Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5)

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  The first full gulp of air cuts like splinters down my throat before embedding in my lungs. A pitiful whimper escapes as I breathe through the agony, knowing suffocating or passing out around these two would be worse than dealing with the pain each gulp of oxygen brings.

  As the world and my surroundings come back into focus, gruff, demanding words reach my ears, but I can’t make out what’s being said through my own panting. Desperate to have a foothold on what’s going on around me, I force myself to take smaller breaths, quieting the thundering in my own ears.

  “That’s what took you so long to fulfill the contract. You said it was timing.”

  “It was.”

  “Who was it who hired you? And how did they secure you a spot in the Secret Service?”

  “Someone they hired. A mediator of sorts.”

  “Who?” Shawn’s voice is clear now that my breathing has quieted. There’s no way the man who took me doesn’t hear the annoyance in his rising voice. Sounds to me like Shawn’s patience is wearing thin. Maybe it won’t be too hard to get these two to turn against each other after all. It’ll still leave me with one psychopath to deal with, but hey, one psycho holding me captive is a hell of a lot better than two.

  “Even I can do that math,” I croak, then look up to find the two men have stopped talking, their annoyed faces turned to me. “He’s playing you.” Fuck, each word hurts. I’m in desperate need of water for more reasons than staving off dehydration. “Shawn isn’t someone to trust.”

  A soft sarcastic chuckle rumbles through the nearly vacant room. Both corners of Shawn’s lips tick upward as he shakes his head.

  “No, Trailer. I didn’t play him, I played you. Did you really think I’d let you out of this with your pathetic excuse for a life? I will get what I want, and then you will.”

  “What’s that?” But I know the answer. And it’s terrifying to think he might be right.

  “For the pain to end.”

  With a whisper and nod toward me, the other man advances on me once again. A harsh cry trembles my lips as I brace myself for another hit. This time knuckles slam against my right temple. The force snaps my neck to the left, both eyes rolling to the back of my head as the dark cloud of unconsciousness engulfs me, cutting off other sensations. Yet even with the hard impact of his fist, I subconsciously know he pulled back or I’d be dead.

  I work to stay awake, to push back against the demanding need to black out. I can’t do that, not here; who knows what they’ll do to me if I’m that vulnerable? But the sweet pain-free calmness, the oblivion of nothingness, calls to me.

  Sounds, smells, even the feel of the heated air along my bare skin fade. Two shadows hover over me, muffled deep voices barely reaching my ears. Something scrapes beneath my nose, making it twitch out of reflex. At least I think it twitches; considering I can’t feel the tip of my nose, there’s no way to know. Fuck, that hurt. Hurts. There’s no end in sight for the relentless throb of agony that now has its own slow pulse along my cheek and jaw.

  I reach deep within myself, searching for an ounce of energy or emotion that will keep me from pitching over the edge into oblivion. But there’s nothing there. Even the small glimmer of hope that’s been a constant companion since the wreck has almost faded into nothing as the hours have ticked by and no one has found me.

  Like a Red Bull to my veins, energy rockets through me, jostling every cell awake. The world comes roaring back to life, every sound, taste, and smell more vibrant than just moments before. I blink away the dryness crusting my eyes, every muscle thrumming with the need to move as my heart races with excitement, thumping heavily against my ribs.

  Nothing hurts. How in the hell does nothing hurt?

  Fuck, I could do anything right now if they’d just let me loose.

  “Give her more adrenaline. I need her awake.”

  “I didn’t hit her that hard, I thought.” I stare at the man whose voice seems soft with concern. Concern about me, probably not, more about getting paid. Like he so eloquently stated before, this is business, not personal. “You’re not the first one who’s requested a woman to be beaten. I know what I’m fucking doing.”

  “I’m starting to question that.”

  I force my focus on the man’s eyes as they search my face. “She’s coming to. I’ll save the next dose in case we need it later.” With that, he steps out of my sight, but with every nerve ending on overdrive, I can almost feel him standing close.

  A heaviness settles in the long strands of hair hanging down my back before it’s yanked and my face is forced to face the ceiling. That should hurt, but it doesn’t. I feel fucking fantastic.

