Hunted

by Sharon C. Cooper

  Cyrus Ferguson.

  Cyrus Ferguson.

  Then he stopped and zoned in on the next envelope with a different name.

  Cyrus Furnell.

  Well, that answered one question. One of those names was an alias. Figures. He’d just have to determine which one.

  Now to see what else he could find out about this Cyrus guy.

  Myles started down a short hallway but stopped abruptly. Voices filtered in from the main hallway, and he leaned his back against a nearby wall. Then he waited. Pulse pounding loudly in his ear, he stood there for a few seconds, wanting to make sure no one entered the unit.

  “Coast is still clear,” Angelo said into his ear.

  Myles started moving again. He wondered where Angelo had positioned himself. It wasn’t like there were potted plants in the hallway to hide behind.

  Stay focused, he told himself. He needed to hurry it up and get the heck out of there. Straight ahead was the bedroom, and to his right, a bathroom. Myles went right. He stopped at the bathroom door, making sure it was clear before peeking behind the shower curtain.

  Clear.

  Swinging his light around the tiny space, he took in a towel hanging on the single rod, a toothbrush sitting on the counter, and then he checked the trash can.

  Blood.

  Tissue and gauze soaked in blood.

  Apparently, I did hit the guy. Good. That was, still assuming they really did have the right guy.

  “Five minutes,” Laz said in his ear.

  Myles already knew if he didn’t get out of there soon, Laz would be at the apartment in exactly five minutes. He picked up the pace and stood at the door of the bedroom. Again, he swept the light around the room.

  Full-sized neatly made bed. One semi-cluttered nightstand. Dresser on the far side of the room with a small flat-screen television sitting on top.

  He moved further into the space, flashed his light on the wall to his left, and froze. His heart slammed against his chest, and shock gripped his body.

  “Son of…” The rest of his words caught in his throat.

  “What’s up?”

  “What is it?’

  “You all right?”

  Angelo, Kenton, and Laz all spoke at once. Laz threatened to come in if he didn’t respond immediately.

  “Call Ashton,” Myles said. His heart practically rocketed out of his chest as he approached the wall. “Shit…this is definitely our guy.”

  There were at least fifty pictures taped to the wall.

  All were of him, Whitney and…

  Myles’s blood ran cold when he spotted pictures of Collin. Everything from grocery store parking lot shots to photos of him and Whitney in front of her house. But there was one of just him playing in the outdoor sandbox at daycare.

  When I get my hands on this guy…

  Myles quickly took his phone out and snapped pictures of the collage. Not only did the display contain pictures of them, but it also had the last aliases that he and Whitney had used—Norris and Samantha. Myles had no idea how the man got the classified information, but he planned to find out.

  But first, he needed to finish searching the room. He went to the nightstand and rummaged through it before moving to the dresser. He pulled open one drawer after another, digging around in them, searching for anything that would give him a clue to how he and this guy were connected.

  When he didn’t find anything in the dresser, he went to the closet—a walk-in. No longer caring, he flipped on the light switch and looked around. His gaze swept over the meager amount of clothes and shoes but zoned in on the army uniform and snapped a picture of the jacket. Then he checked the shelves.

  On the floor at the back of the closet, he found a box.

  Files.

  He hurried through the first couple of manila folders and stopped when he ran across printed articles.

  Senator Furnell Accused of Treason

  FBI Probe into Senator Furnell Oversees Dealings.

  Suicide. Senator Furnell Found Dead in Hotel Room.

  Myles’s pulse pounded in his ears as he read one headline after another.

  He remembered. He remembered the assignment.

  “Time’s up. Get out, or we’re coming in,” Laz threatened. “Ashton’s on the way.”

  “Coming,” Myles said, stuffing one of the articles into his pocket and making sure everything was as he’d found it.

  He backtracked to the door and exited the same way he entered.

  Anger propelled him down the stairs in half the time it took him to climb them.

  Pulse pounding. Head swimming. Chest tightening. He needed air. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  When he reached the main floor, he pushed open the exterior door with more force than he intended. The moment he stepped outside, he took a breath, then another.

  Angelo exited seconds after he did. He went left toward his vehicle. Myles went right and had barely taken three steps when the SUV that Laz was driving screeched to a stop.

  Myles climbed in without a word.

  He didn’t know when, he didn’t know how, but Cyrus’s days were numbered.

  *

  Hours later, Myles got word that Ashton had put out an APB—all-points bulletin—on Cyrus Furnell. The killer’s real name.

  Evidence found at the apartment, including his DNA, matched blood found in the stolen car he had abandoned the night of the shooting. Law enforcement agencies were made aware that not only was Cyrus a person of interest, he should also be considered armed and dangerous.

  Cyrus Furnell, the son of senator Theodore Furnell, former United States presidential candidate.

  Myles stared at the information on the laptop.

  The murky details of a CIA assignment he and Whitney had been on together surfaced in his brain. He still wasn’t sure what made his former partner start researching gun trafficking, but he could see a connection with this case. He just wished he would’ve seen it sooner, then maybe he and Geneva wouldn’t have gotten ambushed.

