Explosive Encounter (Task Force 779 Book 2)

by KL Donn

  “Morning sickness,” the man on the phone and I say at the same time.

  “Whatever. We’re delayed by about ninety minutes.”

  “I’ll have a doctor at the house within an hour of the arrival. She’s discreet and has no idea who Chaos is. Your secret is safe with us, Everett. Good luck.” The line drops, and I’m left reeling.

  “Who are you guys?”

  “Asher is DOJ. I’m a merc. Chaos is Chaos.” That doesn’t really answer my question. It only creates so many more.

  “Am I ever going to know your real name?” I try. I hadn’t asked before because I didn’t think he’d answer me, but he’s softening up since discovering my secret.

  “No,” he snaps. Maybe I was wrong.

  “Fine, I’ll just keep calling you Gigantor.” I grin as he glares, only sparing me a look for a second as he drives.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Tell me your name then.” I can be persistent.

  “No.”

  “Gigantor it is.” I know I’m playing with fire. He could squish me like a bug with one hand if he truly wanted to.

  His hands circle the steering wheel, and he rolls them back forth, making the leather creak as I wait on his rebuttal. “Matthew.” I didn’t think he’d cave so quickly.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” I respond just as I begin to yawn.

  “Go to sleep, girl. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

  I recline my seat and maneuver to my side, staring out the window until my eyes are too tired to watch the scenery pass, and soon, they’re drooping, and I’m drifting off.

  16

  Foster

  Dulles International Airport, Virginia

  “Guys, this is Coen Groves. Coen, my team,” Ryder introduces as a man greets us at a security entrance to the congested airport. I’m eager to give this Max Drift a piece of my mind and maybe my fist.

  “Hey. He’s up in holding. He did not come easy.” Coen smirks as he leads the way upstairs, down a hallway, and up another elevator before we reach our destination. “Asher McCall is already here with him. Hasn’t said a word to the man, though, he’s just been watching him.”

  That’s Asher’s specialty. Making people nervous by watching and waiting until they spill their secrets and dig their own graves. It’s how he gets the truth. People don’t realize how much they give away when they babble to try and cover up their lies.

  Coen leads us into a two-way mirrored room, similar to an interrogation room at a police station, to view Asher and Max before one of us enters.

  “Look, I was coerced into doing it. It’s not like I wanted to,” Max says, and Coen snorts.

  “He’s been saying that every other minute since I grabbed him."

  “You do that to him?” Nix nods towards the bandages on the man’s face and black eye.

  Coen shrugs. “I told you he did not want to come easily.”

  “Ryder, you’re with me,” Nix instructs. He already warned me that I wouldn't be allowed in there with the man, as much as I want to be.

  They leave the room as Asher stands. Max pales when Nix walks in. Can’t say I blame him; my commander is a large fucking man. Asher exits as Nix stands in front of the now-closed door, arms crossed, deadly glare firmly in place. Ryder hooks Drift up to the lie detector we brought along. With as nervous as the man is, even his training won’t allow for him to beat the machine.

  Coen opens the door as Asher knocks. “This idiot. He’s so fucking stupid. I’d like to know how Van didn’t sniff out that he was a mole for so many months. The man can barely sit still, and he doesn’t shut the fuck up.”

  “Jessica Gaines will be brought to us in the morning. Theo’s gone to retrieve her. Is it time we bring Van in for questioning?” He’s obviously a very incompetent agent if he can’t spot a mole working under him.

  Phone in hand, Asher doesn’t look up as he types. “Not yet. POTUS wants to speak with him personally. He’s also got the paperwork ready to send Drift to Leavenworth on charges of high crimes and whatever else we come up with.”

  “Everything alright there?” Weston asks as Asher’s frown deepens.

  “Fine. Our agents are in American airspace now. Landing in two hours.”

  “Ready,” Ryder announces as he sits in front of his computer, and Nix walks over to the table to take a seat.

  “Your name,” the big man growls.

  “Who are you?” Drift asks instead, eyes skittering around the room.

