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Dark Control (DARC Ops Book 4)

Page 22

by Jamie Garrett


  “I know,” she said. “I know. But if your family was in as much trouble as mine, you would be doing the same thing.”

  “Tracking down my friend and then holding her down at gunpoint? Yeah, I’m going to say no.”

  “Laurel, we were never friends. We just worked together.”

  Laurel crossed her arms. Why the hell did that hurt? Caitlyn was clearly fucking insane. “So what do you need?”

  “I need you to take a seat. On the bed there.”

  “For what? What do you need?” Laurel could feel the hysterics coming on again. She fought back a rage of tears and spoke through a choked voice, “What do ya’ll want from me?”

  “First thing, is you sittin’ down there and calmin’ down. Kay?

  Laurel sniffled and sat on the bed.

  “What we want, is to make sure you don’t do any further damage.”

  “So you’re gonna kill me.”

  “No.” Caitlyn said it like it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. She held the gun out, saying, “What? Because of the gun? This is just in case I can’t convince you to go along with the plan. But I think I can, I really do.”

  “It’s still not too late.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “You can turn around and walk out, and I swear . . .”

  “No.”

  “I won’t . . . I swear I won’t say anything.”

  “You won’t say anything regardless. Trust me. Some of these fellas . . . they’re not very nice, even to a lady. They have ways of getting you to keep quiet.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll keep quiet.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” Caitlyn walked over to the table and sat. She sighed. “The main reason, for coming this way, is to get Matthias Wade’s laptop.”

  Laurel knew what that meant. By giving away the laptop, it would be handing over all the evidence that would have cleared Laurel. They would have definitely wiped the servers back at the office by now. And she knew what that would mean.

  But what was worse? Jail or death?

  “Can you tell me where it is?” Caitlyn asked.

  Jail or death.

  But maybe Matthias and his friends could still find a way to prove her innocence without the laptop. Maybe Matthias himself would be able to convince the investigators, maybe he’d passed the information onto Jackson. At the end of the day, she was fucking innocent. She could look the FBI right in their eyes and tell them the same. She could take a lie-detector test that wasn’t just a trap to isolate and kill her. She had options. It was okay.

  “Fine,” Laurel said. “It’s in that bag over there.”

  Caitlyn slowly, cautiously, made her way to the bag that was slung over a luggage rack. “This one?” She picked it up, the bag sagging heavily. She unbuckled the top, reached in, and pulled out a laptop from its storage sleeve.

  Watching her, Laurel instantly felt a pang of guilt. Guilt for so much. For not going out with Matthias tonight where she would’ve been safer, for getting this crazy and compulsive urge to flee New Orleans without even talking to him, for being alone at a bar again. Guilt for allowing herself to be tracked and trapped by Caitlyn, and now, for coughing up their best piece of evidence. It was work that Matthias had put his life on the line for. Work that he’d lost a friend over. And right now, because of Laurel’s bad decisions, they might be losing everything with her voluntarily pointing to that damned bag.

  A sick feeling of dread washed over her as Caitlyn open the laptop, as the glow came on to light up her face in the dim hotel room. She had it in her hands, but now she set it down on the table, pulling back a chair, settling in for some work like she was just up to her regular business in her cubicle at Sentry. Only there was a gun sitting on her lap.

  “So what exactly you looking for?” Laurel asked.

  “You know what’s on here,” Caitlyn said coldly.

  “He never showed me.” It was the truth. Laurel was so sick of it all, she was hardly interested to see the actual evidence. She just believed him.

  Laurel stayed quiet as she watched Caitlyn search through the computer. There was really nothing she could to about it. Nothing worth doing. She knew that Matthias and his guys could take care of it—if they hadn’t already been ambushed by whomever Caitlyn rode to New Orleans with. But he wouldn’t go as easily as Laurel. He was trained. He’d been through war, missions, ambushes. He’d been through the worst of it and he knew what to expect. No, there could be no way that he’d let himself get ensnared like this.

