Jaeger

by Evelise Archer

  “But, you have not forgiven an enemy. The one who would set your soul free and give you solace in your wretched lifetime.”

  A vision flashed before Jaeger. Lord Wren—young, beautiful, privileged―everything Jaeger hated. And Jaeger had killed him. Could he have been the one? Could his first kill have started Jaeger’s downward spiral? And what of the young man he’d just killed? Quintanilla’s son. Olive complexion, flawless skin, much like Lord Wren.

  Everything became very clear. With each life his memories of other lives were erased and he started anew, still doomed, but unable to remember and learn from his mistakes. Jaeger looked one last time at Moriel, who wore a smirk on his face, and Jaeger knew the answer. Death could not come fast enough.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present Day

  “MARSHAL TRIPP.”

  Jaeger moaned. The sound of his boss’s voice over the intercom grated on his nerves like someone running fingernails down a chalkboard. Did they even make chalkboards anymore? A pit suddenly formed in Jaeger’s stomach and acid burned in his gut when he heard Special Agent in Charge Denver Chase. Probably another fucking babysitting assignment for another random scum of the earth. The kind who thought they’d get a free ticket into the sunrise because they turned state’s evidence against the scumbag they worked for. Yippee.

  Jaeger pushed away from his desk and lifted his six-foot-two-inch body out of the cracked pleather chair. He smoothed his pants and strode down the cubicle-lined walkway of the United States Marshals of the Witness Security Program, and approached the office of the SAC.

  Jaeger knocked twice and entered when he heard Chase’s invite.

  “Sir, you wanted to see me?”

  “Sit, Tripp. I’ve got a case of the utmost importance to discuss with you.”

  Jaeger sat in one of the worn, high-backed, brown chairs that were strategically placed in front of Chase’s desk. He fiddled with the wide soft leather band on his left arm, the one that hid his birthmark—a formation of puckered flesh that resembled a broken sword. Jaeger was the only one in his family who bore the mark.

  Jaeger took a cursory glance around the sparse office. The only pictures that adorned the walls were citations Chase had received in his career as an FBI agent and U.S. Marshal.

  The far side of the room sported a long table and chairs for conferencing, and a stranger who had his back to the two of them. His Henley molded to his musculature, and the denim of his jeans hugged his ass.

  Chase cleared his throat, and Jaeger brought his attention back to his boss.

  “Tripp,” the SAC continued, “this is Mr. Wren O’Riley.” Wren turned to face Jaeger before his boss could complete the introductions. Jaeger crooked his head and peered at him. He was tall, olive complexion, and had penetrating green eyes—and a body Jaeger’d love to fuck. He also wore silver bracelets—handcuffs.

  “Mr. O’Riley, Marshal Tripp of the Witness Security Program.” Chase made the introductions, and the prisoner nodded to Jaeger.

  “Tripp, let’s move to the conference table. O’Riley, sit please. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Jaeger seated himself across from the witness and noticed he failed to make eye contact. SAC Chase slid a manila folder in front of Jaeger. In bold red letters, Confidential was written across the front.

  Jaeger reached for the file and directed his attention at the SAC and not the prisoner. He tapped the red letters while he waited for Chase to begin. O’Riley sat ramrod straight in his chair with cuffed hands on his lap and looked straight ahead.

  “Mr. O’Riley,” the SAC began, “is a computer expert for the Mexican Rincón Family. The lengthy version is in the file folder, and O’Riley can fill you in on all the details. But the short of it is, Mr. O’Riley was privy to the murder of a member of the Chino Family who was visiting the Rincón Complex. Wrong place at the wrong time, so to speak, and now he has come to us with the fruits of his electronic wares and his testimony.”

  Jaeger’s hackles rose at the prospect of another babysitting job. Maybe the cartel should come with a “This is What We’re all About” guide.

  “May I speak, Agent Chase?” O’Riley asked timidly.

  Jaeger’s attempt to ignore O’Riley proved futile. He had a slight accent, and his voice was soft and wispy for such a large man, as though he carefully and thoughtfully calculated each word before he spoke. He appeared to be the same height as Jaeger, but that’s where the similarities ended. Even in his clothes, Jaeger could tell O’Riley was lean and thin, but not skinny—maybe a runner or swimmer. He glanced through the file. O’Riley’s olive complexion may have been due to his upbringing in Mexico, but the name O’Riley came from his Irish father. But how did he end up in the notorious Rincón Family?