  “Name,” Nix repeats.

  Drift squirms in his chair. “What is going on?”

  Nix slams his fists on the table, nearly startling Max into falling out of his chair and knocking the glass of water onto the floor. “Say your fucking name!”

  “Damn,” Coen mutters, his voice full of respect.

  “Maxwell Drift,” the man finally answers.

  “Good. Now you date of birth,” Ryder states.

  Max answers each of the next questions until they have a baseline of truth set up. Once Nix starts asking about the Diablos Cartel, he pales further and looks ready to be sick.

  “I can’t talk about them,” he says.

  “How many other times have you sold out agents for monetary gain?” Ryder interrupts, and I know he’s done research on the man and all his missions. There were three agents who were KIA while Drift was on the investigation, and each time, there was a significant deposit to his account in the Caymans.

  “None. This was the only time.” We all see the lie for what it is.

  “Who is Liam Walker, Nathan Reeves, and Sierra Cole?” Ryder looks him dead in the eye, daring the man to lie once again.

  Max looks away. “I have no idea.”

  “Really? Because I have a file here that shows you were Sierra’s handler in Afghanistan, and you worked in ops when Liam and Nathan were working missions on three separate occasions. You wanna know something they have in common?”

  “What?” The sigh of defeat is in his tone.

  “You. They all worked under you, and they’re all dead. Funny enough, you also received $100,000, deposited to your Grand Cayman account the day before each of them was brutally murdered,” Ryder accuses.

  Max drops his head to his chest, and shame emits from his entire frame. He fucked up, and he’s been caught. I’m only waiting for him to place the blame on someone else now.

  When we found Everett, we snapped some photos of her broken body, and then again on the flight home, and in the hospital. I think now is the time for us to use those. He’s close to breaking, he just needs some help going over the edge.

  “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Asher steps in my way as his phone buzzes in his hand again.

  “I know how to crack him.” I reach for the door handle as concern crosses his face. “Looks like you’ve got something there you need to handle.”

  “Fuck,” Asher hisses. “Don’t you put one fucking finger on that son of a bitch.” Stepping out of the way, he presses the phone to his ear and walks over to a corner in the room.

  Shaking him off, I head to the interrogation room, and Nix glares when I open the door. “Hey, Max, I’m Chaos.” I keep my tone friendly because what I’m about to do is going to be an enormous shock to his system. “You know why they call me that?” He shakes his head, and Ryder chuckles. “I like to blow shit up. The bigger the boom, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

  The man won’t look up, so I continue to speak. “Four, five months ago, my team was sent to Mexico to rescue a girl. There was no ransom, we had some spotty satellite surveillance and a general location, but nothing else.” Nix watches the man with an intensity that would make the strongest of men piss themselves.

  “When we got there, Ryder and I went in to get her. She was beaten, naked, bruised. Bloodiest little thing I’ve seen in a good long while.” Scrolling through my phone, I pull up the worst picture I have of Everett, and my stomach flops at the image. “This is Everett Gaines.” His eyes widen.
“Yeah, your boss's daughter. She was raped. Repeatedly, and left in the dirt to rot. The Diablos Cartel was never going to let her go. They would have continued on raping her until she died.”

  I scroll the pictures so he can see each and every one. He needs to know what he did to her because of greed. “This happened to her because of you. Your need for more money and selling out fellow agents. When the information you were giving them wasn’t good enough, you told them where Everett was. How vulnerable and alone she was in that villa. She never stood a chance.” I growl the last words and have to hold onto every ounce of strength I’ve got so I don’t break his neck right now.

  Ryder turns the screen of the machine Max is hooked up to, and his heart rate is through the roof. If he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest soon, I’ll be shocked.

  “You were the bad guy then, Max, do the right thing and be the good guy now. Tell us who your point of contact was in the cartel. Who is responsible for these atrocities?” Nix demands.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mumbles.

  “Try us,” Ryder says.

