CHAPTER 31
“ARE WE THERE YET?”
RYDER didn’t think it was funny as he drove across the railroad tracks, into an industrial area behind some buildings that looked like they’d seen better days, with the broken windows and rusted metal on the buildings. Don’t get me wrong, I loved road trips, but the constant worry we were being followed was taking a toll, and I was getting punchy.
“I’ve known Saul for a long time. It’s safe. Anyway, we can’t keep the same vehicle; they’re looking for it. I thought you said the Porsche was too conspicuous?”
“It’s grown on me.”
“Hedonist.”
The more I tensed with worry, the more Ryder relaxed, in his element, doing what he did best. We pulled into a large warehouse, and the door rolled down behind us. It was cavernous inside, with holes in the ceiling. As I looked up, a couple of birds flew out one of the holes, squawking at being disturbed, flying up into the clear blue sky.
We were in Texas, had crossed over the border from Oklahoma about twenty minutes ago. I kept imagining assassins coming to kill us while we slept. It was the thought there were men out there scarier than Ryder that kept me up at night.
He didn’t move, but I felt the tension rolling off him as the door rolled up and two cars slowly pulled into the warehouse.
“It had to be black. Of course it did. Don’t you think maybe you should have switched it up? Gone with red or blue? Everyone you work with has to know about your love affair with black vehicles.”
“Second car. Happy now?”
The first car was some kind of obnoxious black muscle car; the second was a beige Honda—a million of those on the road.
“I bet you a thousand bucks it’ll kill your soul to drive a common car like that.”
In response, I was favored with one of those rare twitches at the corner of his mouth, so I knew he was smiling on the inside.
Arms crossed across his chest, Ryder leaned against the Porsche as three men got out of the cars.
“Who’re your friends?”
The man was on the short side, stocky, and the voice inside woke, sat up, scenting the air.
“Maddox, good to see you. This the little thing that’s causing so much trouble? She looks so sweet.” He jerked his chin at me.
“Keys.”
That was Ryder, a man of many words. He tossed the keys to the Porsche to Saul, and I felt a bit wistful. Who would’ve thought I’d be one of those girls who adored a luxury car? Learned something new about myself.
The other two men were tense, looking around; they were the ones that had the thing inside me paying attention. One of them shifted from foot to foot, looking at his watch. My nerves vibrated from being pulled taut, and my hand twitched next to the bag at my hip.
Had Ryder noticed? The line of his body made me decide he did, as Saul took a step forward and tossed the keys to the Honda at Ryder.
All hell broke loose. The tall, skinny guy, the one who drove the Honda into the warehouse, pulled a gun and aimed it at Ryder. I reacted, pulled the gun from my bag; the shot echoed across the space before I even realized what I’d done. But the second shot? I was fully cognizant of pulling the trigger a second time to make sure he wouldn’t get up again.
“I’m sorry, Maddox. They said they’d kill me.” Saul cowered beside the muscle car as Ryder took the other guy out with one shot.
“How much did they pay you?”
“Half a million. They want you both and you know how it is, times are tough. I couldn’t pass up all that money.”
But Ryder wasn’t listening any longer; he spun around and fired. Another guy dropped, and in the same instant, Saul pulled a knife, lunging forward.
The moment between squeezing the trigger and taking a breath seemed to take an infinite amount of time. The darkness chortled as Saul hit the ground, a small, round, neat hole in the side of his head.
His gaze flicked to Saul, then me. “Nice shot. Let’s move.”
“Are we taking the car?”
“No, they’ll be tracking it.”
He opened the door to the Porsche, tossed me the backpack, grabbed his gear, and we walked out of the dark warehouse, into the afternoon sun. It was an odd feeling to know everything you owned fit into one small backpack and messenger bag.
As much as it hurt, I knew he was right about Midnight. What just happened had proved his point. Still, I vowed to get my cat back and find a good family for Maddy, assuming I stayed alive long enough to do so.
Several blocks later, Ryder hit a few buttons on his phone, and a moment after, I heard the explosion, turning to see the fire and smoke rising into the air.
He tossed the phone into an alley. “Our prints were all over the Porsche.”
It was hot and I was tired and cranky, slogging along the pavement, but just as I was ready to ask him to stop, we saw one of those nondescript pop-up car lots. Ten or eleven dusty cars sat on the lot, the sale stickers already peeling off. A guy popped out of the trailer, smoking.
“Bet you’re a Mercedes man. Got a real beaut over here. Give you a good price.”
Ignoring the guy, Ryder went to the corner of the lot and stopped in front of an old, rusted pickup truck. It looked like something from the fifties, with big, bulbous headlights. I could picture it cleaned up and restored, painted a sky blue or cherry red. It would be beautiful. But right now it was sort of an orangey brown with rust spots. It had certainly seen better days.
“This one. Don’t want to scratch my BMW moving her junk.” He rolled his eyes, and they both laughed.
The man rubbed his chin. “It needs some work, but she runs fine. I tell you what, let’s say five hundred.”