  Shawn’s sneering face looms above, his searching gaze sizing me up and no doubt finding me lacking like always.

  Maybe it’s the adrenaline speaking, but I feel his hate, loathing, and unending selfishness that bleeds through his eyes into my own. My stomach rolls with a queasy feeling. With nothing in it, only stomach acid rises up my throat, burning in its ascent.

  I rip my gaze from his, breaking the connection.

  “Make the call to Pierce. Tell him exactly what I tell you to say, and then this ends.”

  With his fingers wrapped through my long strands, I don’t dare move to shake my head.

  “No.” The word is more of a breath than anything.

  The hold in my hair tightens before my head is slammed forward. The room blurs as the tip of my chin connects with my collarbone. I grit through the screech of pain that escapes.

  “Make. The damn. Call.”

  “How. About. No?” I spit whatever’s in my mouth to the floor, a string of saliva hanging on to the edge of my snarled lips. “Go. To. Fucking. Hell.”

  At his rage-filled roar, I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to feel whatever they have planned for me next.

  “Again.” Shawn’s voice is harsh, the single word like the crack of a whip.

  The mystery man obeys. I hear his heavy exhale and brace myself for what comes next. Just like Shawn ordered, the blows come again, followed by the same demand that I call Sam. Which, of course, is followed by the same response.

  Again. And again. And again. This cycle continues until all I know is pain, fear, and hopelessness.

  Until all I want is for it to end.

  Chapter Ten

  Trey

  We’ve got something.

  Both feet bounce with anticipation, my knees bobbing relentlessly with the movement as we speed back across town. I rake my fingers through my disheveled hair for what might be the thousandth time today, my nerves maxed out with the news that was relayed only moments ago.

  Good news.

  Fucking finally.

  We were just pulling out of Rosen’s estate after passing off the scene to the herd of FBI agents when the call came through, disrupting our original plan of posting up at Tank’s to dig into Whit’s background while we waited for a new lead. But that research will have to wait.

  Because we have a fucking lead.

  Tires screech against the blacktop as Tank swerves through the light traffic, slamming his hand on the horn, urging people to get the hell out of our way. The call came from one of Smith’s buddies at Homeland who was able to approximate a four-block radius from where the person was when they sent the photo of Randi to me.

  The way this technology finds a location without the phone physically being on and with a more precise radius than ever before is new and only available to Homeland. Which means whoever took Randi didn’t know about it or they wouldn’t have sent the picture in the first place. It’s amazing—and a bit creepy—what Big Brother is capable of these days in its ability to spy on American citizens.

  The shrill of an incoming call pierces through my rambling thoughts. The ringing blares through the speakers again, cutting off halfway when Tank answers the call with a push of a button on the steering wheel.

  “What did you find?” No hello or how you doing, Tank’s no-nonsense wording mimics his cold tone.


  “Nothing good.”

  “Tell us,” I snap to the speakers, wishing it was Smith’s face. I swipe both clammy palms along my thighs, wiping the cold sweat onto the black fabric of my cargo pants. We’re close to finding her and those responsible. I can feel it.

  “He wasn’t planning to stick around if he is the one associated with the abduction. I found two duffel bags packed, the kitchen cleaned out, and what I assume was a makeshift armory empty.”

  “Prints?” It’s a wonder Tank can even follow along with the conversation with his full concentration out the windshield, making sure we don’t wreck or cause someone else to.

  “Dusted a few doorknobs and switches. Sent the pictures over to my buddies. We’ll know more about him soon, but I don’t think that will help us find the president. If he’s a contract assassin, it doesn’t matter about his background, only where he is now. And nothing here tells me where he would’ve gone.”

  “We’re headed to check out a lead now. ETA ten minutes.” The front right of the SUV comes within inches of clipping a semi’s trailer. Knowing he hates it when I react, I hold in my curse and death grip on the “oh shit” handle. “Make that seven,” I grumble. “Get us there alive, for fuck’s sake. We’re no good to her dead.”

  Tank grumbles something I can’t make out as he leans against his door with an arm propped up like he hasn’t a care in the world.