  Squatting next to him, I grip his jaw and turn his head. “She isn’t the only one they’ve done this to. There are other women, children, even, who have suffered worse.” His eyes widen, and I finally begin to see regret reflected back at me. “Who contacted you?”

  I don’t know what I expected, but when he mutters the name of the man who ordered him to give names, locations, dates, everything possible to be sure a CIA op failed, I nearly fall on my ass.

  “Do you have proof?” Ryder asks, opening his laptop and typing.

  “An account number and encrypted emails,” he answers. “Please don’t send me to Leavenworth,” he begs. “I won’t be able to handle it.”

  I feel no pity for this man. Helping destroy a woman’s life he doesn’t even know deserves no mercy. “Sorry, man. President’s orders.” I walk out. This is never going to fucking end for her.

  Asher

  “What did the doctor say?” I murmur into the phone, knowing Shaker and this Coen guy are listening. Coen may not catch on, but I have Shaker’s full attention now.

  “She needs bed rest and no stress,” Ares answers, likely hating this assignment even more now.

  “She isn’t that far along, how does she need bed rest?” Jesus. Of course, she had to be pregnant.

  “I don’t fucking know. Talk to her; she can explain. And maybe you can get her to stop pouting.”

  “I am not pouting, Gigantor.” Whoa. She’s a brave one. “What?” she barks out.

  “Hello to you, too. What’d the doctor say?” I don’t have time to waste on consoling her. I wish she’d just fucking tell Foster, so he can deal with her stubborn ass.

  “My blood pressure is elevated, and I’m spotting. Therefore, bed rest.”

  “Hey, no need to say that kind of shit.” Does she not know about TMI?

  “What? Spotting? I’m at risk of losing my baby, Asher. Someone I didn’t know I wanted until I had it.” I can hear the tears in her voice, and momentarily, forget who’s in the room.

  “Everett, don’t fucking cry. You might make Gigantor there run. And he runs from no one.” I feel a looming presence behind me and turn to see a pissed off Shaker standing there. Fuck.

  Pulling the phone from my hand, he puts it to his ear. “Everett, it’s Weston.” I can hear her openly crying now. Chaos is going to kill me.

  “He has to know, kid.” The man tries to reason. “You know that’s not the only reason he’d ever come back. The fool loves you. He believes he's protecting you.” There’s a pause, and he growls out, “Fine,” and hands the phone back to me before shaking his head and walking back to the mirror to watch.

  “Can you just hurry up and finish whatever it is you guys are doing so I can get on with my life?” she commands.

  I have one ear listening to the interrogation as she talks, and the revelation just revealed has me questioning everything we thought we knew. “Holy fuck,” I hiss.

  “What?” I can hear the panic in her tone.

  “Nothing, I gotta go. We’ll talk again soon.” I hang up and wait a few minutes before texting Ares to let him know who was just revealed as the man behind the bribes, deaths, and Everett's abduction.

  The spy business is often cutthroat and full of egos, but I don’t think any of us saw this one coming.

  Everett

  Myrtle Beach

  Hearing Doctor Spencer say I was at risk of losing the baby put dreadful fear into me. Even during my capture, I never felt as scared as I do now. She did some bloodwork and sent it to the lab to check my hormone levels and a whole slew of other tests, but the thing that placed me on bed rest was the spotting.

  She said that while it can be completely normal, mixed with my elevated pressure, she wants me to be safe rather than sorry later. So now, I'm on medication, bed-bound unless it’s to go to the bathroom. Showers are less than five minutes, and I can’t make my own food.

  Matthew was pissed when she told him he was essentially going to be my maid. As much as he was cursing and carrying on like it was some big deal, he appeared a little concerned when the words possible miscarriage were spoken.

  We have to wait on the bloodwork to be sure my hormone levels have evened out before she’ll ease the bed rest.

  After speaking to Asher and then Weston, I have the feeling that Foster is going to find out sooner than later and definitely before I’m ready for him to know. I promised myself I wouldn’t think about it, though.

  “Stop frowning. You’ll get wrinkles,” Matthew mutters as he hands me a plate of cut-up fruit and a glass of milk.