  Caitlyn darted her head to Laurel when she tried stretching out on the bed, leaning back onto a few pillows. She didn’t know how long this would take and it was beginning to get more than a little awkward just sitting there at the foot of the bed while she watched someone ransack Matthias’ laptop.

  Maybe she wouldn’t even be able to get in. Surely Matt had some wicked encryption routines set up?

  “I’m just leaning back,” she said.

  “Just getting comfy?”

  “Yeah,” Laurel said, waiting for Caitlyn to look away before she started checking to see if anything useful was on the nightstand. There was that bottle of wine from Montgomery. Unopened. Heavy. Laurel wondered how it would fare against a gun. Could she get close enough, and swing it hard enough to render the gun useless? She might not have been that strong, but the bottle though . . . Still, it was a big risk.

  Laurel checked back at Caitlyn, and then back to her nightstand, where she inspected the only other object. A small black box. A gift Matthias had gotten for her from Pensacola Beach.

  Caitlyn was still engrossed in whatever files Matthias had on his laptop, her finger moving and clicking at the keypad, fingers typing, muttering to herself, “You little nosy fucks . . .”

  Laurel reached for the box, sliding off the lid as quietly as she could. Inside was a black plastic cover for her smart-phone. It was large and unusually heavy. She peeled it out of its packaging, the Styrofoam making a quiet squeaking sound.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Laurel froze. Her phone, and her new phone cover in her hands.

  “Think you’re calling someone?”

  “No. No, I’m just changing phone covers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . I dunno. I’m fucking nervous, okay!?”

  Caitlyn smiled. “Well, I know what you can do. You can call Matthias for me.”

  Laurel initially liked the idea. She’d wanted to talk to him so badly. She wanted any contact from the outside, safe world. But she also didn’t want to rope him into Caitlyn’s scheme.

  “I’m just gonna change the cover,” Laurel said, removing the old cover and sliding on the new one.

  “You’re gonna call him,” Caitlyn said, putting the gun back into her hand.

  “Or what? You’ll shoot me in the hotel room for everyone to hear?”

  “Bitch, what do you think a silencer is for?” She held the gun out, displaying it for her. There was this little box thing attached at the front of the barrel. “So are you gonna call yer man? I’d love to talk to him. You know, I never met him. You were too rude to introduce us.”

  Laurel held the phone, thinking it over. She wanted to continue being rude, to keep Caitlyn and Matthias separate at all costs.

  “Come on, Laurel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m tellin’ you.”

  “What do you want from him?”

  Caitlyn spun around in her chair, leaving the laptop, holding the gun. “I just want to talk. Can you call him?”

  “Now?” Laurel asked, stalling for time for her brain to process the request and the implications. How would it affect things? Would it even make a difference at all? Matthias might have possibly been tipped off already. Maybe he was already formulating a plan. This call might help him; if nothing else, he might be able to track down the call. Track her down. Find her. Rescue her.

  But they were in their hotel room. Why hadn’t he checked up on he
r?

  “Call him, and tell him that everything’s fine.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Just say you’re fine and safe and everything’s totally fine.”

  But that wasn’t the case. She knew that by the way Caitlyn was holding the gun. She was patting it nervously against her thigh. She wanted to use it.

  Laurel asked, “Is everything fine? I mean what the fuck?”

  “Calm down.”

  “You’ve got a fucking gun pointed at me.”

  “I know I do.”

  Laurel looked at her phone, checking out her latest phone case. It looked just like her old one, but it was a lot heavier. Heavy-duty. Not at all like something a regular person would be carrying around.

  “Call him right now,” Caitlyn said. “Just say hi, and then hand it over to me and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  As with her old phone case, there were holes in the sides that allowed access for the side buttons. This one had those, plus a button of its own.

  “Laurel! Fucking do it!”

