No Options

by Jennifer Haynie

  Frisco rolled his eyes. “Shut up, will you?” He stopped at an outbuilding across from Jonathan’s quarters. “Get in there.”

  Randleman stumbled inside.

  Frisco left the bag on his head as he shoved him onto a chair and tied him with a rope.

  Plastic crinkled beneath Jonathan’s feet. What on— Then he realized its meaning. Common interior decoration for cartel killing floors. “We’re not—”

  “In Spanish,” Frisco hissed.

  In the same language, Jonathan asked, “No vamos a matarlo, verdad?”

  Randleman froze.

  Frisco smirked. “Él entiende poco español, pero sabe la palabra morir.”

  “I have rights, you know!” Randleman shouted. “Like rights to a lawyer!”

  “You will have no need of a lawyer.”

  At Nabeelah’s alto voice, Randleman once again went deer-in-the-headlights still.

  She slowly entered the room, and the plastic crinkled under her steps. “Today is your day of reckoning, Señor Randleman. You failed us.”

  Suddenly, it clicked. The Spanish. The plastic. Nabeelah acted as if she belonged to Los Jaguares.

  Randleman began crying, a poor, pitiful sound.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Jonathan grimaced.

  Nabeelah ripped away the bag. “Who do you work for?”

  Randleman’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You know I work for Mr. Stone—”

  She slapped him.

  “Hey!”

  “Who do you really work for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She bent with hands on knees and hissed into his ear, “We are here to clean up this mess. Who called you when you abandoned your guests at the glass house? Was it Mr. Stone?”

  She jabbed him, and Randleman squealed. “Please, please don’t hurt me! El Lobo called me. Promise! He had me contact a Bryson Bishop to set up a meeting with Jonathan Ward. But his pal showed up with him. And his sister. And the sheriff. He told me to take them down to the lowest level, then get out of there unless I wanted to join them at the bottom of the valley.”

  “Did he order you to stay?”

  “N-no. I-I wanted to see if the house would really fall.”

  “It seems as if you did your job quite well but not well enough.” Nabeelah glanced at Jonathan.

  Randleman focused on him. “Th-they weren’t supposed to—”

  “Did El Lobo say anything else?” Nabeelah asked.

  “He wanted to know if Abigail Ward was with them.”

  Jonathan’s fists clenched.

  “Did he say why?”

  “N-no. Except that he wanted to make sure.”

  Jonathan started toward him, but Frisco caught him and held him back.

  Nabeelah glanced at them. She nodded. “We have enough. Your were a fool to stay, Mr. Randleman.”

  He began sobbing. “Please don’t kill me!”

  “Oh, no worries about that. And in a few minutes, you will not remember you saw Jonathan Ward.”

  The door creaked open, and the medic from earlier that afternoon joined them.

  She mouthed something to him.

  He approached and swabbed a spot on Randleman’s neck with alcohol.

  Randleman shrieked as if he’d been shot.

  “Hold still, and you will not kill yourself,” Nabeelah said.

  The medic injected something into his neck. Within seconds, Randleman sagged against the ropes.

  Hand on her chin, Nabeelah stared at him. “Untie him.”

  Frisco undid the rope, and he and Jonathan eased him onto the plastic.

  The medic undid the man’s shirt and examined his waistline.

  Jonathan stared. “What on earth?”

  Her face remained impassive as she observed the medic. “Sergeant Jonathan, do you remember what I said about a dog returning to its vomit?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Fascinated, Jonathan watched as the sergeant pulled out a wide-bore needle and carefully inserted it into Randleman’s waist. He flinched as it went deeper than normal. “What is he—”

  “It is a tracker.” Nabeelah crouched beside the medic as he withdrew the needle and staunched a small amount of blood with a piece of gauze. “We injected him with a mixture of fast-acting sedative and a drug that will cancel out his short-term memory. You and Frisco will return him to his plane and make it look like he fell during a really bad drinking binge and hit a rock. He will remember nothing about our little chat. And he will not remember seeing you either.”

