by Linzi Basset
“I initially thought he was going to send me another mark when I only got the photo of the woman, Amelia. But when I saw the child, I knew the second target was actually the little girl in that picture. The CIA doesn’t kill children. That’s when I realized it was all a lie and that’s why I turned to leave.”
“So, our assumption that it has nothing to do with the CIA is correct, but this man is clearly playing some part.” Ruark contemplated thoughtfully.
“I agree. The same fucktard is back to make more demands. What exactly did this Bulldog say to you, Samantha?”
“That there was someone who has been a thorn in his side for a long time. He clearly wants to get this person out of the way. I had my suspicions, before I left, that he was playing on both sides of the fence. He bragged too much of his luxurious life. Money wasn’t a problem for him.”
“Who is he?” Rhone clipped.
Samantha kept her expression mute. Self-preservation shimmered under the surface. She needed to dig into this herself. She knew how cruel Adam Baxter could be. And her sister’s life was at stake. She couldn’t take the chance to let his name out of the bag―not just yet.
She shook her head. “I’ve only known him as Bulldog. He was my handler and I never—”
The look Rhone gave her was clear. He knew she was lying.
“You know the real identity of the handlers is kept tightly under wraps by the CIA, for obvious reasons. Our ops were run from a remote farmhouse and none of us came close to the CIA offices. I don’t even know in which division . . .” Samantha’s voice died away at Rhone’s glacial look. She was wasting her time. She tried to shake off the trembling in her legs.
How the hell does he know? How can he see through me so easily?
“Go back to the kitchen,” he barked and blatantly ignored her.
“Rhone, I . . .” She swallowed the words at the warning glance from Ruark. It was evident that Rhone was having trouble keeping his anger under control. That shook Samantha. In the short while she’d known him and from what she’d heard the subs say about him, it was the one thing they were all in agreement with—Rhone Greer was the master of control; over any situation but more so, himself.
“Have you been able to find anything on Samantha’s sister yet?” Rhone asked Bracus as soon as she joined Courtney in the kitchen.
“Not yet. They most probably gave her a new identity. We’re searching all the databases from the time of her supposed death. We’re also running facial recognition using NASA satellites, but that’s going to take time, except if we get a lucky break. The problem is, they could be anywhere, and we have no way of knowing where to concentrate our search. Quade is also assisting us. You know he can find a needle in a haystack. If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”
“Yeah, let’s hope we do before Bulldog makes his demands known,” Rhone said pensively. His thoughts were on the photograph that was engraved in his mind. “Isn’t there any clue in that picture?”
“Quinlan is looking into the background. There’s not much. Just a partial building that looks like an apartment block.” Bracus shrugged his shoulders. “I won’t put any hope on that though.”
“Brunch is ready, baby,” Courtney called from the kitchen. “Shall we eat on the patio?”
“Yes, my love. It’s perfect out there this morning,” Ruark responded.
Courtney and Samantha walked onto the patio to set the table and carried the food outside.
“I assume she hasn’t phoned Bulldog yet?” Bracus queried, watching the blonde assist Courtney.
“No, I was somewhat preoccupied this morning and needed to get out of town. I’ll set it up this afternoon as soon as we’re back in DC.”
“Good. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
The three men joined the women on the patio. Rhone made a point of taking the seat opposite of Samantha. His annoyance was evident in the rigid line of his jaw.
Samantha nibbled on the inside of her lip. That look promised some kind of retribution. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Rhone Greer didn’t suffer fools, least of all, lying ones.
* * * * * * * *
“Fuck! I should’ve known Alex White would choose Rhone Greer to protect Kevin Douglas and his family.” Adam Baxter slammed his cell phone on the desk.
“Is that a problem?”
Adam glanced at the middle-aged man sitting opposite him. His back was ramrod straight in the oversized executive chair he was sitting in. Adam couldn’t recall seeing him slouch, ever. His blonde hair was cut in a schoolboy style. The thick, black framed glasses sat high on the bridge of his nose. For all intents and purposes, he portrayed a corporate CEO to the T.
