by Debra Webb
“Then what’s your point?” Foley looked him dead in the eye. He would have a point. A man who’d just been nailed for treason wasn’t going to hang around for anything without a compelling reason.
“After a few years of doing nothing significant, you joined a firm called the Equalizers,” Lennox explained, as if he had all night and wasn’t the slightest bit worried about the feds who no doubt had already turned Chicago upside down to find him. “Your most recent assignment was to do what no one else had been able to do.”
“That’s right.” Foley had gotten Lennox. Gotten him good. No one else had been able to penetrate the perfect shield he’d built around himself. No one had had a clue that it was the esteemed Victor Lennox who was selling out his own company, his own country. Now his crimes were bared to all. He could run, but he would never again possess the power he had flaunted. Checkmate.
Lennox leaned down, stuck his face in Foley’s. “Who sent you?”
“The head of the Equalizers.”
Rage tightened the features of the man’s face better than the Botox he likely used on a regular basis. “Three people were involved in that aspect of my business,” Lennox hissed. “Only three. Not one of them sold me out.”
Foley shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know for sure.”
“Oh, I already know. You see, every man has his breaking point. Each of the three broke eventually. Like you, they remained loyal until the end. Though I suspect they were motivated by fear rather than anything else. You,” he accused, “already knew coming in what you were after. All you had to do was find concrete evidence.”
Foley stared at him. He wasn’t denying or confirming that assertion.
“It’s not necessary for you to corroborate the statement,” Lennox assured him. “I know.”
“Mr. Lennox,” the well-dressed assistant interrupted again, “we must go. Now.”
Continuing to discount the warning, Lennox demanded, “Tell me who sent you.”
That ghost of a smile materialized fully on Foley’s lips. “I told you. My employer—the head of the Equalizers.”
“A name, Foley,” Lennox pressed. “I want a name.”
Foley could tell him that he didn’t know, because he didn’t. No one did. The man behind the Equalizers was a complete unknown. So Foley did what he did best. He said nothing.
“You’ve won,” Lennox fairly shouted. “I’ve been exposed. I’m on the run. Even I know that it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with me. What difference does it make now? I simply want to know the identity of the man who discovered what no one else could.”
Foley wondered if Lennox had any idea just how much satisfaction his sheer desperation prompted.
“Cut him loose,” Lennox ordered.
“What?” the paddle punk demanded.
“Sir!” the assistant declared, his panic clearly mounting.
“He’s going with us,” Lennox announced. “I will know who sent him.” He stared directly at Foley once more. “Every man has his breaking point. All I need is time to find yours.”
While the assistant argued with Lennox, the punk tossed aside the paddles and reached for the knife lying on the cart next to the controls. He grumbled curses under his breath but followed the order. His cohort passed a handgun to Lennox.
Lennox waved the weapon toward the rear door through which he’d entered. “Let’s go.”
Foley pushed to his feet, the pain radiating through his muscles and settling deep into his bones.
Lennox nudged him in the side with the weapon. “Move,” he commanded.
Foley had taken two steps when a cell phone blasted a familiar tune. He glanced over his shoulder at the phone lying on the table next to the portable defibrillator. His phone. He’d been relieved of his weapon, his wallet and his phone hours ago.
“Check the screen,” Lennox directed.
Foley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wouldn’t matter if it was his employer, the name and number would reveal nothing. A trace on the call would divulge the same.
“No name,” paddle punk reported as he scrutinized the screen. “Out of area call.”
A frown attempted to stretch across Foley’s brow but he schooled the expression. His employer’s number usually showed up as a local call. A different number every time.
“Accept the call,” Lennox instructed his torture technician, “and put it on speaker.” He glanced around the room. “Not a word from anyone.”
The creep holding Foley’s cell punched the necessary buttons.
Another waste of time. Foley’s employer wouldn’t leave a voice mail or speak into dead air. Maybe if Lennox wasted enough time, the feds would be waiting for him at whatever airfield where his Learjet waited on standby.
“Hello, Jonathan...”
Emotion exploded in Foley’s chest. Three years...three long years of sleepless nights and pent-up frustration leached into his blood. Haunting snippets of whispered words, the brushing of lips and the hot, smooth feel of bare skin against bare skin rushed into his brain.
It couldn’t be...
“I hope this is your voice mail...” A shaky release of breath sighed across the silence. “Call me, please.” She stumbled through a number. “I...I need your help. Please. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Silence reigned for three beats, then Lennox smiled. “Ah. Perhaps we’ve found the missing piece we need.” Certainty glinted in his eyes.
Foley’s mind churned with emotions. Why would she call him now?
Didn’t matter. He knew her inside and out.
Something was very wrong.
Lennox nudged Foley in the spleen with the weapon. “That sounded exactly like the sort of leverage I need to obtain the answer to my question.”
Ice formed in Foley’s gut. No way was he letting this ruthless monster learn her identity and use her.
“Bring me that cell phone,” Lennox ordered his underling. He reached out in anticipation of having it placed in his palm.