  Shocked at her wiliness, Jonathan leaned against the wall. Dang. Double the never-turning-his-back-on-her idea.

  He studied Randleman’s face.

  A mess of smeared eyeliner, mascara, and snot coated it.

  Gross.

  Frisco hoisted Randleman’s still form across his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Let’s go.”

  Darkness had begun overtaking the area. Wind whipped between the buildings. As if out of a movie, a tumbleweed skated down the street, followed by a couple of pieces of paper.

  When they arrived at the helicopter, Smitty stared at Frisco’s cargo. “What happened to him? Too many Hallmark movies?”

  Frisco dumped his load into the bay. “Don’t I wish. We need to get to the Green River airport.”

  “Dude, the storm’s almost here.”

  “I thought you were a Night Stalker. You can make it here and back before it does.”

  “And I’m Wonder Woman.”

  Frisco grinned. “If you say so.”

  “Whatever. Get in.” Smitty swung into the pilot’s seat. Within seconds, they took off with a roar.

  Jonathan held on to a seat frame as the chopper got pushed around by the wind.

  Thirty minutes later, they slowed as they approached the airport. The pilot said, “There’s a Learjet parked by the hangar. Is that where our boy’s going?”

  “Exactly.”

  Jonathan’s stomach lurched as a wind gust lifted them up several feet before they slammed onto the tarmac. He’d better watch out, or he’d be the one scraping his barf off the floor.

  The pilot turned to them. “Make it quick, ’cause I ain’t staying here more than five, got it?”

  Frisco hauled open the door. “Quick as can be.”

  With Randleman a dead weight across his back, they scurried toward the open door of the Learjet. “Jonathan, go first and find the galley and the bar. Get a bottle of something, anything liquor. And a tumbler with ice.”

  Jonathan crammed himself into the narrow bar behind the cockpit and found a bottle of vodka in the faux wood cabinet above the tiny sink. A minifridge had ice cubes. They clinked against the glass. He splashed some of the vodka over them.

  “Bring the bottle,” Frisco called in a low voice.

  “Got it.”

  Frisco had strapped the unconscious man into a plush seat with a small table in front of it. He grabbed the bottle and dribbled some of the liquid across Randleman’s shirt. Jonathan set the tumbler on the table, and his comrade splattered some of the vodka across the wood.

  “What’s going on here? Who are you?”

  Jonathan whipped around.

  The pilot stared at them. “What are you doing with him?”

  Dang it. Jonathan should have had their backs on this one. His mind raced.

  “Who are you?” the pilot demanded.

  His face expressionless, Frisco whipped around. “Sir, you did not see us here. Understand?”

  The pilot reached for the phone on his belt. “I’m going to—”

  Lightning fast, Jonathan snatched it from his fingers. “You’ll do no such thing. Mr. Randleman is in a heap of trouble. We got him out of that trouble. So the best thing you can do is to not whisper anything to your employer. Understand?”

  Suddenly, it seemed to click. The pilot’s eyes widened. “You came in that Black Hawk, didn’t you?”

  “Exactly.”

  The pilot sighed. “I always told him to watch his drinking. He woul
dn’t listen. Said that alcohol cleansed him from the inside, whatever that means. Get going, ’cause I’m out of here before that storm hits.”

  “Good man.” Jonathan offered a small wave. “Safe travels.”

  They beat feet back to the Black Hawk. The pilot wasted no time in lifting off. Though the growing storm buffeted them all over the place, stillness and peace rose inside Jonathan. If Nabeelah were correct, Randleman would lead them right to Jedidiah Stone. And when he did, Jonathan would be the first to get some answers.

  20

  Thursday, April 20, 2000 hours MDT, outside Burning Tree, UT

  “Where have you been?” Marti’s voice blasted over the airwaves. “I’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve called you at least five times.”

  Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat on the hearth of the circular fireplace in the middle of the Delta team’s rec room. She held her burner phone from her ear. Even from almost three feet away, she still heard Marti’s squawking. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “Like scared the living daylights out of me. That’s not like you.”