  35

  Matthias

  He was in a full sprint toward the hotel, stepping onto the road to dodge packs of pedestrians, and then back on the sidewalk to dodge oncoming cars and bikes. He pumped his legs as fast as he could, his footfalls echoing loudly off the historic façades of bars, restaurants, tattoo shops, the fried chicken place, and then that t-shirt store. He was getting so close now. Close to the hotel, and he hoped, Laurel.

  He could see it in the distance, the wrought-iron railings of the hotel, of their balcony on the ninth floor. He could see their window, a light on inside. He focused on it with what seemed like superhuman, telescopic vision. An angry buzz in his pocket jarred him away from his focus, and from his run. He came to an abrupt stop at a street corner, panting heavily as he reached for his phone to check the call, his heart aching for more knowledge. For Laurel.

  Laurel.

  Her name on the screen reinvigorated that telescopic gaze, his eyes straining, his vision zooming in on the little letters. Laurel? Did it really fucking say Laurel?

  “Laurel!”

  He barked her name into the phone before returning to his hard panting, and to a deep feeling of dread when she didn’t respond.

  “Laurel?”

  He held the phone tight against his face, mashing it into his ear to get as close as possible to what he’d hoped would to be that sweet voice of his girl. But instead he heard another voice. In the background. An ugly, hate-filled voice. Shrill commands to do something and to do it right fucking now. And then something muffled, and then, that sound, that sweet melody he’d been wanted so badly to hear. Only it wasn’t as sweet as he remembered. She was fearful, timid and choked up. But it was Laurel.

  “Matt,” she said, her voice weak and croaking. “I’m in our room with Caitlyn.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “She has a gun.”

  The news sent a shockwave through his body. Fear. Adrenalin. Anger. In the background, Caitlyn’s voice got louder, closer, clearer.

  “Laurel, what does she want?”

  “She wants to talk to you.”

  As Caitlyn’s voice got closer to the phone, Matthias rushed through all the things he wanted to say. In a split second, the professional in him carefully considered all the strategies he could use. Like a game of chess, there was a need to see many moves into the future. But there was also that part of him, Matthias, the lover, who wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the life out of that nasty bitch. His brain scrambled to decide which route he’d take. Caitlyn’s voice came through the phone, dry and scratchy, probably hoarse from all the miserable yelling and the ordering around she’d done to Laurel. But before either of them could actually speak to each other, there was a loud buzzing, snapping sound, and then a blood-curdling scream. And then the call ended.

  36

  Laurel

  Caitlyn wanted the phone. So Laurel gave it to her, jabbing it right into her face, the top edge of it smashing into her orbital bone with a sickening thud. The she pressed the innocuous little extra button. The button that sent a crackling burst of ninety million volts into the nerve endings around Caitlyn’s left eye.

  Matthias’ gift, his wonderful gift, was a stun gun concealed in a phone case, and it had produced the most horrific, guttural scream from Caitlyn. She stumbled back over a chair and landed hard against the wall, her body still spasming as Laurel went in for another zzzaaapppp against her throat. That one sent Caitlyn’s arms flailing wild, which in turn sent the gun flying out of her hand. As it tumbled across the carpet, Laurel wanted to scream with joy, a whole different type of scream than her kidnapper. Caitlyn, on the other hand, hadn’t noticed or cared about the gun. All she seemed to care about was getting away from Laurel’s phone. It came in again, under her chin, Laurel pinning it there and pinning her weight down onto a horrified Caitlyn, holding her against the corner of the wall and the floor, blocking her flailing arms, holding, pinning, zapping. By now Caitlyn had been stunned quite literally, her face contorting to a gruesome scowl when the volts would come racing and burning through her body again. In between jolts, she would return to an open-mouthed panting. And then screaming.

  After one last zap, Laurel left her there against the wall in a frantic, jumbled mess of pain. She made her way crawling fast to the gun, clutching it and spinning around and holding it there, pointing right at the woman she had worked with for a year. A person she had come to like, and maybe even trust.