Ryder pulled a roll of cash from the pocket of his faded jeans and tossed it to the guy. “Make it a grand and let’s skip the paperwork.”
The guy grinned, tucking the money away. “I’ll get the keys.”
He came back out, a fresh cigarette between his teeth, and tossed the keys to Ryder. “You know how to drive a manual? Not many people do these days.”
“We’re good.” The inside of the truck was surprisingly clean, given the condition of the exterior. I’d expected holes in the seats and grime an inch thick. When he started it up, the truck sounded fine to me.
“Half a tank—we need to fill up.”
As we bumped over the curb, I had to ask, “This is a big departure for you—think your hedonistic ass can handle not sitting on fine leather with surround sound?”
And for the first time since he appeared in my kitchen in Buxton, a tiny smile ghosted across his face. Which for Ryder was the equivalent of hysterical laughter.
“These old trucks last forever. I had one a long time ago. So in answer to your question, my ass is fine sitting on all kinds of things. Find something we can listen to.”
I found one of the few stations not playing country, and as we turned onto the highway, the musician sang about holding on.
Augustus met with his head of R&D that afternoon. His wife wasn’t doing well today, and the pressure was mounting for him to save her before it was too late.
“How are we coming on the new formulations?”
“We’ve been tweaking the bliss point, as you asked. I think we’ve about got it there.”
The man in question was tall and slender, with salt-and-pepper hair and the look of a man who had attended Ivy League schools and grew up with a silver spoon. He was paid a great deal of money, good at his job and loyal. Some of the others in the department had the absent-minded professor look down, but not him; no, the VP looked like he could be the face of Gier Foods, a role Augustus had the man fill from time to time.
“We’ve made progress on the mouthfeel. Tweaking the distribution and shape of the fat globules to affect their absorption rate.”
“How about flavor burst?”
“We’ve altered the physical shape of the salt, pulverized it into a fine powder so it will hit the consumers’ taste buds quicker, and
we’ve been able to amplify the sweetness of sugar to 250 times its natural strength by crystalizing fructose.” He cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. “We lower fat and tout it in marketing while adding more sugar, or we can do the opposite—either way, the consumer is hooked.”
“Excellent work. I’ll let the shareholders know we’re expecting an increase in profit next quarter.”
Augustus was pleased. Hinkle would be scrambling to catch up when the new product line launched. They took very seriously the cradle-to-grave concept with consumers. Lori escorted the man out and reminded him of his golf meeting.
“I’m interviewing women to replace Michelle all this week, hope to have someone new on board in a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Make sure this one isn’t some tree hugger.” On the way out, he ran into the head of legal.
“What are we looking at with the outbreaks?”
“We ran the numbers. The collateral damage is at an acceptable level.”
“With heavy users, there’s always collateral damage. What do people expect? We tell them to eat in moderation yet they continue eating themselves to death. And then the media crucifies us.”
The VP of legal chuckled. “They’re like small children, always wanting dessert first. I’ve spoken with the others; we’re collaborating on strategy so everyone provides the same message to the press.”
Confident everything was moving along, Augustus made the short drive to the exclusive club, appreciating the privacy.
“Augustus, good to see you. I’m sorry for your loss. Kurt was a great kid.”
They shook hands. “Thank you, Dean. I miss him every day. Losing a son makes a man re-evaluate his life. How are things with you and the kids?”
Dean sighed. “They’re fine. But I tell you, all this government interference is costing us a fortune. Of course, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. If we stopped producing our products, the economy would collapse.”
Dean teed up and swung. It was a lovely day for them to play. Augustus made it a point to play once a week. It got him outside, walking, and gave him a chance to talk business away from prying eyes.
When they finished, they ate lunch in the clubhouse. A server stopped by with complimentary sodas. Augustus declined and ordered a glass of wine.
“I never drink the stuff either,” Dean said.
“And I’ve never eaten any of our products.” Augustus chuckled. They talked strategy through lunch, afterward enjoying a martini.
“How’s Janet? We missed her at the theater.”
“Not good. The good days are outnumbered by the bad.” He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin. “But I’m optimistic about a new experimental treatment.”
“If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Augustus nodded. The thought of losing his wife was not something he could think of today.
CHAPTER 32
I PANTED, FINDING IT HARD to breathe, and all of a sudden Ryder swore and pulled over.
“Damn it, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were hit?”
The left side of my shirt and capris, and my messenger bag, were burgundy. “I didn’t know.”
When I woke, my hip throbbed and I was lying on a bed overlooking a lake. There was a change of clothes next to the bed. My throat ached and there was an unpleasant odor in the rustic room. Sniffing discreetly, I realized it was me. The walls were painted a soft yellow, the window was open, and I could smell the water from the lake and grass. It took a few minutes for the dizziness to subside. Once it did, I let go of the blanket and gingerly made my way into the bathroom. There was a bandage on my hip, and when I peeled it away, I saw three neat stitches. Looked like it was healing. Trying not to press on the wound, I put the bandage back and showered. The hot water was bliss. I scrubbed my hair twice, standing under the spray until it turned cold.