  “It started as an off-the-books operation,” Myles said to those in the room, including Laz and Kenton.

  They, along with Hamilton, Ashton, and one of the detectives from Whitney’s murder case, had met at Supreme Security and were in one of the conference rooms.

  “We were tasked with gathering intelligence about an organization in South Sudan that was trafficking guns.”

  “Walk us through it,” Ashton said. “Whatever you can remember might help us get inside Cyrus’s head and figure out his motive.”

  “All right, well, what started as an off-the-books operation turned into a disaster…depending how you look at it. Everything that could go wrong on a job did. That included discovering that a US senator was funding a trafficking operation.”

  Myles told them as much as he could remember about one of the last cases he and Whitney worked on together. While they were collecting information overseas, Senator Theodore Furnell’s name popped up. They caught him on tape blasting someone about a problem with a gun shipment that was delayed. Whitney had recognized his voice, but neither of them had actually named him in the report.

  As a rule, when agents submitted their findings, they didn’t share the actual names of US citizens who might show up during intelligence-gathering. As per protocol, Myles had given the senator a code name when he wrote up his final report.

  “When we turned in the document,” Myles said, “a US official who reviewed the report had questions about some of the information. Tons of questions.

  “Of course, they were concerned that a US citizen was listed in the report, one who was thought to be participating in illegal activity overseas. Unfortunately, that’s not all that uncommon,” Myles explained. “But when that does happen, those reviewing the reports typically focus on the operation assigned to us. Not necessarily other intelligence that might show up in the process.”

  “Does that mean the senator’s dealings weren’t directly connected to the infor
mation you were assigned to gather?” Ashton asked.

  “Correct. At least as far as we could tell, his gun dealings were a separate situation. But the official requesting additional information from us wanted the American involved to be unmasked. It hadn’t mattered to the official that the senator hadn’t been a target of the investigation. They still wanted his name because he was funding gunrunners overseas.”

  “I remember that case from when I was with the FBI,” Kenton said, shaking his head. “It was filled with drama. Didn’t the senator end up committing suicide?”

  Myles nodded. Like everyone else in the room, it was safe to narrow down Cyrus’s motive for coming after him and Whitney. Not only had Cyrus’s father killed himself, but his mother had died soon after.

  “Someone leaked the confidential information to the media shortly after Senator Furnell announced his intention to run for president,” Myles added.

  The room went silent. Some were probably remembering that moment in history. The media had blasted the information all around the country.

  “Why now?” Laz asked. It was the first time he had spoken since the meeting started. “That was years ago. Why come after you now?”

  “It probably took Cyrus that long to find Myles and Whitney,” Kenton said, “But I think a more important question is who leaked your identity, and why?”

  “Yeah, I’m wondering that myself,” Myles said.

  Their employment was classified information. The only person right now who could answer Kenton’s question was in the wind. The cops had no leads and probably could care less that Myles’s identity was leaked. They just wanted to catch a killer.

  Which was why Myles needed to find Cyrus Furnell before the cops did.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Do you think it’s a good idea for you to be leaving the property?” Parker asked Geneva. He and Angelo were tasked with taking her anywhere she wanted to go. And right now, she didn’t care where she went. She mainly needed some air.

  “I’ve been cooped up for days, and if I had stayed inside another minute, I would’ve exploded. Do you mind taking me to my salon?”

  The restoration contractors had been hired, and Geneva wanted to see how far along they’d gotten. Once their part was completed, she’d be able to gauge more accurately what else needed to be done.

  “Where’s Myles?” Angelo asked from the passenger seat.

  He knew just the right question to make her feel guilty. Not about leaving for a little while, but for not letting Myles know she was going. After taking Collin and Coco to Aunt Carolyn, who loved having them around 24/7, Geneva had left Myles a note saying she’d be back.

  “He was asleep when I left,” she said to Angelo. “I’m sure you know he was out most of the night.”

  Myles was lucky she trusted him. Otherwise, she would’ve thought he was out with another woman, especially coming in after two. At least he had called her earlier in the night, filling her in on his findings at Cyrus’s place. She could tell he was upset at knowing the guy had been following Whitney and Collin for weeks, if not months. The man also knew one of Myles and Whitney’s aliases.

  Geneva was glad to learn that she wasn’t on Cyrus’s radar, but Myles insisted he still wanted her protected. She loved that he was looking out for her, but she was concerned about him. He was more determined than ever to find the killer, and she didn’t want him getting killed in the process.

  To say the last few weeks had been trying would be an understatement. Between waiting for parts for her Mustang, her shop being under construction, and having to temporarily move from her home, Geneva needed some good news, which was why she hoped the contractor working on the salon was making progress.

  “You should call Myles, Gen,” Angelo said, cutting into her thoughts. “He’ll be worried if you’re not there when he wakes up.”

  He probably would be, but Geneva needed this time to herself, and he needed sleep.

  She decided she’d call him after they left the salon.