  “You’re fucked,” Laurel said as she tried to catch her breath, as she tried to steady the gun. “I don’t care what happens from here, but you’re fucked.”

  Caitlyn was crying now. The big bad stun gun had gone away and now reality—and perhaps some rational thought—had returned. She looked scared and pathetic, half hunched up against the wall, fully cowering, fully fucked now that Laurel had the gun. The look on Caitlyn’s face said it all.

  “Why did you do it?” Laurel asked, gripping the gun more steadily now. “Why?” She gently rubbed her finger up and down the trigger, familiarizing herself with it, trying to get her brain and her muscles at least somewhat familiar with the act of pulling the trigger—in case she had to. She had never held a gun before, let alone used one to save her life.

  “Caitlyn. Who else are you here with?”

  Caitlyn said nothing, but then reached down to her pocket.

  “Caitlyn! Don’t.”

  But she kept going. The crazy-eyed, broken woman pulled a phone out of her pocket. Laurel charged forward, holding out her phone this time instead of the gun. “Drop that phone. Or else you’ll get mine again. Or worse.”

  Caitlyn still held onto it, her eyes moving around the room frantically. Then her gaze fixed on Laurel, and onto the two items she had in each hand—one seeming to frighten her more than the other.

  “Come on, Caitlyn. No more phone calls.”

  Caitlyn’s face suddenly broke out into a strange-looking smile, and then her chest started heaving in small, irregular chuckles. She was fucking laughing. And then she mumbled something to herself and then tossed the phone against the opposite wall.

  “What else do you have?” Laurel asked.

  “That’s it,” she said, no longer laughing. “That’s it.”

  37

  Matthias

  He was half a block away from their hotel when something incomprehensible happened. The brick wall he was running next to began to pop and shatter and smoke like someone had set off a string of firecrackers. He felt the shards of brick blasting away from the wall and hitting his legs. Sharp fragments. It reminded him of shrapnel, but less deadly. But a half second later, when his brain could catch up and process what had actually happened, Matthias came to the quick conclusion that it was in fact much more deadly than shrapnel. The next sensation proved that fact, the feeling of several bullets thumping hot into his legs, burning into his flesh and muscle and then knocking into bone.


  Matthias was on the ground. Immediately. Flat on his back. He’d been fucking hit.

  He looked across the street, opposite the wall, hoping to trace back the angle so he could identify and then cover from the shooter. But then the wall, and the pavement around him, began popping and smoking up with the pitter-patter of incoming fire.

  Fuck. Was he hit?

  And where?

  Maybe he was just numb and in shock. But he’d felt nothing from the latest volley. Still, there was no time for inspection. He had to take cover. He had to find something. A car! There was a parked car he could crawl up next to, slide under the front of it and hope to dear God that the engine block was between him and the shooter.

  There, against the car, he could finally hear the outside world. The screams of fleeing civilians. The screeching of tires. It had been an ambush and he’d walked right into it. He reached for his phone. It came out of his pocket wet with blood.

  Another hail of bullets rained down around him and the car, this time the noise against the metal was almost deafening. His mind was thrown back to the time with Ernesto in the car, to the hail. He thought of the time later when it was just Ernesto, when the hail was the type that Matthias had just received. And then he thought of Laurel.

  Matthias rolled over, stifling a yelp from the pain that had suddenly emerged from the floating numbness. He pulled himself up and peeked just above the car, looking up at the hotel. There! The shooter was standing on the balcony, his long rifle pointed down to the street, to Matthias, the glass of the scope gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

  Fuck. It was such a nice warm day.

  He rolled back under the car, holding onto it with tight, teeth-gritting desperation. His eyes drifted closed.

  He wanted to pray. He wanted to do something meaningful. But he wasn’t religious. He just wanted to live. He wanted to see Laurel again.

  And then he heard that sound, a single, distant gunshot. Something high-powered. A big caliber ripping through the air. And then everything went quiet.

 

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