Stephens clapped his hands together. “Fantastic. Do you know where the staff parking lot is?”
Audrey nodded.
“Good. Can you meet me there in five minutes? I can give you a ride, if you’d like.”
Audrey held up her hands. “I’ll drive. Princeton is paying for my gas.”
“It’s settled, then. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Audrey smiled, tucked her purse under her arm, and left the room. She strode past the receptionist’s desk, then stopped abruptly. “Oh, I forgot to mention, one of the cars in the staff lot had its headlights on.”
The receptionist glanced at her keys. “It wasn’t a Toyota Camry, was it?”
“No. It was a Chevy. A blue one.”
“Alright,” the receptionist said, making a note. “Thank you, I’ll send out an email to the staff.”
“Have a good day,” Audrey said, rounding the corner to the next hallway.
“You, too,” the receptionist called after her.
Audrey strode toward the exit at a brisk walk. She left the Science Center and made a beeline for the only Toyota Camry in the staff parking lot. Then she reached into her purse, took out a pair of nitrile gloves, and slipped them on. After checking over her shoulder, she reached into her purse again and withdrew what appeared to be a bottle of nail polish. She unscrewed the cap and painted a clear substance on the underside of the Camry’s door handle. Leaving the bottle uncapped, she hurried to her rental car and painted the underside of the passenger door handle.
Satisfied, she replaced the lid on the bottle, stowed it in her purse, and carefully removed the gloves, turning them inside-out. After stashing her gloves and the nail polish in her purse, she strode around the front of the car and climbed in.
Starting the motor, she eased forward. Less than a minute later, Stephens emerged from the building, carrying a briefcase in his left hand. Audrey rolled down the passenger window and said, “Hey there, Handsome. Need a lift?”
The chairman blushed and opened the door. He settled into the passenger seat, smiled at Audrey, then glanced at his hand. Frowning, he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wiped the oily substance from his fingertips, and returned the cloth to his pocket.
“Alright, Doctor Stephens,” Audrey said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, “Where to?”
Stephens nodded toward College Avenue. “You’ll get back on Main Street and head south out of town. Hodge has a gorgeous place out in the country, about ten minutes away.”
Audrey wheeled the rental out of the parking lot and followed the route Stephens had given her. She made small talk with the chairman but gave up trying to charm him. There was no point anymore. Inside, Audrey seethed with anger. Because of Lukas’s decision to bring a civilian to the safehouse, she would have to burn the identity she had used to rent the car, and the one she had booked the hotel with. She didn’t fear reprisal or getting caught by law enforcement, but she didn’t have an unlimited supply of false identities, either.
By the time they reached the country estate, Stephens had broken into a cold sweat. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and tried to hide his discomfort. “This is it. What do you think?”
Audrey shrugged. “One safehouse is as good as the next, I guess. But the pond is a nice touch.”
Stephens chuckled, then furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘safehouse?’”
“Yes, I did,” Audrey said. She parked the car and opened her door. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to carry you.”
Stephens furrowed his brow and stepped out of the car. He followed her up the path to the house, massaging his hands together.
Four brick stairs led to a porch and the front door; Stephens stopped at the bottom step and leaned on the railing. “I—something’s wrong,” he said.
“It’s the poison,” Audrey said. “You’re having a heart attack.”
“What??” Stephens slid downward until the railing tucked into his armpit.
Audrey pressed the doorbell again and tapped her foot impatiently. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Another thirty seconds, tops.”
The color drained from the chairman’s face, and he lost his grip. He fell hard against the brick stairs, opening a cut on his forehead. He drew shallow, ragged breaths and clutched at his chest.
Lukas Woodfall opened the front door and stared out at Audrey. The smile faded from his face, and he said, “Oh, excuse me. I was expecting someone else.”
“You mean him?” Audrey asked, pointing her thumb over her shoulder.
“Henry!” Lukas gasped, brushing past her.
“I wouldn’t touch him,” Audrey said. “He might still have a lethal dose on his hand.”
Lukas whirled, his eyes wide. “A lethal dose? Of what?”
Audrey sighed and walked into the house. “I assume you have a cleanup unit. We can weigh his body down and drop it in the pond. This safehouse is useless now, thanks to you.”
Lukas rushed after her and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re…with Katharos?”
Audrey stopped abruptly and turned around. “Regional Director Stokes, at your service.”
Lukas’s jaw dropped. “Audrey Stokes? I didn’t recognize you.”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “Shocking.”
“How did you find me? And what are you doing here?”
Audrey placed her hands on her hips. “The question is, what are you doing here? Last I checked, you were one of the Katharos ‘Big Three.’”
Lukas flushed crimson. “It’s a long story.”
