If Brubaker hadn’t thought that was fucking ironic, he would have told Stephanie to keep the dog under better control. The last thing he needed was dog piss destroying a crime scene. Pennington would have his hide for that. But the truth was, after finishing the coffee he bought from the intriguing lunch truck girl and two bottles of water brought by the forensic team, who were smart enough to bring a cooler, he considered hiking his own leg and taking a piss. And if this third spot turned out to also be an, “oops, I guess I was wrong,” spot, he might just piss on Smith.
The guy might be the ultimate sociopath and the biggest criminal of Brubaker’s career, but he was also the biggest pain in the ass. He whined constantly.
“It’s hot. I need a drink. The chains make it hard to walk. I can’t think with my hands cuffed. I can’t remember exactly…”
At one point, he even had the gall to say, “My jumpsuit is uncomfortable. It makes my underwear creep up my ass crack.”
Brubaker gave him a look that he hoped said, your problem, not mine. “We are not loosening your cuffs.” But as soon everyone else was out of hearing range, Brubaker leaned close and said, “I guess you’ll just have to bend over backwards and pull it out with your own teeth.”
To his surprise, Smith only smiled. The guy had a cold, evil smile. Brubaker had dealt with a lot of bad guys. Hell, he himself was a bad guy when the moment called for it. But now that they were out in the open, not surrounded by bars, he was starting to question whether or not he should have taken this case. At the very least, he thought Smith didn’t need to leave his cell in the future. There was no doubt Smith was dangerous. His smile reminded Brubaker of a cannibal looking forward to feasting on him.
“I look forward to watching you in pain, Agent Brubaker.”
What was frighteningly strange was the fact that as he spoke the words, the irritating nasal sound that was usually there was gone. And he held Brubaker’s gaze with something that felt like an iron grip.
“And I will, too. I might even enjoy a bowl of popcorn while I watch. Just wait and see.”
Brubaker thought of a number of things to reply, ranging from, “Don’t threaten me, you little pipsqueak,” to, “Fuck you.” But he said nothing. The last thing he needed was for anyone there to see him or hear him even look as though he threatened the prisoner.
Smith turned and shuffled off, making it appear he could hardly walk with the ankle chains in place as he called gaily, “Let’s get this party started! What are you all waiting for? Start digging. I’m so glad I don’t have to do the digging this time.”
To Brubaker’s amazement, Smith sat down as easily as the chains would allow him to drop into the grass.
“I think I’ll just sit right here in this little bit of shade and watch you all do the work.”
Yes, the guy was a true prick.
That certainty was confirmed a short time later as the first bones were discovered. At least Pennington was going to be happier with this little excursion.
Chapter Eleven
John found himself hesitant to leave. He liked the smell of the coffee shop almost as much as he liked the smell of his kitchen. He liked watching Abigail move around, making coffee, preparing food, wiping the counter. She smiled easily. He liked that too. He thought of his men giving him an amused hard time about taking her out, and he felt good stepping back into the game. It reminded him of high school when he’d broken his ankle playing football. The team had clued him in to whatever was going on without him. And as soon as the cast came off, they’d welcomed him right back into the game.
But he had to admit, the thought of being with her, sitting with her, being close to her—even though he wanted to—scared him shitless.
He was amazed how this job was really not much different from what he’d done in the Gulf War. He came up with a plan, relayed it to and instructed his team, who then executed it. As then, his team, his second family, except for Gil, moved out to their positions. He needed to move to his, too, but before he left, he glanced one more time to Abigail. She sat behind the counter, opening the morning’s mail.
Whatever she read caused her to pale visibly.
For a long moment, he watched her, and she never noticed. In fact, she looked rather sick.
She was his date. He’d put a claim on her, and held that claim when Louis threatened to move in. Feeling protective, he didn’t like the feeling that came with seeing her reaction to whatever she read. He vowed to find out what that was about, too. And help her with it.
He told himself it was his job.
But he was fooling himself. It was much more than a job.
As he and Gil were stepping out to leave, Ellie Westfall was stepping in, coming to work.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
John liked the way they greeted one another, each saying ‘hey,’ their gazes meeting as if some invisible tether joined them. Gil introduced them. “Ellie, this is John. John this is Ellie Westfall.”
Her hand was warm in his. She studied him closely. “You’re Charlie’s father.”
“Yes.”
Then shock filled her expression. “You were shot.”
“Yes, it was nothing, just a flesh wound. I’m fine.”
“How’s Charlie?”
“Doing well. He’s in class right now.”
“Good. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She looked at him as if she sincerely meant her words.
She looked back at Gil. “If I had known you were coming here, you could have ridden with me and Raylan.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be staying. It’s probably a good thing we each have our own cars.”
Her smile was lovely. John understood why Gil was so taken with her. “Yeah. I’ll see you after work, after I pick up Raylan, right?”
