I Spy a Dark Obsession sa-3

by Jo Davis

  Bastian couldn’t care less, especially after listening to those two vocalize their appreciation of Michael’s prowess all frigging night long.

  Stalking through the kitchen, he bypassed the coffeepot and headed straight out the door. Fuck it; he’d drive through Starbucks. And order a triple-caffeinated, hot caramel mocha with four sugars and whipped cream. He’d stop by the gym after work and attempt to kill the calories, along with his frustration.

  Turning out of the gate, he soon lost himself in mulling over the strain of living with Michael now that the man was almost recovered. He didn’t know how he’d be able to take another night like last night, but he wasn’t about to leave before Dietz was captured or killed. Preferably the latter.

  He was so engrossed in his current misery, the vehicle following several cars behind him almost didn’t register. A silver sedan, nondescript, too far back for him to see the emblem on the grille or read the license plate—Wait, there is no front plate. It had been keeping pace with him for a few miles, never gaining, always leaving cars between them. An innocuous sedan among many, meant to attract no attention. An innocent motorist or a tail?

  As planned, he drove to Starbucks, but decided to park and go inside rather than using the drive-through. Under any other circumstances, he might believe he was being overly cautious. The awful memory of Michael bleeding out on the ground cured that notion. If he was being followed, he’d know soon enough.

  As Bastian pulled in to the Starbucks parking lot, the silver car turned in to a McDonald’s he’d passed about three businesses back, and got into the long drive-through line wrapped around the building. Bastian got out of his car, locked it, and strolled inside, the picture of a regular guy stopping for his daily jolt before heading to the nine-to-five. Not a care in the world.

  The Glock resting in the holster underneath his suit jacket told a different story. He hadn’t been quick enough to save Michael from the assassin’s bullets, and could have just as easily been the one dying because he hadn’t seen danger coming. Never again.

  Ten minutes later, he walked out carrying his caramel mocha and a small paper bag containing a cheese Danish, and casually glanced toward the McDonald’s. The silver car was almost to the pay window, if it was the same one. “Time to boogie,” he said under his breath.

  Sliding into his car, Bastian set his drink in the holder, the bag on the passenger’s seat, and got under way. As he left the parking lot, the silver car abandoned the line, headed for the exit, and eased into traffic, once again keeping several car lengths between them.

  “Bingo,” he muttered. “Now the question is, Who are you?”

  Could be Dietz, one of his henchmen, or anyone. Bastian had dozens of agents working scores of cases at the moment, all of which he was responsible for in Michael’s absence. Taking out a SHADO leader would be considered a coup for any of the country’s most wanted, not just Dietz, and he’d do well to remember that.

  The fact that the general public didn’t know of SHADO’s existence didn’t mean shit. Many who comprised society’s underbelly did, and that’s what counted.

  He was more than halfway to the compound and had turned onto the two-lane road several miles from his destination when the sedan made its move. In the rearview mirror, he saw the vehicle rapidly closing the distance, making no attempt to be discreet now that they were on an isolated stretch with help minutes away. Minutes that could prove fatal.

  Whipping out his cell phone, he placed a call to the emergency command center at SHADO, taking some comfort in the fact that those guys were ready to roll twenty-four/seven. The voice on the other end of the line was a godsend.

  “This is St. Laurent,” the man said in greeting, tense with concern. “Chevalier?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m about six minutes out, got a visitor comin’ up my tailpipe and not in a good way. Silver sedan, no front plates. Must have something special under the hood to catch my Porsche. I need backup, Jude, five minutes ago.” The car continued to close the gap, and Bastian pressed hard on the accelerator.

  “You got it. Hang on.” The blind agent — one of the casualties in Dietz’s grab for power and money — exchanged a few brief words with someone on the other end, then returned. “Okay, we’ve got you on tracking. Stay ahead of the target and our team will intercept.”

  “Tell them to hurry, man. Things are about to get nasty.”

