by Tori Carson
With a healthy dose of disdain in his voice, he tried again. “So, you’re telling me an armed, redheaded woman searching my home isn’t specific enough? Does she need to actually shoot me before you’ll take action?” He always tried to keep his tales as close to the truth as possible. It made them sound more believable and they were easier to remember.
“Actually, even if she shot you, we wouldn’t necessarily do anything. With our current budget constraints, we would need a clear link between her and the cartel.” Seaver chuckled. “She sounds feisty, sir. In my experience, all redheads are. Maybe you should try a brunette or a blonde? I’ll tell ya what. You give me her name and address and I’ll check her out myself.”
Teague didn’t bother to reply. Nothing fit for human ears would have come out of his mouth anyway. Agent Seaver sounded more like a fifteen-year-old pubescent than an experienced law enforcement officer—so much for the NBIA cherry-picking the best agents. And Teague refused to acknowledge the surge of jealousy that spiked his brain when the pinhead had offered to ‘check her out’.
Just talking to the twit set off warning signals. It always had. Seaver dressed like a candy-ass. His pinky extended, tea drinking, fifteen hundred dollar suit-wearing tendencies always sent up red flags. Had he told him that Channy had red hair? He didn’t remember. Maybe Seaver was the leak. The last he’d heard, the price for Teague was set at ten million. That would certainly buy a lot of tea and fancy suits.
* * * *
Chantel sat rocking on the closet floor until the nine-one-one operator told her the police had arrived at her house. The police, through the operator, warned her to stay where she was until they had searched the premises. She heard the police give the all clear just a moment before the operator told her it was safe.
Slowly, she opened the closet door and stepped out. She knew they would freak out when they saw that she was armed so she wasn’t too shaken when the officers all pointed their weapons at her, yelling “Drop it” in unison.
“I’ll holster it, but I’m not dropping it, gentlemen,” she assured them with as much grace as she could manage. She noticed that no one moved until she had shoved it into the shoulder holster and clipped the thumb snap into place.
“Ma’am, you’re perfectly safe. Please remove the weapon and place it on the floor.” The officer in charge spoke calmly, expecting his order to be followed.
Chantel’s eyes widened, matching her rising temper. “Did you look at my home, officer? Clearly I am not perfectly safe. In my purse, you’ll find a concealed weapons permit authorizing me to carry a loaded firearm. Now get out of my way. I need out of here.”
Another officer came into the room and whispered a message to the man in charge. Immediately, he lowered his weapon and helped Chantel wade through the debris on the floor. The other officers followed his lead and holstered their weapons as well.
“Ms. Donley, we will need to ask you a few questions,” he spoke softly once she was seated on the couch.
At first, he was the perfect gentleman, very sympathetic, but as she evaded their pointed questions about her whereabouts over the weekend, the kid gloves came off. She refused to tell him. Once her father found out, and he would, Reese would have his entire life sifted through. It wasn’t fair to him. Deep in her heart, she knew he wasn’t a part of this.
“Let’s recap. You spent the weekend with a ‘friend’. A friend you refuse to name,” the officer began.
“That’s right.”
“You were upset. By what, you again refuse to say. But you were so upset you don’t remember if your door was locked or if the security system was armed.”
“That’s right. I assume they were, but honestly, I don’t remember. The company could probably tell you if the system had been armed or not over the weekend. I believe the computer keeps track.”
“So, you walked in, dropped your purse on the couch and walked straight into your bedroom. You didn’t notice your room in disarray and headed straight into the bathroom. Once there, you again didn’t notice the shredded robe or wet towel until after you’d showered.”
“That’s right. And, officer…whatever your name is, your condescending attitude is insulting.”
“I’m having some trouble with this. You seem like a very observant person. How could all this”—he waved his hand to encompass her trashed house—“go unnoticed?”
“I was upset.”
He nodded. “I see. It must have been something very traumatic to upset you to that extent. Honestly, I was a bit shaken by the disturbing condition of your things and yet you have managed to sit here with me without any hysterics. No sobbing, no fainting.” He gave her a once-over. “In fact you seemed unfazed facing four seasoned police officers with their service weapons pointed directly at your pretty little face. I am certainly curious what could shake you up enough to miss all this.”
Policemen didn’t intimidate her. Weapons certainly didn’t. She was practically born with a gun in her hand. If he kept ticking her off, she was going to rip his patronizing eyes out with her bare hands.
“Jeff, you might want to see this,” one of the officers shouted from her bedroom.
‘Jeff’, aka big stupid buffoon, turned to another officer and told him to ‘watch her’.
She was resting her head against her knees when the first salvo of Armageddon burst through the door.
* * * *
Foster had spent the rest of the evening contemplating a bullet in his head. It might just solve his immediate problems. Mr. G. would have no reason to go after his family and God would surely have more mercy on his soul than Sammy, but he couldn’t do it.