“And I don’t want to hear it.” She gripped his shoulders. “That is, until you come up with a better one.”
Lukas shook his head in confusion.
Audrey smiled. “How many agents do you think know about your demotion to field work?”
“None that I know of. At least, none that are still alive.”
Audrey nodded and made a rolling motion with her hand, coaxing him like a kindergarten teacher with her student. “Which means…”
Lukas’s expression remained blank.
“It means you’re the boss now,” Audrey said, sighing. “For those of us who are left.”
“Oh…” Lukas’s eyes lit up at the possibilities. “I see.”
Audrey squeezed his shoulders tight. “That’s right, Lukas. We’re going to claim what is ours and reignite the flames of Katharos.”
46
Charlotte, South Carolina
Adam Hawkins settled into his usual bench at the Northlake Mall. His daughter, Deedee, took a seat next to him and laid her head against his shoulder.
It was Tuesday, or “Popcorn Day” as she called it. Every Tuesday for as long as she could remember, her father had taken her to the mall. He sat on the bench to read while she munched popcorn and waved at people passing by.
Deedee was something of a local celebrity. As a child, she had participated in the Charlotte Special Olympics. As an adult, she became an advocate for the Special Olympics and for people with Down syndrome. She was a part-time reporter for a local news station and occasionally spoke at the South Carolina General Assembly on behalf of people with special needs.
Reaching into the white paper bag, she pulled out a few kernels and popped them into her mouth. She smiled at a little boy, who was holding his mother’s hand as he walked by. The boy glanced up at his mother and said, “Mommy, look. It’s Deedee.”
“It sure is,” the boy’s mother said.
Deedee waved her fingers at the boy, who grinned widely and hid his face in his mother’s dress.
Adam looked up from his book and beamed with pride. He stretched his arm across the bench and watched a few passing shoppers, then narrowed his eyes. A burly man in a hood strode toward them, then took a seat next to Deedee. He kept his face hidden and stared down at the floor, his hands on his lap.
“Hello there,” Adam said. “How are you doing today?” Over the years, he had found that disarming strangers
with kindness was as good a weapon as a concealed pistol.
The man didn’t speak for a long moment. He took a deep breath, and a tear dropped from behind the hood onto his lap. “I’m alright. Just…different.”
The paperback novel hit the floor. Adam’s entire body shook, and his mouth formed soundless words.
The man turned toward Deedee and Adam, and there was still nothing but blackness visible beneath the hood. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.” Another tear materialized from the blackness and spilled onto the man’s chest. “I couldn’t risk meeting you until I knew it was safe.”
It was Deedee’s turn to drop the object in her hands. The bag of popcorn bounced off her lap and tipped onto the floor, scattering orange kernels. She reached out with trembling fingers and felt the features hidden beneath the hood, then burst into tears of joy.
THE END
If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, do not wait to seek help.
Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
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Note From The Author
I began storytelling when I was eleven years old. I was an incurable book addict, and the next logical step was for me to write my own book (which poorly but shamelessly imitated the works of Michael A. Stackpole).
Fortunately, my early manuscripts have been burnt or buried, never to be seen again.
Fast forward to three days after my eighteenth birthday. I left my quiet hometown to join the United States Air Force. I felt an intrinsic need to join the military, and I longed to serve in combat like the military heroes from books and movies. My first job in the Air Force was about as far from combat as anyone could be, but I diligently rode my desk, earning awards, early promotions, and sparkling performance reports. When the time came, I transferred to a job in Air Force Special Tactics.
Finally, I was in the military I had dreamed of, complete with helicopters, machine guns, parachutes, face paint, and foul language. I met some incredibly brave and selfless men and women in special operations. They were the embodiment of the best humanity has to offer.
Unfortunately, I also witnessed another side of humanity, one that can only be described as evil. The “bad guys” were so much worse than I had ever imagined. I quickly learned that the saddest stories could not be found in a bookstore—they were out there in the world, happening to real people.
After finishing my second combat deployment to Afghanistan, I decided to separate from the Air Force. A year later, I doffed my uniform, exchanging it for open-toed shoes and comfortable t-shirts. I attended college and graduated cum Laude three years later. Along the way, I rediscovered an old passion: writing fiction.
I am thankful for the time I spent in the military, and I am grateful for the men and women still serving. I stood beside true heroes—men and women whose bravery I could never hope to match.
Once more I find myself behind a desk. Though I no longer suit up for combat missions or training jumps, I take it just as seriously. There is evil in the world today, evil that we too often turn a blind eye to. That is why I write, and why I will continue to write. That’s why a portion of the proceeds from this book go to a charity that fights human trafficking around the world.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. As an independent author, I rely on reviews to help me create better books and get them in front of more readers.
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