by Juno Rushdan
He couldn’t tell the difference between a Jimmy Choo and a Miu Miu but had a sister and had been around enough ladies with stylish taste to spot shoes that cost a pretty penny.
Those boots were high-end, far from the typical footwear of a vagrant.
The mustached guy hopped to his feet. She beckoned him to sit with a frantic wave of her hand. Drifting down beside him with slow caution, she stuffed her exposed goldish-brown hair inside her hood, gaze darting about as if expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree any second.
Pink cheeks, a rosy nose and lips from the chilly nip in the air accentuated her milk-white face and pixie-like features. There was something majestic about her—an elegant, regal bearing.
She spoke to him in a hurried, panicked manner. The man’s face hardened. He thrust a finger toward her and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.
“We have confirmation,” Alistair said. “She called him Gary, which he didn’t appreciate. He insisted she stick to Illuminati411 out in the open.”
“Notify the others we’re golden,” Castle said, low.
“Roger.”
Illuminati—or rather Gary—lifted his phone, but she swatted it away, raising a stubborn chin.
Watching the two of them without being able to hear their conversation, Castle recalled the last IRC exchange between Kit01Y0L0 and Illuminati411 that was burned into his mind verbatim.
K: Hope u found something. We’ve been owned, hardware to blood.
I: What are you wrapped up in? Got the 411 you requested on Z-1984. Need a meet.
K: Too dangerous. DEFCON 5. A meet could mean a bullet in my head.
I: Have questions for my blog. Need a meet. You name it.
K: Fine. The park near Mass Ave. Two hours. Come alone.
When Gary held the phone back out to the woman, the speaker icon on the screen was brightly lit. The blogger wanted to record their conversation.
Kit01Y0L0 shifted away from him, her features pinched. She tipped her head to the sky, bottom lip quivering, hands clenched.
Castle’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth.
Oh God. Please. Someone, please, help me. He read the words on her lips.
The blogger kept talking, but from the look of despair on her face and the way she shook her head, he wasn’t saying anything she wanted to hear.
A brisk breeze kicked up, gusting through the park, cutting over the blades of grass. The sun disappeared behind a bank of clouds and the temperature dropped a couple of degrees.
Trembling, she rubbed her hands down her bare thighs to her calves. The simple act of trying to warm herself, that forlorn look, those delicate features, held Castle transfixed.
He should’ve shifted his gaze away for a few beats—his training demanded it. People sensed when they were being watched after a while, but the moment dragged, distended around him, the passage of time slipping as a strange sympathy took hold of him.
The woman’s big eyes flickered up and her anguished gaze crashed into his. She looked right at him, straight through him. Those eyes, desperate and fierce, pierced him like daggers.
Who are you?
03
Kit locked onto the beefcake staring at her. He was low-key about the way he watched her, not giving a full-frontal glance, sunglasses shielding his eyes, petting his dog. But she sensed the raw intensity of his attention like an electric tongue licking her spine, making her body draw tight.
Did he see the phantom bull’s-eye painted on her forehead? Had the stench of death clinging to her drifted to where he smelled it?
If not for the carefree game of frisbee—though nothing about him appeared carefree—and how his presence failed to trigger her anxious awareness, she might’ve suspected the big guy was there for her head.
Scratch that.
Big was too small a word to define him. He’d run all over the upper park in effortless, explosive strides as he’d played with the dog. For a powerhouse, he moved fast. A tough-looking type other guys wanted to stand with, not against, but easy on the eyes, resembling a thirtysomething Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson with his bald head and golden-brown complexion.
A serious badass.
He lowered his head, severing the filament of connection, and her senses snapped back to the annoying Gary Hodges sitting beside her.
“Quid pro quo.” Gary’s voice prickled her ears along with her nerves. “If I tell you what I found out about Z-1984 first, you’ll bolt, leaving me with no material for my blog.”
He was right, but the gall of the parasite to milk her for a story in exchange for life-or-death information. Unbelievable!
She’d been clear as glass about the gravity of the situation in her message.
DEFCON 5…could mean a bullet to my head.
This meeting was dicey, but she’d chanced it to find out about Z-1984. Jasper had made a point to mention it before he was killed, a clue for her to follow. She had only been able to decrypt a single video from the backup hard drive so far. It wasn’t as if she had a personal computer connected to Wi-Fi. Internet cafés belonged to a bygone era, much like payphones. But gaming centers were prevalent in the outskirts of Virginia and Maryland, a short Metro ride from DC. With her limited skills, she hacked the center’s firewall to message Gary over the dark web and search for any relevant information. Not that she’d risked staying in any one place too long. A shame she didn’t have a stitch of real talent to whiz through the encrypted files on the drives.
Once she discovered whatever the hell Z-1984 was and figured a way to get her passport from the loft, she would be on an international flight. Her hacker buddies in Romania would give her a place to hole up and help her crack the rest of the data lickety-split.
“The Outliers won’t be fodder for your damn blog. Are you insane?”
