Still perplexed about whatever was going on with Grainger, her team members, her cell phones, and everything else that had happened, Jae let her curiosity get the best of her and she couldn’t resist asking, “How can you tell, Dr. Grant?”
Trevor stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully, scrutinizing her face with his intense blue eyes. “Because I remember what your color looked like before you were shot. As a matter of fact, I remember thinking your coloring was quite beautiful. At least I had the good sense to keep that thought to myself, unlike the poor sap at the hotel that you reprimanded, who I’m assuming made an improper comment about your derriere.”
Jae broke into a smile at the memory, which then immediately faded as the aftermath of the evening flashed through her mind.
“What does JR stand for?”
“Jae Randall,” she said, then spelled out her first name.
“I expected my FBI contact to be a man, so when you told me you were it, I thought someone had played one hell of a joke by sending a beautiful woman,” he said.
Jae moved her plate aside and met his gaze dead on. “Dr. Grant, I’m very good at my job. I would say it’s just one of the many things I’m very good at. But I’m no different than any other female agent. We do our jobs as well as, and in some situations better than, our male counterparts.”
“I imagine female agents take some ribbing,” Trevor said.
“Some might, but we don’t take our job lightly and we don’t let our gender dictate what we can or cannot do. We get the job done because if we don’t, people can get hurt or killed.”
“Thank you for saving my life last night, Agent Randall, because had you not been so well trained and focused, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. However, not to hurt your feelings or anything, but I no longer need you to protect me. I’ll be fine.”
“My feelings have nothing to do with this. I cannot abandon this assignment, so whatever plan is rolling around in your head, forget it.” Jae dropped enough bills on the table to cover their check then eased from the booth.
The discussion and the meal were over.
Returning to the car, with Trevor driving once again to her chagrin, they remained silent as each was consumed with their own thoughts. Jae was reluctant to say anything about the throbbing pain she felt, but was relieved when Trevor suggested stopping again. Sitting in one position was uncomfortable at best and her bandage needed changing.
Taking the next available exit advertising food, gas, and motels, Trevor pulled off the highway and parked the Honda in front of a motel far from the main road. It only took a few minutes to go inside, register, and pay for the room. Back in the car, he drove to the end of the parking lot and turned off the ignition before going around and helping her out.
Both eyed the parking lot to make sure no one pulled in after them. They couldn’t be too careful.
Chapter Four
Jae shifted in her seat trying to find a comfortable position. Her side felt somewhat better and was starting to itch; a sure sign the sutures were holding. She didn’t balk when Grant suggested they stop so that she could rest for a few hours. It would give her a chance to regain some of her strength. She also checked in with her family again and had to endure Ronnie teasing that she must be having a good time with Sweetie. But all of her efforts to reach Grainger or any of her teammates failed. It was as if they’d disappeared but that was just ridiculous, wasn’t it?
It had been a shock to awaken several hours later, having slept most of the afternoon. Jae suspected it was due to the painkiller Grant insisted she take. Glancing around the room, she saw him slumped in a chair with the TV set on The Weather Channel. She smiled, recalling how she and Ronnie prayed for perfect April weather for the bridal shower and wedding. From what was predicted for Richmond, Ronnie would have beautiful weather for her wedding and, come hell or high water, Jae wasn’t going to miss her sister’s big day.
“Grant, wake up and let’s bounce,” she barked, forcing him to jump up disoriented.
After checking out of the hotel, she gave him directions to the location of the safe house. She was relieved she’d had the forethought to write down the address and tuck it beneath the cover of her prepaid phone.
Driving along access roads and side streets, they replayed the incident in the lounge. Like her, he hadn’t seen the shooter before. Both came to the same conclusion that the man was “off”. Perhaps, the man was mentally unstable or in some sort of drug-induced mania.
Jae asked Grant why he was in the witness protection program, and she did so without letting on that she knew anything about him. Once again, she was met with his noncommittal responses but he did tell her it was to protect his family.
Coming up on a fairly new development, they found the safe house. The two-story, split-level house was located in a typical quiet suburban neighborhood of similar homes with manicured lawns and trimmed hedges. The landscaping of the house appeared freshly tended. The street was a cul-de-sac only allowing traffic one way, in and out of the development, which could be an asset or a hindrance.
Driving past the entrance to the road leading to the house, Trevor made a U-turn and backed the car up a brush-covered incline. It gave them the best vantage to see the house and overlook the cul-de-sac. After Trevor parked the car, a feeling of unease hit Jae, but instead of commenting, she watched as Trevor reached behind his seat for a bag.
Watching him adjust a pair of high-powered binoculars and scope out what lay before them, Jae wondered if she had somehow fallen into a trap because surely that’s how she felt. Then taking into consideration that nothing had gone according to plan on this assignment from the beginning, Jae decided to follow her gut instincts and be cautious.
In the two hours Jae and Trevor watched the cul-de-sac, they observed a surprising amount of activity at what was supposedly an empty house.
First, a pickup truck parked in the driveway. The driver got out dressed in overalls and started tending to the flowering bushes and shrubs to the front and side of the house.