  With that he closed his phone and tucked it into his suit pocket—

  Just as the sedan rammed him from behind. Cursing, he fought to control his lightweight sports car as it fishtailed. While he had his hands full, the driver whipped to the left and put on a burst of speed, bringing the sedan even with his car. Bastian grabbed for the Glock under his jacket and palmed it. Glanced over to see the other driver already had his hand cannon pointed at Bastian’s window.

  “Fuck!”

  He ducked as the window shattered in a spray of glass. Felt his car get rammed again, jerking to the right. Sitting up, he intended to pop off a shot out the broken window, only to see that he was already on the shoulder of the road, barreling toward the culvert beyond. No time to correct the wheel. Only time to suck in a sharp breath as the car met empty air.

  The engine whined and the nose dipped. The front end met the earth first in a teeth-jarring impact, then the back. The vehicle bounced and slid sideways, and he was along for the ride. Tossed by the whim of fate.

  He barely had time to register the warm liquid flooding his mouth as the car tilted, rolled. Once, twice. A third time, more glass shattering, metal screaming. His head struck something, but the pain didn’t register. Only his desperation to stay conscious, or he was a dead man. Because he had no doubt the driver of the sedan would come down here and pump a bullet in his brain.

  The Porsche slid to a stop, resting on the roof. Bastian, heart racing, struggled to remove his seat belt. The bastard would be down here in moments to finish him. And where the hell was his gun? The latch gave and he scooted to an upright position, wincing at the bloom of pain in his ribs and head, searching for the weapon that was nowhere to be found. He had to get out of here or he was going to be slaughtered like a pig.

  The front windshield had a bigger opening, so he crawled through on his stomach, ignoring the jagged teeth that tore at his nice shirt. Footsteps crunched through the foliage, easing down the incline toward the car, and he crawled faster. From his assailant’s hesitation, he wasn’t sure whether Bastian still posed a threat and was approaching with caution.

  Free of the car, Bastian sat up and got his bearings. Not easy to do with his head swimming. The car had come to rest in the undergrowth in a wooded area, something he could use to his advantage. Position and the element of surprise were all he had. Hopefully, the bastard would believe he was still in the wreck long enough for Bastian to get the drop on him.

  Quickly, careful not to make noise, he limped for a nearby copse of trees and ducked behind a large one. Sweat trickled down his face and he swayed on his feet, wondering when his backup would show. Now would be good.

  The footsteps circled his car slowly. Taking a chance, Bastian peered around the tree trunk and saw a big man taking stock of the car. Dark hair, swarthy complexion. Smooth skin. Not Tio, then. Dietz’s right hand was an ugly, pockmarked son of a bitch. This guy appeared pretty average, except for his size. And the big-ass gun in his palm.

  The man bent to peer in the driver’s window… and spied a torn, bloodied piece of Bastian’s shirt clinging to a shard of glass in the front windshield.

  Shit! Before the man could straighten, Bastian launched himself across the distance. The man spun, bringing up the weapon, and fired. Bastian hit him in a flying tackle, slamming him into the side of the car and grabbing the hand with the gun. They hit the ground tangled together, each fighting for control of the weapon. Teeth bared in a snarl, his nemesis struggled to turn the muzzle of the gun on Bastian, but he managed to get some leverage, banging the man’s wrist into the hard-packed eart
h until it gave with a sickening snap.

  The assailant howled, releasing the weapon. Bastian wasted no time scooping it up, pushing the muzzle under the man’s chin.

  “Game over,” he hissed. “Who do you work for?”

  “Fuck you.” The shithead spat in his face.

  “You wish.” He gave the guy a feral smile. “Dietz send you?”

  “Who?” The man’s eyes cut away, mouth tightening.

  “Lying asshole. We’ll see how you like being our guest indefinitely.”

  A sneer marred his face. “I’ll make bail before the tow truck gets that piece of shit you were driving out of the ditch.”