“You’re the crazy one if you think I’m going to tell you shit before you clue me in on what’s going on. Whatever this is, it’s huge. I won’t let you leave me high and dry.”
Something inside her flared hot. “You won’t let me?” She grabbed him by the sweatshirt and yanked his face close. “Exposure is dangerous. Every minute sitting out here costs me. Do you even know anything?”
Gary’s shifty gaze dropped and his face blanched, only for a moment, before he regained his arrogant composure and said, “Of course I do.”
But his recovery wasn’t quick enough to save his charade. He didn’t know a damn thing.
She let him go and clicked her tongue, bitter with disappointment at herself for coming here for nothing and disgusted with Gary for putting her life at even greater risk. Out in the park, she was a perfect target. And for what? So he could capitalize off her tragedy?
Selfish douchebag.
Desperation had driven her to this gambit. What was she going to do now? She was out of cash and needed answers yesterday. There were no easy solutions to her predicament.
Gary prattled on, spouting more lies, trying to squeeze any juicy nuggets from her, but she barely heard him. Her attention was focused over Gary’s shoulder, hooked on a man strolling in their direction with a folded newspaper under his arm. Dressed in drab cargo pants, a nondescript utility jacket, and shades, nothing about him screamed violent intent. But something did make her gut clench and set a shrill alarm dinging in the back of her head. He walked with a dark sense of purpose yet never glanced directly at her, didn’t acknowledge her staring in the slightest. Way too nonchalant.
With the ball cap and shades, she couldn’t be sure, but…was that Delta?
A creepy sensation tickled the soles of her feet and crawled up her ankles, swarming the backs of her legs like hundreds of spiders. She jumped up and spun toward Constitution Avenue.
“Hey!” Gary called after her. “Where are you going?”
She ignored him, making a beeline for the street.
Ma
ybe she was paranoid. She had the right to be. After witnessing the massacre of her Outlier family, reading the news about how the Lair had burned to the ground, and unable to go back to her condo, it was no wonder her nerves were threadbare, but she wasn’t taking stupid chances.
Gary had insisted that they meet face-to-face and she’d chosen this park for one reason. On the other side of the park across the busy avenue was a U.S. Capitol Police guardhouse. If she made it there, within seconds, she could be surrounded by law enforcement and she’d be safe.
Not that she preferred to be in the hands of cops, faced with questions she either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, but it was better than dying.
She tried to resist the urge to look behind her and failed, stealing a glance over her shoulder. Mr. Nonchalant swooped up behind Gary, who had risen from the bench with his hands thrust out toward her in a questioning gesture. The man swiped something from the folds of the newspaper, stuck Gary in the back of the neck, and kept walking without breaking his stride.
Crap! She whipped her head forward and quickened her step, heartbeat picking up tempo. Too bad she hadn’t popped a propranolol the second she’d spotted Gary in the park.
Gripping the strap of her bag, she glanced back at Gary. He clutched his chest, face twisted in pain, and dropped to his knees. Mr. Nonchalant was definitely Delta. He was gaining on her, chewing up the distance between them in long, fierce strides.
Her entire body tensed, her pulse hammering. If she ran and made it close enough to the Capitol Building guardhouse, her screams might catch the attention of the police. She’d have to time it just right. Delta was closing in and if he started sprinting first, he’d overtake her in a blink.
She unsnapped the side compartment of her bag and flipped off the safety lock on the pepper spray. The gusty wind tearing through the park was as likely to blow the harsh chemicals back in her face as it was to immobilize Delta, and then it’d be game over for her.
Using the spray would have to be a last-ditch move.
On the corner of Delaware Avenue, in the direction where she’d waited for Gary, a small parking booth sat parallel to the park. Maybe the attendant inside could radio for help.
Kit changed course, hustling toward it, and scanned her surroundings for any more unpleasant surprises.
When she refocused on the parking booth, she stopped short.
The attendant inside was slumped over as if unconscious. Another man came around from the side of the small structure, cutting off her path.
Oh no. Despite the ball cap, she recognized him for certain.
Bravo.
Her options went up like flash paper put to a lit match.
Blood rushed from her head and her chest tightened, insides bouncing. Urgency spiked through her. She whirled to the right, heading west, pressing on across the center patch of lawn toward the concrete Taft Memorial, speed-walking to…dang it, she had no idea where to go. But she needed an escape route and safe destination.
If she wanted to reach the Capitol Building through the park, she would have to go through Bravo. Nope, not going to happen.
Delta was still inbound, on a trajectory straight for her. Both killers were closing in. They could outrun and outmuscle her with little effort.
A frisbee sailed in front of her. The dog charged after the green disc, driving past her to nab the flying toy before it landed. The hunky dude whistled, and his dog sat on the grass smackdab in her path a few feet away.
Kit sidestepped around the dog and spotted the stairs leading out of the park down to New Jersey Avenue. Maybe if she cleared the steps quickly, she could bolt down the street to the Capitol Building before Bravo made it out of the park and intercepted her. Once she set foot on the grounds and created a spectacle, an officer would make her his business pronto.
