Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  She shifted on her feet and inched backward.

  “None of this is new,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “The threats, the power plays, the lies. Traffickers have been using the same old script for decades. But I can change all that for you.”

  “You lie, just like him,” she spit out, clearly terrified. “Leave me alone. I only have a year left until I’m free.”

  “I bet they told you that last year. And the year before that. There are expenses you have to reimburse, right? Interest that racks up? You won’t be any freer a year from now than you are now. They’ll keep you here until you escape or they kill you.” Roman let that sink in for a long, quiet moment. “All I need is a little help, Brandy. A little help and you and your family will live a free life in America.”

  When she didn’t shoot back another denial, he gestured to an overstuffed chair in the corner. “Now, have a seat so we can talk business.”

  11

  Ian pulled his truck to a spot along the street beside the café. He’d begged off early from work with the excuse of a bad tooth and a dentist’s appointment. But early was relative. He’d pried himself away from Savannah at six a.m. and headed in early, working a full nine hours without lunch, knowing he’d have to ask to leave at three p.m. As expected, Mo agreed. Now, Ian just wanted to see Savannah before he headed into Whitefish to meet with the team.

  He climbed from the car just as Misty exited the back door of the café with a garbage bag almost as big as she was. She lugged it toward a dumpster in the far corner of the rear parking lot. Ian was about to start that way to take the burden for her when a sheriff’s patrol car pulled into the lot, blocking Misty’s path.

  Ian rounded his truck and watched from the safety of the vehicle.

  Misty dropped the bag and propped a hand on her hip. “I’m trying to work here.”

  Hank stood from the cruiser, resting his arm on top of the door between them. With Misty’s attention on Hank and Hank’s back to Ian, he darted across the street and crept to the corner of the building where he could hear their conversation.

  “Now there’s a job you’re worthy of,” Hank said.

  “You’re such a bastard,” Misty shot back.

  Ian peered around the corner of the building and found Misty fighting to drag the trash around the cruiser.

  “It makes you feel all mighty and powerful to be a shit to all us little people, doesn’t it, Sheriff?” She said the last with contempt.

  “We need to talk,” he told her.

  “The hell we do.” She made it to the front of the cruiser before Hank rounded the open driver’s door and grabbed her arm. He yanked her hard enough to make Misty drop the garbage. She whirled on him, furious. “Who in the hell do you think—”

  “You need to talk to Savannah,” he ordered.

  Misty yanked her arm from Hank’s grip. “Touch me again and I’ll yell ‘rape’ so loud, your ears will bleed.”

  Ian smiled. He was grateful Savannah had a friend with guts.

  Hank approached her, hands on hips, until he was in her face. “You’re going to talk to her, and you’re going to convince her to dump that grease monkey.”

  Ian’s smile vanished. He gritted his teeth, swore under his breath. A whole new, heightened sense of protectiveness flowed through his veins after last night. This morning, he’d woken to her soft, warm body pressed against his, and it was as if a light switch had flipped on. He had new goals and new purpose, all related to Savannah and Jamison.

  But he still had very real, very substantial hurdles to jump.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” Misty said, “Savannah is very independent. She has her own mind. Nothing I say will pry her away from Ian.”

  A flutter irritated his gut—excitement and dread. He hoped Misty was accurate about Savannah’s commitment, but he was also pretty sure there was something he could say that would ruin everything between them. It went along the lines of “I’ve been lying to you from day one.”

  Hank stepped into Misty’s path.

  “See, this is why Savannah would never come back to you. You and your arrogance. You’re such an asshole.”

  “You’re going to change her mind,” Hank told her.

  Misty just laughed. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “You will,” Hank’s tone deepened and darkened. “Or you’ll find the FBI at your barn.”

  FBI at her barn? That struck Ian as strange.

  “Well, that would sure ruin this thing you and Lyle have going, wouldn’t it?” she said.

  Dots instantly connected, but Ian resisted the picture they created. Like looking at an ink blot, he tried to twist it into something he could believe.

  “They sell that shit all over the darknet, nowadays,” Hank said. “Your father may have been the only game in town when we started this, but now…” He shook his head. “We can get them anywhere.”

  “Great. I don’t want to do that shit for you anyway,” Misty shot back, picking up the bag and walking right into him, pushing him aside with the garbage. “If it weren’t for Savannah and Jamison, you’d have been shit out of luck when Dad died. So go ahead, by all means. If you think the darknet would be a great option, go for it. Since the Silk Road went down, every law enforcement agency on the planet tracks the darknet. I’d love to see you get caught.”

  Holy. Shit. Ian couldn’t believe where this was leading.

  “Convince Savannah,” Hank demanded. “Or you’ll lose everything, including your freedom.”

  Ian couldn’t get his mind around Misty as a counterfeiter. Talk about getting blindsided. His mind darted back to what Savannah had told him about Misty’s father. An inventor… Useless gadgets of all kinds… Only one ever made him any money… Sounded a lot like that one gadget had been a counterfeiting setup. One Hank had blackmailed Misty into continuing when her father died.