“Not if I can get Ace to come to the party.”
“And is she? From what my sources informed me, she disappeared six years ago. Damn inconvenient too. She was the best of the best.”
“Relax, Damien. I’ve kept track of her over the years, even though she’d tried to fool me by changing her name. You know me. I always ensure I have a backup plan before I embark on a venture. I still have a hold over her. One she’ll never be able to break. She’ll come to the party.”
“She better, Adam. I don’t care who you set up as her target; as long as that prostitution bill never makes it to the next Senate seating. Prostitution is our biggest income source, with the least expenses and need for management. It literally runs itself. I have no intention of sharing the loot with the fucking Government.”
Damien Whittaker was the CEO of Black Diamond Incorporated, one of the most lucrative diamond mining companies in the world. He was also one of the top six members of the fastest growing national crime syndicate, the Sixth Order, in the United States. Not that anyone in the country was aware of that.
Adam’s association with them had begun eight years ago, when he’d caught one of the main members in a drug bust. Damien had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Since then, he’d become the ‘protector’ of the Sixth Order within the United States legal system. He made evidence disappear, took care of ‘problems’ for them and their subordinates. He still didn’t know who all the top leaders were, but the financial rewards were lucrative and because of that, he didn’t pry. The syndicate looked after those who went out of their way to protect them. Adam Baxter had crossed over to the dark side to do just that.
“Let’s get back to Rhone Greer, Adam. What have you been able to find out about that shipment of cocaine from Cuba he busted a couple of months ago? We lost over fifty million in product and that’s not even the street value. The syndicate wants it back—and quickly.”
“Patience, Damien. We need to let the dust settle on that bust. If the evidence disappears from the FBI lock-up too soon, I could get into trouble, especially as I ran frontline on the recovery with the FBI and Greer’s team. I need to play it safe. You know I will get it back to you. I just need a little more time to plan an extraction without detection.”
Damien stared at him. “What are you planning, Adam? I don’t like being kept in the dark. We’ve had this discussion about Greer numerous times. You continually assure me you’re dealing with him, yet he and his team are still lurking around every aspect of our business. To top it off, the next seating of the senate is in less than two months. I don’t feel comfortable at present, Adam, and you know how I get when that happens.”
“Stop worrying. Ace is the key. She’s gotten close to Rhone Greer. I’m going to use her to get to him. And this time, she won’t hesitate. Not with what’s at stake.”
“I fucking hope so. We’re impatient with the little progress you’ve made in this matter. Once they’ve set up a security team around Kevin Douglas and his family—especially if it’s the Precision Secure team, we’ve got no chance of getting close to him.”
“I’ll handle it, Damien.” Adam got up and sauntered toward the door.
Damien’s cold voice slowed his tracks. “You better, Baxter. I’m tired of making excuses on your behalf. If you fuck
this up and don’t get rid of Rhone Greer, your time with the Sixth Order is up.”
Adam didn’t respond and stomped out of the office. If he fucked this up, it wasn’t just his time at the Sixth Order that was up. His time would be up. Period. The threat was quite clear.
He glanced at his wristwatch. It was four in the afternoon. It had been five days since he’d contacted Ace. It concerned him that she hadn’t called back. She should know better than to play a cat and mouse game with him.
“You will come to me, Ace. One way or the other, you are the key to my success this time.”
As if on cue, the burner phone he’d purchased to contact Ace, vibrated in his pocket. A Cheshire grin splayed across his mouth when he recognized the number. Only one person had it.
“Well, now, think of the devil . . . Ace, it’s about time,” he drawled into the phone. He leaned his big shoulders against the wall of the elevator. He was alone, which wasn’t unusual when you were visiting the top floor office of Damien Whittaker which came with its own private cart. He looked into the mirror and smoothed a hand over his light, brush-cut brown hair.