  Abigail sighed. “I know. It’s been quite a day.”

  She explained their misadventures at the Glass House and cringed as she wondered how they’d ever survived.

  Silence greeted her when she finished. Then with a deep breath, her sergeant said, “You think you were targeted?”

  Abigail paced around the fireplace. “Yeah, I do. Whoever is behind this wanted to get rid of the three of us. Three cases for the price of one. Think about it.”

  Marti remained silent for a moment, then muttered something under her breath. “Get rid of the two survivors of the Mighty Men, plus the investigator, who’s also investigating the Athena file. And those investigating the armored car heist. All in one swoop.”

  Abigail shivered. Outside, a blast of wind rattled the windows of the Quonset hut. Rain hammered afresh on its metal roof. “Maybe we should back down from the Athena file.”

  “Not a chance. I’m in. Gabe’s in. I want to finish this.”

  “But—”

  “Katrina needs us to finish this.”

  Tuck Miller’s face flashed before Abigail’s eyes. Was bringing his wife’s killer to justice worth it? She shelved that thought. “Let’s talk about our other case.”

  Marti cleared her throat. “I visited Leann Blankenship today. While sharing iced tea at her house, we had a good, long chat.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “Jessie and Tina were having severe marital difficulties. Did you know they lived beyond their means?”

  “Jonathan and David told me that.”

  “And they were trying to have a kid via IVF?”

  Abigail rose as her back began roasting. “I do.”

  “I got Gabe to pull their bank and credit card statements from years ago. They started showing deposits into their bank account in the middle of 2007. Not small ones. Big ones. Cash deposits.”

  Abigail eased onto the couch. A dull ache began in her right arm, so she shifted the phone to her left ear. “Any idea from whom?”

  “No. Leann mentioned that Tina began babysitting as a second job. Apparently, her main clients were Sal and Rita Torres.”

  Oh, crap. So not what she wanted to hear. The dull throb in Abigail’s arm ramped up some more. “You think she confided in them about their fertility problems?”

  “Who knows?” Paper scraped as if Marti flipped a page on her notepad. “Here’s where it gets strange. After the Mighty Men deployed, Tina miscarried.”

  “What? Wait a minute.” Abigail jumped to her feet. Yow! Her arm hated that sudden motion. Maybe she should take that last Vicodin like the doc had suggested. She swayed from an onset of dizziness and plopped onto the hearth again. “Was Leann there when it happened?”

  “Tina called her. Leann said it was strange.”

  “Why?”

  “Girl, this is when it gets weird.” Marti’s smile almost radiated across the phone. “She said Tina acted almost relieved. That got me curious enough to drive half the night to Fayetteville, North Carolina, so I could talk with her IVF doc today.”

  Of course. “Do tell.”

  “Oh, he didn’t want to talk to me at first. HIPPA and all that, but when I told him his information might help bring justice for ten people’s deaths, he finally agreed. Not to mention, it’s old news, right?”

  “What did he say?”

  “Her getting pregnant by Jessie was impossible. He was sterile.”

  Confusion reigned supreme. “Didn’t they test him before starting treatments?”

  “Yep. He already had a low count. But then he started getting into steroids while weightlifting. And you know what that does.”

  “Makes a man sterile.”

  “It can. Apparently, he was tested right before deploying in 2008. Could be why they were having some really severe marital difficulties.”

  As in, Jessie Delaney had pretty much shelled any hope of IVF success. “An affair.”

  “Certainly not an immaculate conception.”

  “Hence why she was relieved rather than stressed. Jessie would have known she strayed.” With her back once more campfire hot, Abigail jumped up and wandered across the space to a pool table. “Wow. Good job.”

  “All in a day’s work. Anyway, right after I left the doc’s office, Tina called. She’s willing to meet but only if you’re with me and not at a police station or on post.”

  “That’s doable.” Abigail scrambled for an idea of where to meet. Then his name popped into her mind. Nick. His favorite watering hole? “I want you to call Nick.”