  He pressed his back against the wall and looked up at the blue sky. Snow clouds loomed in the distance. Did Savannah know about Misty’s activities? Had she helped Misty? He thought back to the night before and Savannah’s interest in passports. She wouldn’t have asked him if she knew her best friend created them. Would she?

  Sickness tightened his gut. Even if Savannah didn’t know, she’d find out. At some point, Ian was going to have to tell her. Warn her. Prepare her for the inevitable—losing her best friend to prison. And as soon as he did, he would lose her.

  “Fuck me.” He rounded the opposite corner and entered the café.

  The lunch crowd had dwindled. A couple of older guys sat at the counter, drinking coffee and chatting. Savannah was in the dining room, cleaning and arranging tables for the dinner rush. She was wearing the jeans with the sparkles on the back pockets, but he certainly didn’t need the adornment to focus there. Nor did he need any help pulling up the feel of her great ass in his hands the night before.

  One night. Barely twelve hours. How could it feel like she’d been his a damn month?

  When she noticed him, her face broke out in a smile. “Hey, there. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ian strolled toward her, took her hand and walked backward toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. As soon as they’d cleared the doorway, he sandwiched her between his body and the wall and kissed her hard. She made a sound of surprise, then wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed to her toes to kiss him back.

  The knots running along his spine eased.

  He broke the kiss, and Savannah laughed a little. “Well, hello to you too.”

  “Been dying to do that since six this morning.” He ran his hand over her hair and kissed her again. He dragged her up against his body and swept his tongue into her mouth. God, he wanted her even more than he had last night. He pulled back and asked, “Are you free tonight? To go over, you know, the dirt?”

  “I have Jamison—”

  “After he’s asleep?”

  She started to nod then said, “But the bugs—”

  He kissed her
again. “I’ll download a blocker.”

  She pulled back. “A what?”

  “Blocker. It emits a signal that interrupts the bug.”

  He moved in to kiss her again. She put a hand against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about a blocker when we found the bugs?”

  Alarm bells went off in his head. Shit. “I just found it today.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t believe him; he could tell by the look in her eyes. “Are you staying for lunch?”

  “No. I broke a tooth on a granola bar this morning, and I’m going to Missoula to get it fixed.”

  “Why go all the way to Missoula?”

  “The doc here didn’t have an opening, and the one in Missoula uses nitrous oxide gas.” He winced. “I’m really a pussy when it comes to dental work.”

  That made her laugh, and he felt the equilibrium between them restored. She leaned into him and skimmed her fingers down his cheek. “Drive careful. Text me when you get back.”

  Savannah turned to watch Ian walk from the café—all wide shoulders and tight ass. When he got to the door, he shot a “gotcha” grin over his shoulder. Savannah had confessed to her love of his ass the night before, and he was obviously testing her story of stopping whatever she was doing to watch him walk out. He pushed out the door backward and winked at her just before turning to trot down the stairs.

  Savannah felt like she’d downed a bottle of sparkling wine, gut fizzing, heart buzzing, head light. She smiled, reveling in the sensations. He was a great guy who also happened to be sexy, sweet, and damn good in bed. She felt like she’d hit the lottery.

  His story about the blocker didn’t add up, and she didn’t know what to think about that.

  Misty wandered into the dining room, frowning at her phone.

  “What’s wrong?” Savannah asked.

  “Tell me what Ian’s tattoo looked like again.”

  “His…what?”

  “The tattoo on his shoulder. The one of a skull.”

  Savannah remembered the sight of his broad, naked back, tapering into a tight waist from the night before. “A skull with a dagger through it.”

  “Did the blade go through the eye socket?”

  “Um…” She thought back. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because I’ve been looking for it online, and I think I found it.” She looked up from her phone with concern pulling her brow, turning the device to face Savannah. “Is this it?”

  “Yes. Where did you find it?”

  “Google images.” Still frowning, Misty tapped the screen a few times. “I searched for military tattoos of a skull.”

  “Why are you making that face?” Savannah asked.

  “Because the unit the tattoo is associated with isn’t what I expected.”

  Dread slipped into her gut. Her mind piped up with I knew he was too good to be true.

  She stopped what she was doing and stepped up beside Misty. Her screen was filled with Wikipedia information on a military group called Manhunters.

  Misty read, “An elite group of men recruited for the sole purpose of identifying, capturing, interrogating, and killing high-value targets.”

  A chill swept through Savannah’s stomach.

  “The Manhunters report only to their leader, a high-ranking member of the CIA, who identifies targets for elimination. Those killed by Manhunters range from drug lords to scientists, diplomats to heads of government.”

  The cold leaked through her whole body. The memory of Hank landing a punch to Ian’s jaw discounted the whole “elite military team” concept. But then Savannah remembered how quickly and easily Ian had taken the opportunity to get in shots at Hank. And how calm Ian had been when Hank pulled his weapon. “He never would have gotten a shot off.”

  “Savannah,” Misty said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Have you talked to him about his work in the military?”

  A protective instinct rose inside her. She wasn’t ready to believe the worst of Ian. “A little. Not about what he did, just about why he left and what he planned to do now.”

  “If this is true,” Misty said, “you should probably think about ending things between you.”