  The SAC motioned for O’Riley to speak. He shifted in his chair to face Jaeger with his piercing green eyes. Jaeger was disgusted. If it were left up to Jaeger, those who bedded with the cartel would get what they deserved—torture and death. Definitely not a free pass with WITSEC and a federal agent as a babysitter.

  “Marshal, I know you have many questions, which I am sure will be answered in time, but I wanted you to know that I am not a killer. I really am a computer geek, and I really did happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I managed the computers for the family—spreadsheets of crops, small businesses, etc. Yes, I knew that illegal dealings were afoot, but I chose to ignore them and do my job for the sake of my mother, Graciela Rincón, sister to Juan Rincón, the head of the Rincón Family.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jaeger exploded. He ejected his body from the chair, which rolled away behind him. “You’re the nephew of one of Mexico’s deadliest and most notorious cartel leaders, and you only worked the computers? No fucking way. And now I suppose I’m to babysit your ass as you turn state’s evidence against the cartel. Sir?” Jaeger slammed his hand on the desk and faced Chase.

  “Marshal Tripp, yes. O’Riley has been able to give the State Department some of the computer files he backed up. But more importantly he witnessed the murder of Jesús Chino, head of the Chino Family. With his testimony and the computer files, we have enough evidence to cripple the Rincón Family and put Juan Rincón in prison for a long time. Now please calm down and sit.” The timbre of Chase’s voice left little room for Jaeger to disobey.

  “And we’re going to just waltz in and arrest Rincón so his nephew can testify?” Jaeger spat as he pulled the chair close to his ass and again took a seat.

  “Rincón and some of his high officials are being arrested as we speak—a joint task force between the DEA and the rest of the feds, with the blessing of the Mexican government. Not that we need their permission.” The pause in SAC Chase’s voice caused Jaeger to look up. “The raid is taking place at the Las Cruces, New Mexico compound, and at last intel, where Rincón and his henchmen are still residing, some of whom are Mexican citizens. The Americans will be arraigned in district court and sequestered in federal prison until the time of their trial in one month. Rincón himself is an American citizen, and he’ll be tried in New York on a separate murder charge. That’s where O’Riley comes in. He provided evidence that will be used in the trials, but he was an eyewitness to the murder. It’s your job to keep O’Riley alive and get him to court on the assigned day, where he’ll deliver his testimony and help put the Rincón Family out of business. As of this moment, Rincón will have figured out who turned on him, and the price for O’Riley’s head will be immense. His life is over. Mr. O’Riley understands this.” Chase looked to the prisoner, and no affirmation was needed. He continued, looking at Jaeger, “From there he’ll be placed in the program—new identity, new location, and new life.”

  “Am I under the radar?” asked Jaeger.

  “Yes. No cards. Cash only. Safe house at a designated location that will be disclosed to only you,” Chase confirmed.

  A soft knock on the door announced another agent, who entered the room carrying a small package, handed it to Chase,
nodded toward Jaeger, and excused himself as quickly as he entered. Jaeger held out his hand for the package. Without opening it he knew it contained lots of cash, keys to a vehicle, and their destination. It would also have two burner phones and a map. And Jaeger had a newfangled GPS system in his locker, and he’d been wanting to try it out.

  “Everything you need is either in the file or package. Standard protocol is to be strictly followed. Your first check-in will be four hours after your arrival at your final destination. I assume you have your to-go bag in your locker, Tripp?” Jaeger nodded, and disdain radiated through his body at the thought of babysitting some cartel scum… with a pretty face.

  Chase continued. “A suitcase has been placed at your desk for O’Riley, with the proper clothing. Everything else you need will already be at the safe house.”

  “And we leave when?” With the information Chase had delivered, Jaeger already knew the answer.

  Jaeger watched Chase rise from his seated position and walk around the table to the prisoner. The SAC motioned for him to lift his hands, uncuffed him, and then Chase tilted his head to Jaeger. “Now.”