  Bastian laughed. “You think we’re cops? Boy, Dietz left out a few important details when he handed you this job — or you failed to ask the right questions. You’re not going to jail, moron. You just disappeared down a black hole, never to be seen or heard from again. Hope you watered your plants and fed the cat.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Bastian yanked him to his feet, spun him, and pushed him face-first into the side of the car. “What the fuck? I have rights!”

  “Do us both a favor and shut up unless you have something useful to say.”

  The sound of a vehicle stopping on the road above, shouts, and many feet tramping down the incline in their direction was music to his ears. He didn’t relax until a hand clamped on his shoulder and a low voice growled in his ear.

  “Got him, boss.”

  Bastian moved back, limping, his body beginning to throb, his injuries making themselves known. The man who’d spoken, an agent named Lawrence, jerked the would-be assassin’s arms behind his back and cuffed him. As he led their prisoner away, another hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Bastian? You okay? We heard a shot.”

  He turned to see Blaze Kelly, a good friend, onetime lover, and a damned fine agent, frowning at him in concern. “Went wide. I’m fine. Think I’m gonna need a ride to the office, though,” he said, waving a hand at the totaled Porsche. His joke fell flat. Suddenly he didn’t feel so good.

  Blaze steadied him. “Jesus, man, your head is bleeding. We’re taking you to McKay, getting you checked out.”

  “I’m okay, really—”

  “Let’s go. Just don’t vomit in the Hummer.”

  He gave Blaze a lopsided smile. “No promises.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” The big agent wrinkled his nose as he helped Bastian up the culvert. “You smell like chocolate and coffee.”

  “My caramel mocha, which perished in the wreck along with my breakfast.”

  Food was the exact wrong thing to mention at that moment. His stomach heaved and he dropped to his hands and knees, retching.

  “Well, shit,” Blaze sighed.

  Indeed. This morning had started out in the crapper and had, unbelievably, gone straight to hell. Definitely room for improvement.

  Then again, he was alive. Five points back in the plus column. He’d need all he could get before he brought down Dietz like the rabid dog he was.

  Michael was balls-deep in Jeri when the phone rang. He groaned, not paying too much attention to the noise. Either Simon or Mrs. Beasley would pick up, and they knew better than to disturb him when he was entertaining guests.

  He’d barely achieved release, emptying himself into her sweet pussy, when a firm knock sounded at the door. Restraining a growl of irritation, he eased out and patted her on the rear. “Go away,” he yelled toward the door.

  “You have a call, sir,” Simon informed him in that steady tone.

  “Take a message.”

  “It’s of the utmost importance.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Knowing Simon, the call was urgent or he wouldn’t have interrupted. “Hang on.”

  Scooting from the bed, he ignored his companions’ pouts and pulled on a pair of jeans he retrieved from the end. Stalking to the door, he opened it and slipped into the hallway, shutting it behind him. Simon stood with his hand covering the mouth of the phone, worry in his eyes. That alone chilled Michael’s soul.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Agent Kelly, sir. There’s been an incident.” He held out the phone. “Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

  Michael took the phone and waited until the older man disappeared around the corner before speaking. “Blaze? What’s going on?”

  “Michael, listen to me. First of all, Bastian is okay—”

  “What happened?” he demanded. Christ, his best friend had been gone only an hour. What could have taken place since then?

  “He was followed and the guy shot at him, ran him off the road. He rolled the Porsche, but listen—he’s okay,” Blaze emphasized. “Bastian called for backup, but he already had the asshole subdued when we arrived.”

  “Thank God,” Michael breathed. “Where is Bastian now? Put him on the phone.”

  “I can’t. McKay’s checking him out. He’s got some cuts and bruises, maybe a concussion—”

  “What?” he shouted. His knees turned to rubber. “You said he was okay! I’m on my way.”

  “That’s not necessary. I wanted you to know, that’s all. The assailant’s in a cell, but he’s not talking.”

  “I’ll be there in forty minutes or less.”

  Ending the call, he yelled for Simon. Like magic, the man appeared from around the corner. No doubt he’d listened to every word. He handed the old butler the phone. “Bastian had some trouble on the way to work. I’ve got to go.”