“Maybe before then. Maybe we can pick him up together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He gave her a quick kiss, neither afraid of too much PDA. John liked that, too. He wasn’t a fan of tongue in public, but a nice quick show of I care about you was never bad.
As he climbed into his truck and ignored the zing that snaked down his arm with the motion of closing the truck door, he thought again of Abigail.
And another zing that felt like electricity slid through his heart.
Chapter Twelve
A short time later, with Abigail still on his mind, John stepped into his kitchen with Gil behind him.
“So, you really asked her to dinner?” Gil asked.
“I did.” He breathed in a deep breath and again wondered what his kitchen would look like with Abigail in it. And he found himself wanting to see it. “She handed me my coffee and…”
Gil chuckled. “You don’t need to say any more. I stepped into that bank, saw Ellie and thought damn, why couldn’t I have met you any place, any time, other than here.”
Gil followed him through the house, down the hall to his safe room. There was more to his safe room than just what his son, Charlie, knew as his dad’s den.
He moved back the rug on the floor, revealing a trap door. A moment later, the trap was opened up to the stairs below. Gil followed John down there. John flipped a switch, lighting up the bunker. John had had this bunker built as the house was constructed after the teams’ last tour in Desert Storm. They had returned with way more equipment than they left the states carrying. And all of them understood the need to stay ahead of the game when they were offered government jobs. Like now, there had been times when they’d been asked to take a vacation. Like now, there had been times they needed to operate under the radar. While the entire team knew about its existence, they were seldom here altogether. John was generally the one who added things to it or brought items up from it, even though each had contributed in some way. Now and then Al or Louis were down there, listening or using or updating equipment.
“It’s really strange,” John said as he moved to a nearby table. “Just this morning, I made the decision to move on with my life, to let Susan
go. I took off my wedding band and left it in our bedroom, on her dresser. The next thing I know, I’m asking the young, pretty barista for a date. I have to admit, I’m shocked as shit she accepted. I’ve got a few years on her, as you can tell.”
“I know you deserve to have your life back. I also know there’s nothing wrong with an age difference between two consenting adults. Besides, I’m sure if she didn’t want to, she would have said no.”
“I know.” John flipped on some switches, working what he knew with the communications to relay the feed from the surveillance van to here so everything could be recorded. He also knew it was illegal as hell, but they just might need it in their pockets some day, so it didn’t bother him in the least. He picked up the handheld mic and pressed the button. “Eagle One to Eagle Two. ”
Louis’s voice came back. “Eagle Two here. We’re patching in the feed right now. You should be able to hear it.”
More talking came over a second speaker.
“My jumpsuit is uncomfortable. It makes my underwear creep up my ass crack.”
“That’s Bob Smith. I recognize his nasally voice. It haunts my dreams,” said Gil.
“We are not loosening your cuffs.”
“And that’s Brubaker,” John put in. “His voice haunts my dreams.”
“I guess you’ll just have to bend over backwards and pull it out with your own teeth.”
“I don’t know which one is more evil,” Gil said. “Even worse, I don’t know which one is more unpredictable.”
“I look forward to watching you in pain, Agent Brubaker. And I will, too. Just wait and see. I might even enjoy a bowl of popcorn while I watch. Just wait and see.”
John sat down in one of the rolling chairs. “I have to agree it’s a toss up. I’m surprised Brubaker didn’t have a comeback for that.”
“There were probably too many people around, listening and watching. You know how Brubaker is at keeping his nose at least looking clean when someone might be watching.”
“I know.”
“Let’s get this party started! What are you all waiting for? Start digging. I’m so glad I don’t have to do the digging this time. I think I’ll just sit right here in this little bit of shade and watch you all do the work.”
John laughed. “I’ll bet Brubaker is seething.”
“No doubt.”
John flipped another couple of switches and picked up the mic again. “Eagle Two, are you able to get any video feed?”
“Working on that now, Eagle One. It’s not the best at this distance, and we’re afraid to get any closer.”
“I understand.”
“Brubaker’s like a vulture seeing a dead body from twenty thousand feet in the air when he comes to spotting cameras.” Gil sat down next to him.
John chuckled again before he worked a few knobs.
Video feed came up on the screen. There was a fuzzy, distant picture of two men digging, a woman with a dog on a leash, a man leaning on a shovel. Brubaker was easily identified standing at the head of the hole. Smith sat on the ground nearby, flanked by men in suits. Two more men were giving it their best shot at holding down a perimeter.
Other muffled voices came across through the speaker. “I think we have something.”
“What is it?” A little static muffled the words.
“My best guess—a femur.”
Gil leaned his elbow on the counter. “You do know he’ll drag this out for as long as possible.”
“I know he’ll drag it out for as long it as it takes for him to make an escape plan, execute it, and disappear.”
