came profound terror. Terror that they’d miscalculated the evil surrounding them.
And as he disappeared into the trees, she felt an even greater terror.
That she’d never see him again.
…
Even though it was almost completely dark, it took JP only seconds to find the box of ammo in the weeds. By then, Brooks had already ordered Abby to drive away.
He didn’t want to think about her reaction to Brooks’s over-the-top description of what he and Wade did, so he ruthlessly pushed that image away. But other images, of her in the barn, the sunlight shining on her and Cole, her laughter at unexpected moments, the look in her eyes as he’d made love to her—those he clung to. Clung to those for sanity. To get him through this.
Alone in the rapidly fading light, he quickly scanned his location. He had never completed an op stateside—it wasn’t in the Agency’s jurisdiction. But he knew this area. Silently, he thanked Wade for insisting he visit and understand the land close to his family. Wade must already have suspected Frank. That was why he’d wanted to show JP around, to give his family a fighting chance if things went wrong.
Damn. How could he ever have thought the man could be disloyal to him or his country? Everything he’d done was to protect those he loved. And he’d died doing just that.
It was up to JP now. Up to him to salvage the situation, to make it all work. To protect Wade’s family. Any way he could.
He opened the box he held in his hands. His heart plummeted to his stomach.
The damn bastard.
Brooks had given him a single bullet.
…
The minutes dragged by in slow motion. Brooks wouldn’t let Abby start the car again. The interior was getting hot, stuffy. Stifling. A trickle of sweat rolled down her chest, another down her right temple. He must have been sweltering, too, because he finally ordered her back out of the car. They waited at the edge of the woods as dark enshrouded them.
She needed a miracle, but Brooks, silent and sinister, gave her no opening to run. Finally, out of nervous desperation, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
He kept quiet for what seemed like an eternity, then finally said, “The opportunity for a fortune. Isn’t that what anyone would grab?”
She ignored his question. “And Ron—Boyle? Why is he involved?”
“Boyle’s not used to staying put. We gave him a new identity and he got tired of it. Said the backwoods weren’t for him. His skills were still good, so he started marketing them. We decided we’d both benefit by working together.”
“And Wade? What did he have to do with it?”
“Nothing. I have no idea how he stumbled onto Boyle, but he did. Found him in this Godforsaken backwater when he decided to settle down here. Then he started asking questions. Wade with a bone to pick was a real nuisance.”
“So you killed him, just like that.”
“We let it play out a while, but Boyle said he asked too many questions.” Brooks shook his head. “Wade was stubborn. There was nothing else to be done.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact. As if killing an innocent man was nothing to him. She remembered how Wade had looked in his casket. “You tortured him first.”
“Wade wasn’t supposed to make it home. I’d told Boyle to make it clean—take Wade and JP out at the same time he dealt with our last op. But Boyle missed them both, so he came home and told Wade he wanted to talk about the old days.” Brooks shook his head. “Stupid strategy. He thought he could force Wade to tell him what he had on us. Wade was always tougher and a better operative than Boyle. He got away.”
Oh, God. Wade.
“Where did you find the note?” Brooks asked.
She didn’t want to answer, but it made no difference now. “In the house. In a picture frame.”
Brooks shook his head. “Hell.”
She had to force her next words past the constriction in her throat. “You killed a good man, and you’re letting Boyle threaten my family.” Anger and fear threaded their way through her at the thought of Cole, so afraid. “You have betrayed your country.”
“Such indignation,” he said, a mixture of humor and disbelief in his tone. “You really had no idea what Wade did for a living, did you?”
She refused to answer, and Brooks laughed. Then, as the silence grew oppressive, as she tried to stop her careening imagination, she realized she should have known.
Maybe she had known all along. At least subconsciously.
Why else hadn’t she pressed Wade about what he did? Why else had she been so easily dissuaded from asking the tough questions? Had she somehow feared the answers?
And JP. She’d seen him, witnessed firsthand what he could do, in the house in Ocean Springs. But she hadn’t asked him, either. Had rationalized it away by the circumstances. It was us or them. She’d even ignored what Brooks had said when he’d searched for JP. JP was capable of anything. She should have guessed when he said he’d been in Delta Force. Yet she’d blithely ignored all the evidence staring her in the face.
And gone right ahead and fallen in love with a stranger. With the wrong man.
Again.
But JP had said it himself. Someone has to do it. And if her country’s government and military didn’t denounce his trade, but in fact had hired him to do exactly what he did, how could she fault him for it? How many innocent lives had he saved by doing his job well?
Now she just prayed he was as good at it as Brooks said he was. That he made no mistakes. That her baby and her brother were safe in his hands. Because of his deadly skill.
She had nothing else to hold on to.
…
The kill zone Frank Boyle had set up left JP few, if any, options. Cole and his uncle were handcuffed together inside the chain-link fence of the electrical substation. Steve squinted against the bright lights that bathed the small building. Transformers and wires were everywhere. All it would take to set it off was one spark. There were safety features against fire, breakers that would cut the power, but the danger still existed. Even if Boyle missed his human targets, a bullet ricocheting off any part of the substation, or one that cut a wire, could cause lethal sparking or a deadly electrical surge.
JP chambered the single bullet and, through the scope, began a methodical and deliberate search for Boyle.
Nothing. He wasn’t anywhere JP could see.
“Can’t find me, can you?” came a mocking tone from behind him, to the right. “Just take Wade’s proof down to the fence.”
If he walked out of the woods, they’d all be sitting ducks. Even if he could find Boyle, he only had the one shot, and that with an unsighted, untested rifle.
JP said nothing. He needed one more auditory connection, one more chance to pinpoint Boyle.
Years of training, of practice, took over. He waited. Listened. His breathing slowed, his heart rate settled.
A shot rang out. Dirt flew up in an arc in front of the substation fence. Steve pulled Cole close to his body and turned his back to the shot, protecting the child as well as he could. But JP knew any bullet that hit Steve would hit Cole, too.
But that single shot was all he’d needed. He now knew Boyle’s position.
“I’m coming out,” he shouted.
…
Three shots. Or had it been four? They’d come so fast Abby hadn’t thought to count. Now there was an echoing silence. And unbearable dread.
“It appears I overestimated JP,” Brooks said, sounding annoyed.
Startled, she stared at him.
“I only gave him one bullet.”
It took a few moments for her to understand. Then it came to her in one crashing blow. JP had only one. But there’d been three shots.
Cole. Steve. JP.
Ice griped her heart, shut down her breathing. She lost her focus on the night, on Brooks. Despair overtook her, black, cold, unmoving, and deep. Overwhelming.