  “Thank you,” I say, shock clear in my tone.

  “Fruit’s supposed to be good for pregnant women,” he mumbles as his phone vibrates, and he looks at it. Immediately, I see anger cross his face, and his body tenses.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I know it has to with me when he turns his back.

  “I’ll be back. Gonna get these vitamins for you.” He barely gets the words out before he’s walking out the door.

  Well, so much for not stressing. I take a few deep breaths, grab the remote, and turn the television on. Some comedy movie with Adam Sandler and Kevin James is playing, so I leave it, hoping it’ll distract me enough to forget Matthew’s anger.

  It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to swoop me up in its embrace, and I can feel myself falling over into the bed as my eyes drift shut. Darkness enfolds me in its cold wings, and I’m transported back to a time I wish I could forget.

  Think, Evie, think. You can’t let them take you anywhere remote. Too bad I can’t see with the blindfold over my eyes. My hands tied behind my back and feet bound together means I can’t run or crawl. I'm immobile.

  I try to push the terror back, but I’m stuck in its wicked grasp, and I have no idea what to do. How to get myself free. I know from their looks, the tattoos, that they must be part of a gang or cartel, but I couldn’t even guess who.

  Puerto Vallarta was supposed to be a safe haven. Mom and I have visited so many times before, and we’ve never had a problem. It was always a sanctuary for us. Now, it’s pure hell. I’ll never be able to return.

  I can hear them speaking in Spanish, but I haven’t a clue what they’re saying. Every once in awhile, I hear my name, so I know they know exactly who I am. What I don’t understand is why they’re taking me. If they recognize me, then they must know I have no money. Mom has no money. And Dad doesn’t give two shits about me.

  The vehicle I’m in slowly rolls to a stop, and I hear doors opening, more voices, and soon, someone is grabbing a hold of me and dragging me out onto what feels like grass. I land with a thud as my head hits the ground, and my ensnared hands dig into my spine.

  “Please let me go.” I try to beg, but I’m ignored. Every cry, curse, and plea for help is disregarded like I’m not a human being. Nobody cares, and that’s the worst feeling in the world.

  “Everett!” I
hear my name being screamed, and I try to look around, but the damn hood blocks my view.

  “Everett, wake the fuck up!” My eyes pop open, and I blink up at Matthew as he stares at me with concern in his chilly gaze. “Jesus Christ, woman. You’re a pain in my ass,” he says as he stands and paces to the end of the bed and back. “You need to tell Foster. You’re his. He should be here.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper. The fear of my kidnapping is still very real in my mind and body.

  “Why the fuck not? He’s the father, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he should fucking know! He should be here for everything, Everett. Don’t you see that by keeping him away, you’re only hurting yourself, too.” Why does he have to sound so reasonable?

  “Do you think I don’t want to tell him? Of course, I do! But tell me something, Matthew, have you ever had someone beg you to trust them and so you do, but then they throw it back in your face by handing you off to some scary-ass stranger and walking away?” He’s silent at my outburst. “No, I didn’t think so. But when that happens to you, then you can offer me advice. Until then, shut up and leave me alone.”

  Being mad right now pushes all the fear of a few minutes ago and the hurt from Foster’s distance away, and for a moment, one sheer blissful second, I can breathe.

  Until all of it comes crashing back, and I feel like I’m suffocating again.

  17

  Foster

  Escorting a traitor to The Castle

  I hate flying in cargo planes. They’re drafty, loud, and the air isn’t compressed. It’s not something I’ve ever been able to get used to. Which is why I’m so grateful for the team’s private jet.

  But prisoners aren’t given special treatment. No pretty stewardesses, no cushy seats. No free drinks or snacks. Just a hard place on the floor chained to a hook at their feet. Nix and I are escorting Max Drift to Kansas to face his sentence. Ryder and Weston are picking up Theo and Jessica and then they’re heading to our facility to investigate the accusations Max threw out before we hauled his ass out of the airport and to the nearest military base.