When he left, a telephone company truck with an authentic-looking emblem affixed to the door pulled up. The driver did something to the phone line connected to an enclosed box on the side of the house. He left minutes later. Now, a cable truck arrived and parked in front of the house. The technician, after nodding to a couple of neighbors, walked around to the rear of the house.
“Now, why would he be installing cable in a vacant house?” Trevor mumbled, passing the binoculars to her.
“I would guess the FBI wants you to be comfortable in your new digs, Doctor. A better question would be why they’re here and who sent them.”
Trevor studied the neat row of houses on the block. One in particular had a basketball hoop attached to the garage door. A stirring of a childhood memory of his younger brother Greer brightened his mood. He recalled how he and Greer begged his dad to put one up on their house. Initially, his father gave all the reasons why he wouldn’t. But then, after a weekend spent at the beach, they arrived home to find not only a basketball hoop but an entire court. He couldn’t begin to count the hours they’d spent on that court over the years. He and Greer loved that hoop. He missed his family, his father and stepmother and, of course, his two younger sisters. The one thing he hated the most about being in the witness protection program was that he couldn’t have any contact with his family, not to mention, they believed he was dead, and so did his girlfriend, Gina. Trevor wished he’d read the fine print on the FBI witness protection program documents that changed his life forever. He had no way of knowing the scope of what the FBI considered protection. But he’d found out. It meant he’d been forced to be a loner, unable to trust anyone and always looking over his shoulder for the militia who wanted his formula.
“I just spotted movement at the window,” Jae said, turning toward him.
Her comment snapped him back to
the present. “Well, I can take a chance, go in and see what surprises they have in store for me,” Trevor said with his hand on the door handle.
“Wait, I doubt if they, whoever they are, would plant explosives in a house surrounded by neighbors and children.” But no sooner had she said those words, than Jae corrected herself. “On second thought, what if they did?”
“Then this is your lucky day, Agent Randall. I had some experience with explosives during my jaunt in the military,” Trevor said, unlocking the door.
“What, you’re ex-military? What branch?”
“The branch that knows how to locate, uncover, and disarm a variety of…” He paused and said soberly, “Let’s just say all types of visible and hidden devices.”
“You’re not going in there alone. Remember, you’re the target and I’m the professional. Besides, I’ve already screwed up enough with this assignment. I am responsible for protecting your life and I’m not taking a chance that you could get hurt in there.” When he arched a heavy eyebrow and got out of the car, Jae grabbed the tail end of his shirt. “Okay, listen up, Doctor, if there are explosive devices in there, we can disarm them faster, together.”
“You could pop the stitches or…” He was talking to her back because she was already out of the car. Catching up with her on the hill, Trevor turned her to face him. “Look, at least let me go in first. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I can handle myself and I won’t blame you if I get blown up. You did great on this assignment, Special Agent Randall,” he said before getting serious again. “Give me ten minutes to check things out. I don’t doubt your skills and you’ve already proven that you’re capable enough of handling yourself, but why risk both of us? Let me do this,” he implored.
Sighing begrudgingly, Jae finally gave in. Tapping her watch she said, “Ten minutes and if you’re not back I’m coming in after you. Got it?”
Approaching the back of the house seconds later, Trevor checked the door lock for signs of being tampered with but saw none. Pressing his weight into it, the door opened with a shove and he found himself standing in the kitchen. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a switchblade.
There was an open floor plan, which allowed him to look out into the dining room and family room. Taking in the gleaming white appliances in the kitchen and the off-white floor tiles, he determined it was very basic. There was no color; even the microwave was white.
Quietly crossing the kitchen to a door, he glanced inside to reveal it was a small empty pantry with white shelves. Another door revealed a laundry room with more white appliances. Stepping out of the kitchen he darted his glance left and right. The small round table in the dining room with two chairs and, in the family room located to his right, was a wheat-colored three-cushion sofa. He noticed the foot tracks of work boots and possibly men’s dress shoes and followed them up the stairs. The strangely quiet house increased his apprehension of what he might find.
Keeping his back to the wall and being careful where he walked, he reached the top landing and scanned the open doors. He noticed the footprints in the master bedroom and went inside. A new box spring and mattress were propped up against the wall along with a metal bed frame. The closets were open and bare.
Repeating the same sure-footed movements, Trevor checked out the other two bedrooms and then the bathroom. Like the kitchen, the bathroom was decked out in white. After carefully checking the windows and light fixtures, he retraced his steps to the first floor then back to the kitchen. A door to his far right was most likely the basement. Crossing over to it, he ran his left hand all around the frame, feeling for a trip wire, all the while maintaining a firm grip on the base of the multipurpose tool with the switchblade at an angle to swiftly do bodily harm.
Determining that the door was not set with a trap, he didn’t dare flip on the light switch, which could trigger an explosive device. But then he didn’t need to. There was plenty of light coming in through the basement windows. What he found was the body of a man lying on his back with his eyes and mouth open. There was congealed blood from a bullet hole in the area of the dead man’s heart.