“What do you want, Bulldog?” Her voice clipped like drops of ice into his ear.
“Come now, Ace. Surely you know what I want? You. Back with the Silver Sting Ops team,” he said with a curt laugh.
“Cut the crap, Bulldog. I wasn’t born yesterday. You don’t want me for Silver Sting. You want me for your own demented purposes. You mentioned someone who has been a thorn in your side for a long time. At a not so educated guess, I’d say it’s a personal matter and has nothing to do with the CIA or the Government.”
Adam rolled his shoulders in an irritated move. The cords of the veins in his neck stood out as he struggled to contain his anger. The contempt in her voice grated on him. Ace had always been feisty and wasn’t scared to challenge his command.
“You’ll do well to curb your impudence, Ace. It doesn’t sit well with me. You saw the picture. You know what I have. And make no mistake, this time, she will die.” As usual, he kept his voice nasally and grating when he spoke to her. He’d learned early on to mask every aspect of himself as part of his ‘handler’ cover.
A brief silence followed his words. He pressed the stop button and the elevator rocked to a halt. He heard her drag in a deep breath.
“You saved her life and kept her under your control all these years. Because of me. You knew one day you would need some hold over me.”
“Bingo. I always knew you were the clever one in the team. Now, let’s not waste each other’s time any longer. This time, Ace, you’ll be in charge of the entire op. On your own. You have three weeks to take care of your target. If he isn’t dead by then, your sister dies.”
“Who?”
Adam laughed. You know better than to ask me that. I will send you the information in the usual manner.”
“How do I know she’s even alive? That picture could be years old for all I know.”
“Very sharp. Not that I expected anything less from you. I’ll text you an address. Go there and watch from a distance. Don’t try and approach her, Ace. She’s under surveillance twenty-four-seven. Approach her and she dies . . . kaboom. In pieces, there she goes.”
“You’re vulgar and cruel, but then, I shouldn’t be surprised. What’s the catch, Bulldog? I don’t believe for one minute you will give me her location, just like that. And once I’ve done the job, what then? Do you let her go?”
“Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it, Ace?” he replied enigmatically.
“On what?”
“On whether you deliver what I want.” He laughed at the string of expletives that exploded in his ear. “Come now, Ace. Did you honestly think I would let you go after one job? No, my dear, whether or not you and your sister get reunited, will solely depend on you and the decision you make once this target is dealt with.”
Adam disconnected the call and pressed the button to start the elevator again. He threw the phone on the floor and stomped on it. His chest bulged out in a satisfied sigh.
“Now, I’ve got her; at long last. I’ve got her right where I want her. Under my control, following every instruction I give her. Me, not the NCS. And mark my words, Ace, you will become the Sixth Order’s personal sniper.”
Adam Baxter exited the elevator in all his grandeur. A tailored black suit with a fetching silver tie. His chiseled jaw lifted with a proud, pleasant smile that turned his usual blue eyes into sparkling sapphires. He smirked at the sideward glances he received from a group of women he passed. He knew he was attractive. He lifted a hand to brush it through his hair in a calculated move to draw more attention. He knew how to be charming and he was smart—smarter than Damien Whittaker gave him credit for. He was a successful man. He drew people to trust him.
Except Ace. Of all the people he’d met over the years, she was the only one who had seen through his disguise; who identified the rotten core inside him-without ever meeting him face to face.
He’d always remained incognito, ensuring his safety, should one of them go rogue. All his communication with them had been via phone, email or through his henchman, Granite.
* * * * * * * *
“Fucking asshole. We still don’t know who the target is,” Rhone barked as soon as the connection died.
Samantha took the phone that Lance held out to her. He’d connected her cell to their system, so everyone could listen to the conversation.
“Were you able to track him?” Rhone asked Max.