  JAEGER FIGURED he got the shit jobs because, quite frankly, he just didn’t give a shit. He could detach himself from the situation and perform his job. He didn’t need to get to know anyone or speak to them unless it specifically dealt with the case. He could sit on a witness just as soon as shoot him. As far as Jaeger was concerned, that’s what they paid him for. The job just had a better name—U.S. Marshal—as opposed to mercenary.

  Top of his class in every weapon and then some, Jaeger fit the bill. He could have gone out on his own after he was recruited by the feds and graduated from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center—FLETC—with his impressive marks and skills, but the federal government gave him benefits and life insurance. Being solo or working with a crack team may have given him the money and the adrenaline rush, but after that it was anyone’s game.

  Instead he landed in WITSEC and was told by his superiors that his natural scouting skills and his ability to track, kill, and detach were ideal for a marshal in said division. He dealt with scum of the earth, and the older he got, the more hardened he became.

  Jaeger led the way out of the SAC’s office, expecting O’Riley to follow him. He motioned for O’Riley to sit at his desk chair while he pulled a set of handcuffs and blue latex gloves from his right-hand desk drawer. Jaeger knew the man couldn’t escape while he went to the locker room to retrieve his go-bag, but once a dick with a bad attitude, always one. Jaeger didn’t give a fuck if O’Riley’s feelings were hurt. And the gloves? No touchy with the prisoners. The gloves detached him all the more. Far as he was concerned, Jaeger had no reason to touch another person unless it was in a sexual frenzy. Touching equated with either pain or jerking off. Jaeger’s form of painful infliction was best served at the end of his Glock.

  “Just a precaution.” Jaeger’s voiced dripped with sarcasm as he motioned for O’Riley’s hand and cuffed him to the desk.

  “Of course,” replied O’Riley, who offered his right wrist to Jaeger.

  Witness secured to the sturdy metal desk, Jaeger strode to the locker room while he pulled the gloves off and tossed them in a nearby trash can. He carried the file and package under his arm as he pushed the door open, hurriedly made his way to his locker, entered the combination, and extracted his bag. He removed his sidearm and laid it on the top rack of his locker. Then he took off his suit jacket, tie, shirt, and dress pants in favor of jeans, rugged black military boots, a navy T-shirt, and a fatigue green bomber jacket. He situated his Glock 23 on his waistband and fit it into the curve of his waist and adjusted the wide leather band that covered his unusual birthmark. Jaeger smirked as he remembered the times he told himself the mark―what looked like a broken sword― gave him super powers.

  He sat on the bench and opened the package. Scanning the first page, he ran his finger along the information and searched for their destination. New York. More specifically, the Adirondack Mountains. Far enough away from New York City, where the court was located, and secluded enough to hide out and sit tight until the trial. One month. Jaeger could do it. One month of babysitting, and then he’d be done. Maybe it was time to retire.

  Jaeger assumed the crime took place in New Mexico per the earlier conversation with Chase, but obviously details were on a need-to-know basis as to how O’Riley was to appear in federal court in New York City. He slipped the keys from the envelope and placed both the envelope and package into his black bag. Then he reached for his softly worn black leather driving gloves. He slid each glove over his fingers and smoothed the creases over his palm. The gloves were like a second skin. He grabbed the extra jacket from his locker hook, slammed the locker shut, and strode out of the room.

  He eyed his prisoner with rapt attention. Another time and under different circumstances, Jaeger wouldn’t hesitate to bend him over and fuck him senseless—if the man was willing. O’Riley’s piercing green eyes, light olive complexion, and sandy brown hair definitely fit the bill of Jaeger’s type. But Jaeger had more important things to consider. Keeping Wren O’Riley alive and well to testify in one month’s time.

  Jaeger unlocked the right cuff, pocketed the key, and tossed the cuffs into his desk. He didn’t need the pair since he had a set in his duffle and he knew there’d be a set in the SUV. Tossing the extra jacket to O’Riley, he motioned with his head for him to follow. Jaeger threw his own bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the bullpen with O’Riley and his own bag in tow.

  They silently took the elevator to the underground garage and exited the steel box. Jaeger scanned the area, checked the number on the fob, and turned right toward parking spot twenty-eight. A black Nissan Pathfinder occupied the space.