  Geneva noted the crowded parking lot and how busy the strip mall was when they pulled into the lot. As they drove around to her salon, Parker and Angelo were quietly checking out the area. Geneva appreciated their thoroughness and how selfless and attentive Atlanta’s Finest had been since the shooting, but she was ready for her life to get back to normal. She especially wanted to get back to work.

  When Parker pulled up to the front of the building, Geneva tried to remain optimistic despite the huge front window and glass door that were still boarded up.

  Angelo opened her door. “I’ll go in with you,” he said and ushered her to the front door, all the while glancing around at their surroundings.

  She could get used to the service they offered. As one of the country’s best personal security firms, they were in high demand, and rightfully so. They were the best at what they did.

  “Do you have keys?” Angelo asked.

  “I do,” she said and unlocked the padlock that Myles had put on the temporary wood door.

  Geneva braced herself for whatever she would find as she followed behind Angelo as they entered the building. The smell of smoke was still in the air, and it was dark inside except for a couple of temporary lamps.

  “Whoever was working in here must be planning on returning since they left the lights on.”

  “Maybe,” Geneva said, disappointed at the lack of progress. The furniture had been removed, but very little else had been done. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled. The contractor had barely gotten started.

  Anger burned inside of her. If she didn’t get back to work soon, everything she’d worked for over the years would be gone.

  The front door opened, and Angelo was in front of her before she could even see who walked inside.

  “What can we do for you?” he asked.

  “I’m the restoration contractor,” a male’s voice boomed. “And you are?”

  “Actually, he’s with me,” Geneva said, stepping around Angelo to approach the man. “I’m Geneva, the owner of the shop.”

  “I’m Ed. Nice to meet you in person.”

  “I was told that the shop would be scrubbed and soot removed by now. You guys haven’t even started.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve been slammed these last few weeks and are a little behind on—”

  “Then you shouldn’t have taken the job,” Geneva snapped. “I could’ve hired another company, but I was told yours was the best. Clearly, that was a lie.”

  “We are the best, which is why we’re so busy,” the guy said, raising his voice to match hers.

  “Tone it down, man,” Angelo said, looking menacing, which wasn’t hard to do with his height and build.

  That was something else about Supreme Security. Not only did they hire the best, but their men were drool-worthy gorgeous, and Angelo González was no exception.

  “I apologize,” Ed said to Geneva. “We should be able to start the day after tomorrow, and I’ll have two crews in here working. Once that happens, it should only take a few days for us to have the walls and floors done.

  “As I mentioned before, the floors are in bad shape. I’m not sure we’ll be able to salvage them. Hopefully, we can, but if not, you might want to start thinking about what type of flooring you want in here.”

  Geneva listened as he explained all that they planned to do. It was the second time she received the spiel, and all it did was make her more frustrated. She also didn’t want excuses for why the job wasn’t started. She wanted it done, and that’s exactly what she told the contractor.

  It was probably time she conceded that Myles was right. She needed to look for a new place. Even if this company got her current salon space cleaned up, would it meet her expectations? Probably not. Now was actually the perfect time to relocate if that’s what she wanted to do.

  The thought of starting over was scary and exciting rolled into one, but that’s how it had been when she first opened. It was hard work, but she had made
it a success. She could do it again.

  “Ready to head to your place?” Parker asked once she and Angelo were back in the Cadillac Escalade.

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Good, because Myles said he’ll meet you there.”

  Geneva shook her head. “Damn, I guess I don’t have to ask how he knew I was heading there next. You guys really stick together, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Angelo said and gave her a dimpled smile. Geneva rolled her eyes at him, but inside, she was thrilled that Myles was meeting them.

  *

  Myles tapped his fingers against the back door of the Chevy Suburban, trying to control his frustration. He understood Geneva’s need to get out and get some air, but he wished she would’ve told him. He would’ve gone with her.

  Myles released a long breath. That wasn’t true. He probably would’ve talked her out of it, which was why she hadn’t said anything. Actually, he was surprised she had lasted this long. Geneva was social and liked to stay on the move. He shouldn’t have expected her to be satisfied being cooped up so that he wouldn’t worry about her. That wasn’t fair to her.

  “I can’t wait until this crap is over with,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, me too. I’m tired of driving your ass around like you’re Ms. Daisy or something,” Laz said, and Myles laughed.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, but for the record, I’m tired of you driving me around, too. I may never sit in the back seat of a vehicle again.”

  “Well, on the way back, you can sit up here and I’ll take your spot,” Kenton said on a yawn. “I can use a nap. I’m getting too old for all of these late nights.”

  Myles nodded. “I feel you, man. When this is all over, drinks on me.”

  “Drinks?” Laz snorted. “That ain’t gon’ cut it. We’re gonna need some steaks and potatoes to go along with that.”

  “Well, make sure I stay alive until Cyrus is apprehended or dead, and then dinner is on me.”

  Cyrus was off the grid. The cops had no leads, and there’d been no sign of him. If Myles were lucky, the guy would turn up dead somewhere, but he doubted if he’d be that lucky.