“No. The signal seemed to be coming from central Langley, Virginia, but we lost it the closer we got. Wherever he was at the time of the call must have a scrambler system in place.”
“We know he works for the CIA, so it’s possible that he phoned from inside the headquarters,” Rhone speculated, his eyes on Samantha. She could feel his glare burn into her skin.
“Nope, he was twenty miles from there. I’ll keep monitoring the area but chances are it was a burner phone that he kept specifically for her call, especially if he’s running a scam on the side, which we all believe he is,” Max affirmed.
“Let’s go, Samantha,” Rhone ordered. He walked outside, not waiting to see if she followed.
“Rhone, would you please—”
He turned around so fast that she stumbled into his chest. His arms clamped around her shoulders and he shook her. Her teeth clattered and her hair tumbled wildly around her face.
“No! Don’t try and fucking sweet talk me. It’s not going to work. My friend’s life could be in danger again. My life most probably is too, but I don’t give a flying shit about that. What I do care about is that Keon’s daughter might be alive and you—you, Samantha Frazer—know who has her. You know who Bulldog is. And you’re keeping it from me. No. Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything unless you’re prepared to tell me his name.”
Rhone had hoped he would recognize Bulldog’s voice because he knew many operatives in the CIA but it had become evident with the first sentence that he was disguising it.
He got into the black Hummer and started the engine. Samantha had barely lifted herself onto the seat when he pulled away with screeching tires.
“It’s because I know who he is that I can’t tell you. He’s dangerous, Rhone. More than you realize and I can’t expose you and your friends to that,” Samantha dared to say when they stopped at a red light.
“Do you know what we do, Samantha?” Rhone asked. She could hear him grinding his teeth; the battle to get his anger under control was still raging through him.
“You own Precision Secure and provide security services.”
“That’s our cover,” he informed her. “We run a private covert operations unit for the President. Extremely covert. Not even the FBI or CIA knows about our existence. We play with danger every fucking day of our lives. Most times people don’t know who we are. We go in, hit hard, hit fast and then we disappear, but we’re not completely incognito. There are some who know who and what we are. But th
ey are all in the service of the Government.” He glanced at her. “You are now the only other person who knows this.”
There was a hidden warning in his chilling tone. When his eyes turned darker, he scared her. A bead of sweat dripped down her back and her skin felt clammy. His hardened expression was unreadable, a warning in its own. Samantha knew that Rhone would do everything in his power to protect his friends and his team.
Samantha had always believed that there was nothing scarier than an eternity on her own; nothing and nobody to lean on. During the months succeeding her family’s death, she’d cut herself just to feel something. The prospect of being alone forever had threatened to turn her into a person with no compassion—no remorse. Her soul had been on the verge of turning to the dark side when Bulldog had saved her. And he had . . . back then, from the loneliness and herself.
She snorted to herself. Well, through Granite, to be precise.
But this man has seen the ugly side of life—of people. The criss-crossing scars on his back had shocked her the other day, but she’d been too enamored by his nakedness at the time to pay much attention to them. Now she knew where they came from.
Rhone had been a captive at some point; had been tortured. Inhumanely tortured. No wonder he didn’t trust anyone—apart from his family and friends.
“You don’t know me, Rhone, I get that, but I would never betray your confidence.” Samantha cringed at the hurt in her tone but squared her shoulders.
Man up, Samantha. You should’ve known better than to open your heart so soon to this enigmatic man. Now, you’ll have to take the punches.
“I know the dangers of living undercover, especially if that cover is blown. Believe me when I say that Bulldog . . . Rhone, please, I need to go and check first to see if my sister is still alive. If not . . .”
She felt the stab of pain inside her chest at the thought. She’d just found her—or rather, hoped she did—the thought of losing her again tore at her heart. Keeping Bulldog’s true identity from him was the only way she knew how to keep Lauren safe―if it was her. He wouldn’t hesitate to carry out his threat if Samantha didn’t do as ordered.