  “Will he be all right, sir?”

  “I think so. See my guests out, would you? They drove their own car, so they won’t need a ride.”

  He sniffed. “With pleasure.”

  There it was again, the disapproval. He didn’t have time for this. “I’m driving myself to work, and before you say anything, yes, I’m well enough.”

  “I was going to ask whether that’s wise, considering that his trouble might have been calculated to goad you into rushing off alone.”

  He stared at the old man. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

  “So are you, but you’re upset. One of us must retain his wits.”

  “You’re right.” His mind scrambled for calm despite his urgency to get to Bastian. “Ring security. Tell them I need the car and an armed man to ride with me. I’ll have a shower and meet them out front in ten. And, Simon, thanks.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  The old man left to do as Michael asked. Michael returned to the bedroom and gave the ladies a lighthearted smile he didn’t quite carry off. “Emergency. I have to go, so you’ll need to get dressed. Simon will show you out.”

  “Aww, I thought we were gonna spend the day together,” Jackie whined.

  Jeri punched her in the arm. “Shush. Can’t you see something’s happened?” To Michael, she said, “I hope everything is all right. Call us?”

  “Sure.” Somehow, he didn’t think he would, no matter how much he’d enjoyed their company. “I had a great time. Truly.”

  They began gathering their clothes and getting dressed. He gave them each a brief kiss, but didn’t wait for them to leave before hitting the shower. He made short work of the task, and donned a pair of nice black pants and a white dress shirt. A shoulder holster containing his gun and a jacket over it completed the ensemble, and he made it out front with one minute to spare.

  With the attempt on Bastian, all bets were off.

  Michael Ross was officially back at the helm, and God help Dietz or anyone else who hurt those he cared for. His gut twisted in cold rage.

  “You’re going to pay, motherfucker.”

  Four

  Katrina was headed for Michael’s office to report her findings on the pinhole camera when the man himself rounded a corner ahead and dashed for the elevator.

  “Michael, wait!” She quickened her steps to catch up, reaching him as the elevator doors slid open and he ducked inside. Following him, she blew out a breath. “I wa
s just on my way to speak with you.”

  “About?”

  “The camera,” she reminded him. “I stayed up half the night, but I located the problem.”

  “Oh. That.” He looked distracted, and practically vibrated with impatience.

  She frowned. “Yes, that. You know, the little technical failure you reamed my butt over last night? Seems the unit had a faulty microchip, a manufacturer defect isolated to the batch we recently received. I mailed them all back this morning and they’re sending out a new order.”

  He nodded, expression tense. “Good.”

  Good? That’s it? “Okay, what’s going on?” Her gaze strayed to the panel and she noted the single lit button. “Why are you going to the fourth floor?”

  “I don’t recall making it your business.”

  “You’re obviously upset, and I care,” she said softly. “So I made it my business.”

  The elevator glided to a smooth stop and the doors slid open. As they emerged, Michael grasped her upper arm and gently steered her away from the open doors of the compound’s hospital. He glanced up and down the hallway before he spoke, and let go of her arm. “This morning, an attempt was made on Bastian’s life,” he said in a rough voice tinged with anger that wasn’t directed at her.

  The blood drained from her face. “Oh my God. Is he all right?”

  “Agent Kelly said he was, but I’m here to see for myself.”

  “Was it Dietz?”

  “The assassin is in lockup, isolated from the one who almost killed me, but yeah. I’m pretty sure it was Dietz.” He looked as though he would strangle his former colleague with his bare hands, given the chance.

  “But why would he target Bastian?”

  “Why else? To get to me.” He closed his eyes as though in pain. “It never occurred to me he’d go after Bastian. God, I’m so stupid.”

  “No, you’re not.” Reaching up, she touched his face. “You don’t think like a monster, that’s all.”

  Opening his eyes, he took her hand and held it between them. “I get paid well to outwit the monsters, and sometimes that means thinking like one. Why I can’t seem to get the drop on Robert is beyond me.”