  Shock hit, and Savannah pushed back. “What are you talking about? You haven’t been able to say anything but great things about him all morning. About how I was glowing. How happy you were that I’ve finally found a good guy.”

  “That was before I knew this,” she said, matching Savannah’s vehemence. “Do you really want an assassin around Jamison? Think about it. If he’s capable of doing the things they talk about here, what’s to keep him from doing it now?”

  “Don’t call him an assassin, and stop jumping to conclusions. You’re quoting Wikipedia, for God’s sake. Not exactly the most reliable form of information. Especially not if his team was as elite as that says.”

  The bell on the door signaled the beginning of the dinner crowd.

  “I just don’t want you or Jamison to get hurt—physically or emotionally.” Misty had lowered her voice. “After living with someone as violent as Hank, the last thing you need is another tyrant in your life.”

  “Ian’s nothing like Hank. He’s certainly no tyrant.”

  “Hank didn’t seem like one at first either.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” Chuck was a miner who came in every day at the end of shift.

  “Hey, Chuck,” Savannah called, then told Misty, “Don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll talk to Ian.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Savannah continued to Chuck’s table with hot coals burning in her gut. She had to make a deliberate, concerted effort to work up small talk.

  After putting Chuck’s order in, Savannah glanced around the café. When she found Misty helping another customer across the café, she stepped into the hallway to the bathrooms and pulled out her phone. She took a breath and dialed Doctor Dunfy’s office then leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed in dread and chanted a quiet “Please, please, please be true.”

  “Doctor Dunfy’s office,” the receptionist answered.

  “Hey, Sarah, it’s Savannah.”

  After some quick small talk, Savannah said, “I think Jamison may have broken a tooth on a granola bar this morning.”

  “Oh, ouch,” Sarah said. “Poor baby.”

  “Yeah, who would have guessed, right?”

  “I think I’ve heard everything that could go wrong in a person’s mouth at least once, but I’m pretty sure that’s a new one.”

  Savannah’s stomach dropped, and she closed her eyes. “Does Doctor Dunfy have an opening this afternoon to take a look at Jamison?”

  “Yep. We keep an emergency slot open right before close just for this kind of thing. Can you bring him in at four thirty?”

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Savannah wanted to scream. Instead, she gritted her teeth a moment, then exhaled. “He’ll be coming to the café after his playdate, and I’ll take a look at him. If I need the spot, I’ll call you back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Hey, Sarah?” she asked before the girl disconnected. “By chance, does Dr. Duffy ever use nitrous oxide?”

  “Sure, but I’ll have to check your insurance to see if they’d cover it.”

  Savannah’s heart joined her stomach at her feet. “No problem. I was just curious. Thanks.”

  Savannah disconnected, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back against the wall.

  He’d been lying to her. Savannah was disgusted with herself. She should be able to spot a liar by now.

  The bell continued to chime in the diner, cutting into Savannah’s worries. She straightened and stocked her apron with straws and pens with a renewed goal of getting the dirt she needed on Hank to end this custody battle, once and for all. Ian might not be a golden boy, he might not even be the kind of man she wanted to continue seeing, but right now, he was the lesser of two evils and her only hope of getting what she needed to keep her son.

  12

  Ian followed in Roman’s footstep
s, approaching the barn on Misty’s property from the rear. Just past dusk, they had a limited window of opportunity to get in and get out before Misty finished her shift at the diner and returned home.

  Roman moved to the back of an outbuilding a few hundred yards from the barn and paused. Ian peered through the night-vision scope on his M4 and scanned the area.

  “Clear,” he told Roman.

  “Alpha team, in position,” Roman said, their counterparts approaching from the opposite side of the property.

  “Beta team, in position.” Sam’s voice vibrated over the com line. “And may I just take this opportunity to reiterate my opposition to our team name? Moore and I aren’t exactly the moderate, easy-going kind. I’ll admit, we aren’t withdrawn, resentful Deltas either, but I’d be satisfied with Omega or Gamma. What say you, Moore?”

  “Affirmative,” Liam said. “I vote for Omega.”

  “Done.” Roman took their sarcasm in stride. “You’re officially Sigma team.”

  “Sigma my ass,” Sam muttered. “That’s worse than Beta.”

  “Stop complaining.” Everly’s voice came over the line from where she’d been stationed to watch Misty. “Any team is better than sitting here watching paint peel. Their internet sucks.”

  “On three.” Roman counted down, and the two teams closed in on the barn with smooth, choreographed precision.

  Once they were in position, flanking the barn’s double doors, Ian pulled the bolt cutters from his pack, snapped a link on the chain threaded through the handles, and returned to his position behind Roman.

  Roman and Sam held their weapons ready with one hand and slid the other into the handles on the doors.

  “On three,” Roman murmured again.

  Ian stepped away from the barn wall, his M4 up, his eye focused through the night-vision sight, mirroring Liam.

  “Three,” Roman said, “two, one.”

  The doors flew open with an unearthly screech. Ian and Liam advanced in unison, sweeping the dark interior. Rodents scurried in every direction as flashes of light darted through the scope.