Apprehension coursed through him and he knew without a doubt he was meant to come down into the basement. Meaning, he had to find and disarm whatever had been planted down there.
“Well?” JR asked the second he got into the car and her jaw dropped when he pulled four trigger switches out of his pocket and sat them in her hand.
“Ah shit. They were serious about this, weren’t they? What else did you find in there?”
“I found two of these in the basement near the gas outlet and that wasn’t all I found. There’s a body in the basement. He’s probably only been dead about fourteen hours.”
“Describe him.”
“I don’t have to,” he said, starting the car and backing up the hill. “I recognized him. It was Special Agent Myers. He was one of the agents who came to my office.”
* * * * *
Special Agent Randy Cross was currently stuck on desk duty pending the outcome of an internal investigation regarding his actions in a recent shooting. Behind his college boy good looks, his neatly trimmed blond hair, cool demeanor, and quick smile, was a cold-hearted killer.
Randy Cross was one of the best-trained agents on the field, but inside he was bitter, spiteful, and angry. He hated being suspended and stuck with mundane administrative tasks. But this position was a stepping-stone for bigger and better things for him, and he knew that one day his patience would pay off.
While every other agent in the department aspired to climb the FBI ladder as high as they could, Randy couldn’t have cared less. He’d advanced and was promoted just enough so that no one would wonder why he wasn’t further along in his career. Staying in the field office suited his purposes perfectly. Although he was suspended, his contacts and unlimited security clearance to confidential files gave him access to the department’s ongoing cases, investigations, and assignments.
One day, Randy stumbled upon a confidential, highly classified research project of an American doctor stationed in Afghanistan. When he read the findings of the attached research experiments, Randy knew it was the break he had been waiting for.
For the past two years, he’d had one goal…finding Dr. Adian Cole. Randy became obsessed with knowing everything he could about the research and the doctor. As soon as he began making discreet inquiries, Dr. Cole disappeared. The research project came to a halt when five of Dr. Cole’s test subjects committed suicide shortly before returning stateside.
Randy was impressed by the doctor’s ingenuity and brilliance. He’d created a formula that allowed a person to effectively alter an individual’s mind. The possibilities were endless and he was dizzy with having that much power and money just outside his grasp. His fingers virtually tingled.
Based on what he’d learned about the research, Randy had a theory that the dosage of medication given to each subject was the key to the success or failure of the project, but there was also some degree of hypnosis used. Dr. Cole was the only person who knew the correct formulations of each and he’d never divulged that information to anyone, nor had he documented his exact formula. Randy surmised that information lived inside the doctor’s head wherever he was tucked away.
Randy knew that finding the doctor and extracting the formula from him, by whatever means possible, was vital to his plans of selling Dr. Cole and his formula to the highest bidder. He was set to make a fortune for himself. Frankly, he didn’t care what the fundamentalist groups did with the doctor after they extracted the formula from him. Randy had bigger plans.
As desperate as Randy was to find Dr. Cole, he was well aware that others were after the doctor also. Randy’s plan was to get to the doctor first no matter who got in the way. Dr. Cole and, more importantly, what he carried around in his head, was all that mattered.
If his plan succeeded, Randy could go anywhere, do
anything. He would be a powerful man and could leave his pitiful life behind. Thoughts of yachts, villas, and an extravagant lifestyle whirled around in his head. He had witnessed firsthand what the formula could do. It was fascinating to watch. Several of his own test subjects who were considered average or below average soldiers had been transformed into superior combat-fighting machines. They were fearless, aggressive, and unstoppable. They were soldiers any military would want and would pay dearly for.
Knowing that Jae Randall was in the company of Dr. Cole also had many benefits. It saved him time because with Jae on the assignment she would protect the doctor to get him to the safe house.
From the field office in Alexandria, Virginia, Randy had been able to alter coordinates on her GPS but he didn’t stop there. He deleted some fifty messages from her agency-issued smart phone. When the signal suddenly died out, he wondered if she suspected her incoming calls, text messages, and emails had been intercepted remotely. He seriously doubted it but did attempt several reconnections and reactivations to no avail. Thinking on that now, Randy would guess that Jae would have no reason to be suspicious. Why would she? Sure, she was on vacation in Richmond, but only Randy knew she’d also been given an assignment, one he was directly involved with.
Dropping his head against the back of the chair, Randy thought about Myers. Had the man not second-guessed him, he would still be alive. Additionally, Randy’s slow negative head shake reflected his frame of mind because he never planned on Myers being in the winner’s circle with him; not by a long shot. To him, Myers was just an aging thug with an ugly face who couldn’t cut it at acting.
But this would all be over soon. Randy took his demotion, stripping of his agent duties, and drop in salary with a grain of salt. It paled in comparison to his elation when he’d intercepted a call the dispatch operator received. She’d been trying unsuccessfully to transfer a call to Luke Grainger’s private voicemail. The call had come from a researcher at the Kincaid Institute claiming to have received email messages from someone in trouble. Ever observant, Randy Cross watched as Luke Grainger became unglued, something the usually composed man rarely did.
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