  Jaeger clicked the hatch. “Toss your bag in the back,” he said—the first words he spoke directly to O’Riley. The small cooler in the back probably contained enough food and drink to see them on their journey. The less they stopped the better. He tucked his bag behind the driver’s seat and climbed in the front. Both men fastened their seat belts, and then Jaeger reached into the center console, retrieved a set of handcuffs, and secured O’Riley’s hands in front of him on his lap. Jaeger backed out of the parking spot and up the ramp into the sunshine. The tinted windows gave them a bird’s-eye view of the city without anyone looking in. Jaeger began the two-hundred-and-forty-some miles to the safe house located above Lake Placid in the Adirondacks. It was going to be a long six hours.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JAEGER DROVE the Pathfinder with the maneuverability of a compact car and wove in and out of New York City’s traffic until he entered the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey and toward I-87, the longest stretch of the drive. He caught glimpses of Wren, his shaggy brown hair covering his eye and his head leaning against the tinted passenger side window. Jaeger didn’t know if he was really asleep or if he feigned it, but it gave Jaeger the silence he so longed for. Jaeger needed to remember that O’Riley, good-looking or not, was another criminal who sought to save himself by turning on others. Another scum of the earth.

  Jaeger turned on the radio and soaked in the sounds of jazz that emanated from the satellite service. Once they were on the highway, traffic was at a minimum and Jaeger could put pedal to the metal and travel at eighty miles an hour. He never utilized the cruise control as he preferred to maintain complete control of any situation. He didn’t foresee any issues, but why test fate? Once the Rincón family knew of O’Riley’s betrayal, they were sure to put a bounty on his head and would scour the United States in the hope of discovering which agency held and protected him until his court date. It was up to Jaeger, as a U.S. Marshal, to protect and serve—to really protect.

  Five hours into the drive, Jaeger’s stiff body protested being in the same position and was in dire need of a stretch. He also had to take a piss. Not that he cared for the comfort of his charge, but Jaeger figured the kid probably had to use the facilities as well. There was
a small rest stop just off the highway on 9N where they could take care of business and eat a snack from the cooler before they headed to Route 73 and the High Peaks Wilderness Area. Jaeger was grateful for the four-wheel-drive vehicle to traverse the more rugged areas of the High Peaks and the terrain around the cabin. The mountains and forest were so challenging in that part of the Adirondacks that it was the perfect place for a safe house. Few enough people roamed and camped in the area that smoke from a chimney wouldn’t be suspicious and no one would bother them.

  “Hey.” Jaeger poked the young man and jostled him awake. “Let’s hit the head and grab a snack. We’re almost there.”

  Jaeger didn’t have the patience to wait for the kid to pull himself from his slumber, so he poked him again. Harder.

  “Shit, are we there yet?” Jaeger watched O’Riley rub the sleep from his eyes and the tad bit of spittle from his lip. Damn, the kid could melt an iceberg with his smoldering green eyes and high cheekbones. Not interested. Who the fuck needs entanglements? A quick roll in the sack or a blow job was all Jaeger needed. Life was for the taking, and he planned to take every advantage of it.

  Jaeger pulled the vehicle directly in front of the gas station’s restroom, cut the engine, and pocketed the fob.

  “I’m going to uncuff you so you can use the can, and don’t even think about trying to draw attention to yourself or running.” Jaeger leaned over, unclicked the cuffs, and placed them in the center console.

  He nodded toward the door for Wren to exit and watched him rub his wrists as he climbed from the SUV. Jaeger knew the safe bet was with him.

  “Marshal Tripp, I have nowhere to run to. My life is in your hands.”

  Jaeger hoped what the kid said was true. He had no desire to chase after him so early in the game. While Wren used the bathroom, Jaeger stepped out of the vehicle and raised his arms above him. He tilted his head side to side and rolled his shoulders. Then he popped his back and got the kinks out, relieving a bit of the stress that had managed to settle at the base of his skull. He yearned for a hot shower, a strong cup of coffee, and a pastrami on rye. Instead he’d settle for a semicold bottle of water and a granola bar.