Foley whipped around and in one second had Lennox in a chokehold, the weapon he still gripped aimed at his proud brow. “Don’t ever let yourself be distracted when you’ve got a gun to a man’s back.”
Paddle punk’s cohort dared to reach for his weapon.
“Nobody moves,” Foley warned. He bored the barrel of the nine millimeter into Lennox’s temple.
Both men inched forward, testing the line Foley had drawn.
“Do as he says!” Lennox squeaked around the pressure on his throat.
Smart man. “You,” Foley said to the underling who’d followed Lennox into the warehouse, “call 911 and give our location. Then give me my cell.”
Weapons clattered to the floor as the two thugs who’d tortured Foley raised their hands in surrender. “You got what you want,” the one who’d brandished the paddles said. “You don’t need us.” The two started backing away, most likely toward an exit somewhere beyond the scope of the single bare bulb’s illumination.
“You’re right.” Foley studied the two men. “But you’re walking away from your best chance at cutting a deal,” he warned. “Your prints are all over the place.” He nodded to the tools of the torture trade. “Chances are the police will find you eventually.”
Paddle punk’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”
Now that was loyalty. “I’m sure the DA will be very interested in any details the two of you can give regarding his—” he tightened his hold on Lennox “—activities. Your cooperation could earn you a very sweet deal.”
Lennox attempted to blubber his own warning. Foley clamped his arm tighter around the bastard’s throat and shot a look at the man who’d trailed in here after him like a puppy. “Make the call,” Foley repeated.
While the assistant in the expensive suit entered the necessary digits, the two thugs dropped to their knees then went facedown on the concrete floor.
“You might think you’ve won,” Lennox screeched, “but you and your employer wil
l suffer the consequences.”
“Maybe.” Foley nodded to the guy who’d made the 911 call. “Bring my cell to me,” he ordered a second time, “then join your pals on the floor.”
The younger man glanced at the filthy floor then swallowed hard.
“Now,” Foley prompted.
The man inched close enough to give Foley the phone, then side-stepped in those same small increments back toward his partners in crime. It was almost worth the torture Foley had endured to watch that silk suit kiss the dirt and, during the short minutes before the cops arrived, to listen to Lennox’s offers of excessive amounts of cash for his freedom.
But Foley had one thing on his mind. Her. She’d called. Unbelievable. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t heard her voice in three years.
I need your help.
Worry throbbed in his skull, flexed in his jaw.
She wouldn’t call him...unless it truly was a matter of life and death.
Fear trickled into his veins.
He had to get to her.
When the cops arrived, Foley gave one of the officers his business card and walked away. He ignored the warning that he wasn’t supposed to leave until the detective in charge of the case arrived.
There wasn’t a force on earth that could prevent him from going.
The cell in his pocket sang its annoying tune.
Foley withdrew it, checked the display in case it was her calling again.
It wasn’t. It was his employer.
Not at all surprised his employer already knew Lennox was down—he seemed hotwired into everywhere with everyone—Foley hit the answer button even as he quickened his pace. “Foley.”
“Outstanding job,” the voice on the other end praised. “I knew you were the right man for this one. File your final report and relax. I’ll contact the office with your next assignment.”
What kind of man could position a player to bring down a man like Lennox? A god in the murky and political world of government contractors.
“Who are you?” Foley had been hired as an Equalizer more than five months ago. He’d heard this voice a dozen times, but he had no idea who the guy was or even what he looked like. Foley and the other two Equalizers currently on staff had done their research, gone to all sorts of lengths to find that answer.
And there was nothing. It was as if the man behind the voice didn’t exist.
“One day you’ll know,” the voice promised. “For now, your payment will be deposited into your bank account today.”
The connection severed.
Foley stalled, stared at the phone a moment. One day he would know? What did that mean? Then he shook off the questions and broke into a sprint.
She needed him.
He shouldn’t care.
Stepping back into her life would be a mistake...for both of them.
But he couldn’t ignore the call.
Not even if he tried.
Chapter Two
Bay Minette, Alabama
Friday, May 28th, 9:15 a.m.
Calling him had been a last resort.
Melissa Shepherd hugged her arms around her middle and stared through the window over the kitchen sink at the drizzling rain. She was desperate.
Or crazy.
She shuddered. Jonathan Foley had disappeared from her life three years ago. The ache, though dull, still swelled deep inside her whenever he came to mind. She shouldn’t have called him. Bay Minette’s entire police force, aided by numerous volunteers from surrounding towns and counties, hadn’t been able to find her niece, so why in the world would she believe he could?
Misery washed over Melissa. Polly had been missing for five days. Five endless days and nights.
Melissa’s brother was scheduled to ship back to Afghanistan on Tuesday, the day after Memorial Day. She shook her head. How could he leave with his three-year-old daughter missing? The military didn’t seem to care.
Closing her eyes, Melissa blew out a heavy breath. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. Her brother, William, was trained in a highly critical MOS—military occupational skill. It was a miracle he’d even gotten this too-short, two-week leave in the first place.