  “As in Nick Bocelli, your ex?”

  “Yeah. He’ll know where to set it up, and he’ll keep it on the down-low. Tell him to look at a place called the Ball and Dart first. It’s a cop bar in downtown Raleigh not too far from the station, so we’ve got backup if something pops. We can meet for drinks at six on Friday. I’ll be there. I promise.”

  “Will do. Safe travels.” Her sergeant clicked off.

  Abigail tossed her phone onto the pool table. She groaned as she thought about everything she’d learned. A couple living beyond their means. The husband put his desires over his marriage and made himself sterile. Was the affair an immature act of revenge on Tina’s part? She’d never know without asking. A good question for the following night’s meeting. And who was the man? Did she dare suggest he was Sal? Could he have paid for IVF treatments for the happy couple? Sure.

  Sal Torres was loaded and came from money, like his family-came-from-old-Spanish-aristocracy money. She had a sinking feeling he never gave anything as a generous gift and would have expected something in return with threats to life and limb in case the person didn’t do his bidding. Would Jessie have betrayed the Mighty Men? She had no way to verify that. A literal dead end since he’d perished in Afghanistan.

  Maybe she should let that one rest for a bit. As she wandered to the couch, Abigail’s thoughts swung around to the Athena file case. Lots didn’t sit well with her on that one. Someone had brutally murdered Katrina Miller, then mutilated her body for her hands and eyes. Obviously, they used those to access the Athena file and steal it. But how had the killers known about Katrina?

  Grabbing her phone, she tapped a text to Gabe. Could you check to see who would have known about Katrina’s role at Huachuca and if they had a motive to finger her to her murderers?

  His message flashed up a second later. On it. Will keep you posted.

  For a second, she considered telling him about the glass house. No. She didn’t want to endure another round of questioning.

  Closing her eyes, she slouched against the couch and rested her head on the cushions. Sal’s threat from the year before pushed itself into her mind. Then came photos in the ME’s report. A burned body. Raped. Tortured. Mutilated.

  Her courage quelled. Maybe she should toss her black notebook and walk away from th
eir off-the-books case. If he realized she wasn’t pursuing the Athena file case anymore, it might be for the better. Except now their official case had taken a turn she didn’t want to contemplate.

  “You must continue, Abigail.”

  Nabeelah.

  Abigail opened one eye.

  The DIA agent stood in the hut’s doorway with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her puffy black jacket.

  “What are you? A mind reader?”

  That got a ghost of a smile. “Someone who tapped your phone and overheard your conversation with Marti Raymond.”

  Abigail stared. “I thought we were on the same side.”

  “Oh, we are.” Nabeelah came closer and stood next to the fire. “You know Sal is deep into this. More than neck deep. All the way in.”

  “And if we’re not careful, the three of us will be six feet under after he cuts off all of our arms and legs.”

  Nabeelah held her hands over the flames. “And if you back out of the Athena file case, what about the other one? All roads lead to Salvador Torres, do they not?”

  “I like living.”

  “I do as well.” Nabeelah settled beside her. “You cannot leave this undone, Abigail. Though you have yet to gather the evidence you need, you know he killed Katrina Miller. And you know he is involved in the attack that destroyed my family.” Her chest heaved as she stared at her fisted hands before returning her gaze to Abigail. “He destroyed everything, from my family to the life I knew.”

  “Then you figure it out.”

  Nabeelah didn’t say a word, only plucked at a loose thread on her cargo pants. Finally, she softly sighed and clucked her tongue. “Abigail, Abigail, Abigail. You recently faced a very dangerous person with friends in high places.”

  How could she forget? “Colonel Boone.”

  “Correct. You did this despite knowing that if he caught you, your death would be brutal. You are fearless. You never give up. That tenacity is what has made you so successful, even to the point where you would be the right person to succeed Sal as CO of the battalion.”

  That stopped her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Salvador Torres is not the only one with contacts in high places. If you help me, I can guarantee you will be the one to make lieutenant colonel as battalion commander.”