A sliver of hope sprang to life. When he’d tried to access information from the database, Chief Donley had been the one to call, questioning him. Donley’s transfer to the west coast had come through right after the last botched attempt to grab four-six-two. Did that mean that four-six-two had relocated within Donley’s team? It made sense. Why else would Donley have been the one to call? It might just buy him some time.
Using a throwaway cell phone, he sent Sammy a text.
Target relocated near Phx, AZ
Within moments he received a text back.
Exact coordinates?
Damn. Here’s where it got dicey.
Exact location unknown. More time needed.
Almost immediately Foster received a reply.
Friday.
That wasn’t enough time. Shit, he wasn’t even sure it was Phoenix. It could be El Paso or San Diego for all he knew, but he seemed to recall that Donley had been heading west to wait out retirement. Arizona just stood out in his mind. Phoenix seemed logical.
His only hope was to fly out there and do some reconnaissance. It was an impossible task, but he had to try. As he was throwing clothes into a duffel bag, his agency issued cellphone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t mean anything. “Foster,” he answered out of habit.
“Agent Foster, this is Teague four-six-two.”
Chapter Seven
Round and round the cobbler’s bench
The monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun.
Pop! goes the weasel.
He smiled, humming the tune as he watched the video feed of Chantel and the police. The look on her face when she realized he’d been in her home was enough to send him squirting. He printed a hard copy and put it in prominent view of the screen.
Absently, he rubbed his cheek with a pair of her panties. He’d taken several pairs as memorabilia. One he draped on the corner of his video equipment. Another adorned a shackle dangling from the ceiling in preparation for his guest of honor to arrive. It wouldn’t be long now. A week at most.
He should have run a feed into the closet. She’d been in there a long time. He’d have to remember it was a favorite place of hers. Perhaps he’d make his special. Just for her.
Oh, they were getting close. He was wondering how long it would take the
m. The police had photographed his masterpiece from every conceivable angle. He should have brought a camera. The video didn’t capture its true beauty.
He moved the panties to his cock and began to stroke as the doll head rolled from the body. This was it, he thought with budding excitement. But no. They had to take more pictures. Expletives flew from his mouth as his patience wore thin. He dropped his cock and ran the panties over the stubble along his jaw.
Wondering what the other officers were up to, he switched cameras and watched a detective place the robe in an evidence bag. Automatically, his hand moved to the swatch of fabric he’d removed. He had big plans for that. Morning after morning she had wrapped herself in that robe shielding her boobs from his view. Well, not anymore.
He knew her every move. He knew what made her happy and what made her sad. He knew how to please her and just how to punish her. That’s why he’d gone for the doll. He knew she loved it. Every morning on her way from the bathroom to the closet to get dressed for work, she would look over her shoulder and gaze fondly at the doll. Sometimes she would stop. Her hand would reach out like she wanted to touch it, but she never did.
She shouldn’t have spent the weekend away. He enjoyed their time together. He didn’t want to have to punish her, but she had given him no choice. In time, she would learn.
Again, he switched cameras and just in time too. One of the cops reached a gloved hand into the hollow neck cavity of the doll and retrieved his message. It had come to him like a vision as he’d torn the head off.
The video didn’t do it justice, but it didn’t matter. He knew what it said…
Pop! goes the weasel.
* * * *
NBIA Chief Patrick Donley had the reputation of being a fair man. His military background was apparent in his methodical approach. He was level-headed, with above average intelligence. The men who worked for him considered themselves lucky. He looked at all sides of a situation before drawing conclusions, yet acted swiftly. A rare thing indeed in any government bureaucracy. Those who had formed said opinion had never seen him concerned for his daughter’s welfare or their opinion would have been immensely different. And he didn’t give a fuck.
“Chantel! Answer me, damn it!” Chief bellowed, red-faced and terror stricken.
Since Chief Donley had received the phone call from a colleague in the local police department, he’d been trying unsuccessfully to reach his daughter on her cell phone. His driver, Sid, drove the distance to her home in record time, but it felt like an eternity.
His daughter’s street was lined with vehicles, but Sid jumped the curb and parked on the lawn. Before the car was even in park, the chief was out of the door and pushing his way into the house, roaring Chantel’s name the whole way.
“I’m here, Dad.” Chantel meekly raised her arm to let him know she was sitting on the couch.
The chief took one look at his always perfectly coiffed daughter huddled on the couch, clothes and hair damp, looking for all the world like the devastated little girl he’d fished out of a stream when she was eight years old, and lost it.
Coming around the corner of the couch, he shoved the officer blocking his path. In hindsight, the chief realized that the only thing the officer saw was a crazed man bursting through the doorway with other officers clamoring behind him. When the local cop went for his service pistol, he should have drawn his badge. Instead, instinct took over. Both he and Chantel had him within their sights before the officer’s weapon ever left the holster. Pride surged forward, easing a degree of the terror that had ridden him so hard.