That was the real reason Melissa had called Jonathan. He didn’t like talking about his past career in the military but, from what she’d gathered, during that time he had been connected to extremely high-level people—important people. He could call someone. She was certain of it.
She’d asked him to do that when he’d returned her call in the middle of the night last night. He’d promised to call her back this morning.
So far she hadn’t heard a word.
Melissa opened her eyes and searched the backyard of her childhood home, her heart automatically hoping her gaze would land on sweet little Polly playing there. But the yard was empty. The old rope and wood swing her father had built for her as a child hung empty from the big old pecan tree’s massive branch.
She’d tried. For days Melissa and the rest of the family, along with friends and neighbors, had searched. And nothing. It was as if Polly had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of the reason for, or the person behind, her disappearance.
Other than the fact that Stevie was missing, too. Melissa shook her head. She couldn’t believe that Stevie would ever harm Polly. He loved her. Stevie Price had suffered immense cruelty and severe trauma as an infant. The physical trauma had resulted in brain damage, leaving him mentally challenged. By the time he was four his self-centered mother had abandoned him. His father had tried to take care of him, but he’d had problems of his own. When Stevie was nineteen his father had died. He’d lived off the kindness of folks in the community ever since. And though he was thirty now, his mind was like a child’s. The children in the community loved Stevie.
Melissa had played with him as a kid.
He wouldn’t do this.
Someone else was responsible for this horror.
Hadn’t the Shepherd family suffered enough tragedy? First her father had been killed by serving his country while she and William were just kids. Melissa was convinced that was the reason William insisted on joining the military in the first place—to somehow feel closer to his father. Then, as if that hadn’t been a kick in the teeth, their mother had died four years ago. Melissa hadn’t been anywhere near ready to lose her mother. But Polly had come along and she’d brought new light to that dark, empty place.
Now she was missing. After five days Melissa feared the worst.
A lump rose, tightening her throat. Please, God, don’t let that sweet baby be hurt.
As if her agony had summoned him, William came up beside her. “The chief sent me home.”
Melissa turned to her brother. He looked beyond exhausted. She knew full well the agony she felt was nothing compared to what he suffered. Polly was his first and only child. He loved her more than life itself. He’d done everything in his power to give her a good life—in spite of the difficulties he and his wife had in their marriage.
The whole town despised Presley. Whispered ugly things behind William’s back when he’d announced that he and Presley were to be married. Melissa wasn’t blind or stupid. She knew full well the stories, some all too true, that traveled the gossip circuit on a regular basis about her sister-in-law. But Melissa chose to give Presley the benefit of the doubt. Everyone deserved a second chance and Presley’d had a rough go of it as a kid. William loved her. That was enough for Melissa.
“Presley was sleeping,” William said, his voice weak with fatigue and fierce worry. “I didn’t want to bother her so I came here.”
Melissa’s chest tightened. Whatever anyone thought of Presley, she worshipped Polly. As much of a nightmare as this was for her, Melissa couldn’t begin to fathom how Presley felt. “You need sleep, too.” She brushed the back of her hand across his shadowed jaw. He felt cold despite the unseasonably warm weather. “You can’t help Polly if you’re too worn out to think straight.”
William shook his head.
“I can’t bear to sleep.” Emotion glistened in his bloodshot eyes. “Who would do this?” His lips trembled. “Who would take my baby?” He dropped his head.
The sheer agony in his voice tore at Melissa’s heart. Just looking at him brought images of Polly to mind. The little girl had her daddy’s blond hair and blue eyes. She was a little duplicate of him and she’d brought so much joy to their lives.
The loud chime of the doorbell echoed through the too-quiet house.
Melissa’s and William’s gazes locked.
What if they’d found Polly or...Melissa swallowed tightly...her body?
Dear God, no, no, no. Don’t let that be.
Melissa pulled her bravado up off the floor and wrapped it around her. “They would’ve called,” she said aloud. That was right. She let the air seep back into her lungs. “If they’d found her, they would’ve called.” The courage she’d dredged up and the words she’d spoken for her brother’s benefit did nothing to slow the thundering in her chest.
William nodded. “Guess so.”
The chime echoed a second time. “Stay here.” Melissa squeezed his arm. “I’ll see who it is.”
She turned from her brother, her heart somehow rising into her throat while it continued to pound frantically, and started toward the living room. The dishes she’d intended to wash when she’d come into the kitchen still waited, but she didn’t care. It was difficult to keep her mind on anything except Polly.
Chief Talbot, the town’s chief of police since Melissa was a kid, had ordered Melissa back home this morning, too. He didn’t want her or William out there. Maybe because of what he feared finding or maybe just because they both looked like death warmed over.
At least the chief had allowed their Uncle Harry to continue helping with the search. Harry would call the instant he knew anything. He was practically a second father to her and William. He’d stepped in when their father was killed, taking over for the younger brother he’d adored. Melissa felt certain that was why he’d never married and had a family of his own. He’d been too busy taking care of his younger brother’s.
Holding her breath, Melissa opened the front door.
She’d braced for the appearance of one of Bay Minette’s finest or a family friend bearing bad news.