Chapter Thirteen
Charlie walked in the back door half expecting to, although kind of hoping he didn’t, find his dad. His dad had spent several days in the hospital after being shot in the shoulder, and now weeks at home recuperating. Luckily, the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital and hadn’t even shattered any bone. There had just been a frightening amount of blood. Charlie hated to think how things could have been if his dad had even been turned slightly or had been looking the other way. As it was, on top of all that blood, there had been a lot of tissue damage. And now he was at home, healing. Charlie didn’t know how to feel about that. He wasn’t used to his dad being home all day.
Almost as bad as seeing his dad shot, he discovered his dad worked for the government like some sort of a secret agent when all his life Charlie thought he was a computer salesman.
It had been the weirdest thing.
One minute, he and his friends were baking cookies and the next he and his almost—hopefully—girlfriend, Erica were being whisked away by agents and meeting all sorts of new people who were also agents or victims.
And now, a little less than a month later, Charlie was in class at the university in Lake Forrest. He had been hoping his new friend, Ellie Westfall, would let him use her computer to do his homework, because she had a damned nice computer set up. Although he hoped his dad was out of the house, getting back to life and feeling better, he found himself wanting to talk to him.
Damn, the kitchen was empty.
Did that mean today of all days, when he needed to touch base with his dad, tell him about school, hear his dad’s voice, the man had decided to venture back out into the world? Charlie didn’t look toward the window. Just looking at the place where a bullet had come shooting through to land in his dad’s shoulder still sent his heart pounding. Sometimes it was just better not to think about it. And just when he thought he felt better about things, safer, he’d be reminded. It was like taking two steps forward and one step back.
He reached for his phone with every intention of calling his dad, meeting him wherever he was. Hell, it was almost lunch time. They could have lunch together.
Muffled voices touched him from down the hall. He let out a huff of relief. His dad wasn’t gone after all. He moved down the hall, the voices growing louder. He was in his den, a place Charlie hadn’t been allowed until he’d dragged his bleeding father in there and discovered it was so much more than his father’s den. It was a safe room.
The door was open.
Just when he thought he couldn’t learn anything new about his father, who was really some sort of agent, he saw there was a trap door open in the floor of the safe room.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…What’s next? A hot line to the White House?”
He suddenly didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he wanted or needed to know where the door led or what his father did down there. He wasn’t so certain he liked being the adult. It was so much easier remaining the ignorant child who skipped along happily. Maybe he should pretend he never saw this secret door. Just back away from the room, back down the hall and out the door. He could call his dad and have him meet him somewhere for lunch. He could even go back out into the garage and make a bunch of racket, drop some tools or something so his dad knew he was home and came out of that secret lower room that was housed inside the up-until-now secret safe room.
For a long moment, he just stood there, listening to the voices, feeling his own heart beat in his chest. He recognized his dad’s voice and that of Gil Trent. Charlie hadn’t worried so much when he’d thought his dad was just a computer salesman. He even hoped his dad getting shot might make him quit being the agent. Now that he knew what his dad really was, all he did was worry. If one crazy maniac would shoot his dad right through the kitchen window, what would the next maniac try? Charlie hated to speculate.
He heard his dad say, “I know he’ll drag it out for as long it as it takes for him to make an escape plan, execute it, and disappear.”
Charlie knew his father was talking about the bastard who shot him. Charlie could no more sneak out quietly as he could cut off his own nose with his pocket knife. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard.
“Dad?”
There were several seconds of silence. Then his father was at the bottom of the stairs that led down from the open trap door, looking up at him.
“What is it, Son
?”
“Can I talk to you?”
He was almost certain his father would come up, close the secret entrance, cover it with the rug Charlie knew had always been there, and pretend seeing a trap door in his den was nothing new. To Charlie’s surprise, he didn’t.
“Of course. Come down here.”
“Down there?”
“Good heavens, Charlie, you saved me. You saved my entire team. You can come down here.”
Charlie didn’t move.
“You do understand, however, that you can never tell anyone about this room. Not Erica, not anyone. Lives depend on it.”
He did understand the weight of what his father asked. Again, he wished he could push off the responsibility that came with adulthood. It was why he still didn’t move. But then he remembered the team in which his father worked. They were deeper than any family he’d ever known or seen. They had been willing to die for one another. They had been willing to die for him and for Ellie Westfall and her son. If they could do that, he could keep the secret.
He took the first step down. Then the next and the next.
A few heartbeats later, he stood at the bottom of the stairs. Ellie’s computer set up was nothing compared to what his father had down here.
Computers. Video screens. Recorders. A huge printer/copier. Counter desks and chairs. There were even bunk beds. There was great supply of bottled water and boxes marked sea rations. There were weapons and ammunition. There were microphones and earphones.
“Hi, Charlie.” Gil greeted him as if seeing him in an unknown hidden bunker filled with enough to live and hide for six months was nothing out of the ordinary.
Charlie could only nod to Gil as he took in the room.
Unafraid Page 5