If only she had time to pop another pill. After sprinting, she’d need it.
A hulking shadow swept up beside her, swallowing the sunlight in her peripheral vision, and a strong hand grabbed her by the elbow. Her heart somersaulted to her stomach. She jerked away but the big guy with the dog tightened his grip and towed her forward.
Her mind tripped, stumbling to catch up.
“Shit, you’re one of them?” Panic sliced through her. She swung, launching a fist at his face. It was like punching granite. She yelped and winced, agony exploding in her fingers.
His wide jaw flexed. He glared down at her as if she were a mosquito who’d dared nip a dragon.
“Please.” She knocked her fist against his thick forearm, bending her knees, shoving her hips back, throwing her entire body into breaking his iron hold. “Please, don’t kill me.”
He hauled her along anyway, dragging her feet across the ground, not looking fazed by her giving-it-everything-she-had exertion.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was deep and dangerous, cutting to the marrow in her bones. “Unlike Frick and Frack, who just killed your friend.”
As the juggernaut of a man tugged her forward, she glanced back. Gary was facedown on the pavement. Rigid. Unmoving.
The two men—Bravo and Delta—still stalked her, closing in from opposite sides.
“If you’re not with them, let me go.” She tried prying his fingers loose to no avail. He’d only said he didn’t want to hurt her. Nothing about not killing her.
There are worse things than a quick, painless death. That was what Bravo had said before shooting Jasper in the head.
She yanked her arm as hard as she could, but his broad hand was superglued to her. “Please, let me go.”
“Sorry, but I need you.”
Whoa. I need you? Famous last words from a satanic cult leader to the abducted victim of a ritual sacrifice. Hard pass on being diced up and ground into dog food.
She clawed at his stone fingers and kicked his marble leg, but all she achieved was breaking another nail and stubbing her toes. Damn it.
Sharp pain bit her foot.
She slapped his arm and chest, drawing his irritation at the very least, if not his blood.
He didn’t even flinch. Not a solitary step faltered, not a single drop of sweat formed. But he headed toward the stairs, right for the exit point she’d wanted.
If only she knew who to use the pepper spray on. Which devil was worse? The ones who wanted her dead or the one who needed her for some unknown purpose?
She had no choice but to roll the dice and take her chances with the kidnapper. It beat catching a bullet to the head.
“How far back are they?” he asked in a voice so calm it was shocking.
“I don’t know.” She craned her neck, checking. Bravo and Delta were still there but seemed to maintain a set distance, and they both kept glancing at their watches. “Fifty feet maybe.”
“I’m not talking to you.” His tone was clipped, low.
She shot him a perplexed look. “Then who on earth are you talking to?”
“Shush. I can’t hear what he’s saying.”
He wasn’t wearing a phone headset and she didn’t see a communication device, but he was talking to someone anyway.
Omigod. He was listening to a voice…in his head. Worse, he was talking to that voice right now. The voice that had probably told him to take her.
“Have you seen the way they move? They’re pros and won’t shoot in this park. That’s why they used the needle on the guy,” he said—but not to her. “They won’t want any attention from the Capitol Police.”
She’d drawn the same conclusion. Without the help of a psychotic voice. She reached for the pepper spray in her bag.
“What?” he asked. Once again, not to her. “Damn it. I forgot about that.”
Oh crud. What had the voice said? Forgot about what?
Then she blinked, and pandemonium unfolded at warp speed.
The big guy whirled, doing a one-eig
hty, whipping her around with him in a blur. He drew a futuristic-looking gun from a holster she hadn’t noticed before. Bravo and Delta pulled guns fitted with silencers from their jackets and peeled off in separate directions.
Blood rushed from her head as her pulse kicked up from freaked to frenzied.
The brawny kidnapper shoved her behind a tree, pressing her spine into the abrasive bark. He wedged a thick, rock-hard leg between her thighs, pinning her between two hundred plus pounds of chiseled muscle and two feet of dense wood. God, those shoulders and that chest were almost as wide and solid as the tree.
“Achilles, down,” he said.
The dog fell in line behind him, doing as instructed.
He lowered his face close to hers. Then she spotted it. A flesh-colored earpiece.
“I need you to stay still.” His voice was deep and husky with a lethal edge of steel. Warm, minty breath caressed her mouth.
How could he be so infuriatingly calm? And why was he so distractingly hot?
“When the bells start ringing,” he said, “those guys are going to start shooting.”
Wait. What? “You just said they wouldn’t.”
“The sound will—”
Mighty bells tolled a symphony orchestra, heralding a hail of suppressed gunfire. No distinct pops rang in her ears, only the loud, solemn ding-dong and her terrified screams.
The force of bullets slamming into the tree reverberated through the trunk like power-driven nails, rattling the teeth in her head.
Terror spilled through her.
A volley of gunfire shredded the bark. Wooden shards exploded past the sides of her head. Grass and dirt kicked up in the air. Bullets whistled by, riddling shrubs and trees. Leaves rained down around them in a surreal cascade of greenery.