“Drop it, pinhead,” the chief muttered, annoyed with the entire situation. With his left hand he flashed his badge. “Donley. Fed.”
“I don’t care who the hell you are…” the officer began.
“Stand down, Peterson,” the officer in charge ordered.
Both Donleys holstered their weapons once the officer had lowered his.
“Leave us,” the chief commanded, staring at his daughter and ignoring the byplay between the locals.
“Chief, I’m Captain Jeff Bell, the officer in charge.”
Chief didn’t give a fuck. He wanted to make sure his daughter was unharmed.
“Sir, I can understand your concern, but we are conducting an investigation. We can’t just leave the premises.”
The chief took a deep, ragged breath, ran a hand through his full head of white hair and nodded once.
Chantel watched as her father wrapped his grizzled, shaky hand around her arm. Suddenly, she wanted the buffoon, Bell, back. His grilling was kid’s play compared to what her father could dish out. She’d scared her dad enough to lose his composure, something he rarely did. Oh, was she ever in for it. She should have just called him and faced the music immediately. Of course, someone had ratted her out. He had informants everywhere.
He led her to a back bedroom and, from Chantel’s point of view, away from any witnesses. She wasn’t exactly afraid of her father. He loved her with all his heart. She did, however, fear disappointing him. If he ever found out that she had spent the weekend with a man she’d just met, it would crush him. In his eyes, she would forever be his little girl.
This bedroom was decorated in a bright yellow color, but it did nothing to lighten the mood. She scooted to the back of the daybed and pulled a frilly lace pillow to snuggle for comfort, while her dad paced the length of the room.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
It broke her heart to hear him sound so utterly tired and weary.
“No, Dad. I’m fine. Some sicko broke in and went through my things.”
“Actually, sir, there was no sign of a break-in.”
The tension jacked up a notch as her father spun around and stared menacingly at the detective.
“Perhaps, Officer Bell, you didn’t realize I wish to speak to my daughter in private.” Each syllable was pronounced with clarity, ensuring that even the most dense human on the planet could understand him.
“Yes, sir. But Ms. Donley has been less than forthcoming during our investigation. I have a number of unanswered questions. I was hoping you might get a more detailed account than I did.”
“After I have spoken with my daughter in private, I will be happy to confer with you.”
Bell dipped his head and left the room.
Maybe he wasn’t quite as dumb as she’d suspected. Her dad had friends in very high places. He golfed with the mayor.
“As you were saying?” her father encouraged her to continue.
“There isn’t much to tell, Dad. Some sicko got into the house and went through my things.”
“Do you know how they got in?” he asked regaining a part of his usual calm.
“No.”
“Was the alarm tripped?”
“No.”
“Chantel, was the alarm set?”
He knew she was slack at times when it came to safety and was on her all the time about it. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.
“Chan-tel,” her father growled in frustration.
She shrugged. There wasn’t anything to be done about it now. She only hoped that the security company would eventually be able to tell them it was set. Otherwise, she would never hear the end of it.
“Where were you when this occurred? You weren’t here, were you?” His raised eyebrows bespoke his concern.
“I was with a friend.”
“Which one?” he asked.
She hedged.
“Chantel, don’t be difficult. Who were you with?”
“What does it matter, Dad? I know you. If I give you their name, you’re going to have them investigated. You’re going to look into every aspect of their life and for what? If I was with them, they obviously didn’t do this.”
Her dad gave her a knowing look. “What’s his name?”
“Forget it, Dad.”
“Normally I appreciate your stubbornness, but not this time.” He gave her a warning look. “Sweetheart…” He paused,
raking his hand through his hair. “I can understand your protective streak, it’s commendable. But I will eventually find out. You know that. When it comes to your safety, there is no backing up. There’s no letting it go. You might as well make it easier on both of us and just tell me.”
“No, Dad. Not this time.”
“Chantel,” he warned, using his ‘seasoned agents quake in my presence’ voice. “This…man could have been a decoy used to get you out of the way so someone else could do this. You never suspect anyone of having an ulterior motive. You only see the good in people. Your mom was the same way.” He shook his head. “This man you were with… It’s possible he isn’t even aware of it.”
“No, Dad. He isn’t involved in this,” she answered with complete conviction.
Turning, her dad left the room. She knew he was afraid of saying something he’d regret. He probably figured he’d get his answers whether she cooperated or not. This time, for Reese’s sake, she hoped he didn’t.
* * * *
Teague found himself turning into Channy’s neighborhood. He couldn’t help it. It was stupid and dangerous. He should stay as far away from her as possible until Foster, his previous handler, got him the hell out of here, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t very proud of himself.
As he turned down her road, his stomach bottomed. Police cars lined the street, a few unmarked, but who did they think they were fooling? A local news crew mobile unit was stationed a few doors down.
Before he could think better of it, Teague was out of the car, had hurdled over the yellow warning tape and passed several cops. “Channy?” he yelled from the doorway.