The sweatpants and t-shirt were loose, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to pull a pair of jeans up over the bandage. Padding out to the deck, I saw Ryder asleep in a chair.
“How long have I been out? And who stitched me up?”
“I did.” I should have known he wasn’t asleep. “It’s been three days.”
“Where’d you get the bandages?”
“The local vet. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
He smiled with his voice. I stood staring, trying to place what was off about him.
“The world must have ended and we’re hiding out from a zombie apocalypse.”
All I got was a slow blink.
“You’re barefoot.” I’d never seen the man without shoes; he slept fully dressed. Had he worried about me? It was an unsettling thought.
Ryder ignored the comment and handed me an insulated cup. The sweet beverage made my insides happy. It was sweet tea, my favorite.
Augustus’ contact at the Organization didn’t look so composed today. The man’s hair was mussed and he looked exhausted.
“What’s taking so long?”
“We’ve refunded your fee. Nothing like this has ever happened before. You have my apologies, Mr. Gier.
“Is she dead?”
The man shifted in the back seat of the sedan. “There was…an incident several months ago with one of our employees. At the time we decided to overlook it, but now it appears we made a grave error.”
Augustus tapped his fingers on the seat, waiting. He found silence worked much better than demands.
“Hope Rache is still alive.”
Incredulous, Augustus leaned forward, inches from the man. “How is this possible? You have the best assassins on the planet, and she’s just an ordinary bitch.”
The man pulled at his collar. “She isn’t alone. She had help before, and the same man is helping her now.”
“Who is helping her? Kill him too, damn you.”
The man looked around, as if worried talking about the man would conjure him like the devil himself.
“He’s the very best. Don’t worry, Hunter is as good. But for whatever reason, Ryder Maddox has decided to help this woman.” He held his hands out in a placating gesture. “As I said, the agency will refund your fee and take care of it. This is an internal matter. Additional men will be sent to assist, and I am confident we will have them both removed within a couple of days, a week at most.”
Augustus had his doubts, but nodded. “I don’t care about the details as long as the end result is the same. She dies.”
“Of course, Mr. Gier. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to the office.”
The man exited the sedan, and the driver took Augustus back to the office. What kind of a girl could outwit one of the scariest hit men in the world? And convince another to aid her? While the father in him wanted to hunt her down and pull the trigger himself, the other part couldn’t help but admire the fact a mere woman had wrought so much destruction. If she hadn’t killed Kurt, he would have offered her a job.
Exiting the car, he muttered, “Kurt, why did you have to do what you did?” His son had obviously drawn her attention with his actions. But a bigger question loomed: was she part of one of those activist groups? If so, there would be more to come. While Augustus was confident in the Organization’s abilities, he also knew what having an internal traitor could do, how it could throw a company off balance. So he made a call to an investigator he used for sensitive matters. Augustus provided him the details and tasked him with finding out everything he could about this woman. He had her name. Or should he say names. Katherine Hope Jones, then Hope Jones, and now Hope Rache.
Augustus frowned, for Rache in German meant vengeance or revenge. His son was not her first kill. He was certain of it.
Ryder took us through small towns, avoiding the highway, worried the Organization would send others to assist Hunter. I was perfectly content to leave the monotony of the highway and drive through small towns, though I missed the lake. It had been peaceful there, a place I could have settled.
/> My stomach had been growling for about an hour. We’d missed lunch, as there hadn’t been anywhere to stop, and I squirmed in the seat, needing to go pee, but didn’t dare say a word. But I must’ve been thinking my intentions out loud, because Ryder let out a small sigh.
“Fine. We’ll stop.”
“Have some sympathy. I did get shot four days ago.”
“That was just a scratch. Thought you’d be tougher.”
“Shut up, Ryder. I’m hungry and I have to pee.”
“And cranky. There’s a town up ahead.”
Twenty minutes later we pulled into a cute little town, the main street populated with shops and places to dine. As we parked, I spotted a jewelry store with a sign in the window advertising my favorite charms.
He picked the busiest café, and while we waited to be seated, I ran inside to pee. When I came out, Ryder had finagled a seat against the wall where he could see everyone coming and going. The way the waitress was looking at him made me narrow my eyes. It was like he was a chocolate shake and she’d been dieting for months.
I ordered soup and a Reuben, and he got a burger and fries. We both ordered beer.
The waitress brought our drinks. “If there’s anything else you need, just call out.”
I rolled my eyes as she hurried over to the next table.
“Thank you.”
His voice startled me. I was so busy being annoyed with the waitress and looking at all the patrons, scanning them to see if any would catch the attention of the other me deep inside me, that I’d actually forgotten about him for a moment. Maybe my fever was coming back.
“For what?”
He looked at me for a long moment. “You dropped two of those guys.”
When She Was Bad Page 14