  “Text me the location and I’ll meet you there.” Static crackles down the line before the SUV is doused in quiet again. Well, except for Tank’s honking and the offended cars honking back.

  “Bye to you too, motherfucker,” I mutter. “After everything we’ve learned today and seeing him in action the last year or so, I’m damn glad he’s on our side.”

  “True. He could’ve ended up like the bastard we know as Ponder, taking what he learned at Homeland and using it for his own gain. I wonder if that happens more than we realize.”

  “Maybe.” I yank a bottle of water from the side door and twist off the cap. “We need more than this lead though. I don’t think it’ll be enough for us to find her in the time frame we’re working under. Who knows how long she has?” Just saying the words causes my throat to close up with emotion.

  His bald head dips in agreement. “There’s one thing we haven’t considered.”

  “What’s that?” I ask incredulously. “I’ve gone over this so many damn times in my head it’s all I fucking know.”

  “Her.”

  “Her? Randi? What do you mean? She’s all I’ve been considering. All I’ve been consumed by since you called me. She is the only thing that matters in any of this.” The hand not holding on for dear life fists along my thigh.

  “I’m saying we haven’t considered her as the hostage and what that means to all this. What do we know about her? What have we witnessed since we were assigned to her security detail?”

  Inhaling deep, I fight the irritation at my best friend’s words and attempt to process what he’s suggesting.

  What have I noticed since that first day we met when I hauled her out of that burning limo?

  Natural beauty.

  Desperation to help others.

  Witty sense of humor and crazy as hell.

  Lips that beg for you to kiss them or have them wrapped around your cock.

  A pussy that tastes like honey and feels like heaven.

  I adjust along the leather seat to keep my growing hard-on from being noticed.

  But the side-eye glare Tank’s shoots me signals I wasn’t as covert at adjusting myself as I hoped.

  “Stop thinking like that, you horny ass. I’m talking about Randi being Randi. Everyone who knows her falls for her. Not in love with her, thank fuck, or you’d have a murder rap sheet a mile long, but they care for her. They see her kindness in a city and profession where there is none. People who know her gravitate to that naïveté from not being raised in politics. That’s what we’re not considering, what we haven’t added to the equation.”

  Well, fuck. Here I was thinking about all the physical aspects I love about Randi and forgot about the reason I fell for her in the first place.

  “You’re right,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. “So where does that leave us? If it is Whit, he knows her and still loathes her.”

  “But not the men who took her.”

  “If we’re right about Ponder being the one who was behind the abduction for Whit, then yeah, he does know her. He’s been with her for the past year on the beta team detail. He knows her and still took her.”

  Tank runs a hand over his sweaty bald head before slamming it to the steering wheel. “You’re right.”

  “But,” I say as I think through the various ways Randi being Randi could be a benefit, “he’s never seen her like we do, considering I had him moved to the shit list on the beta team. He’s never had one-on-one time with her, so if he stuck around after the abduction, she could influence him then. So you’re right, maybe Randi can sway Ponder. But that’s only if he didn’t drop her at a location and leave her alone for Whit to find. Fuck.” I groan. “There are too many variables and not enough solid leads. We need something to turn in our favor.” I glance out the window to the early afternoon sun, its bright rays a complete opposite to the darkness consuming me. “What if we do find her and she’s…? What if he’s broken her by the time we get there?”

  “Would that change anything for you?” Tank asks. I lurch forward, the seat belt catching against my chest with our sudden stop. I blink, realizing he’s just whipped us into a parallel parking spot along a street lined with shops and business. He turns in his seat to stare me down. “Answer me.”

  “You think that little of me?” I snap, the hurt leaking through my harsh tone. “Of course not. I love her no matter what. I just want her back. If he’s broken her mind or her spirit, I will help her heal. I’ll be there for her every step of the way. I just want—” I shake my head. “I need her with me. I need her by my side for the rest of my life and me beside her for the rest of hers. This is it for me. She’s it for me.”

  “Good.” Without another word, he swings open the driver side door and climbs out into the afternoon heat. I follow suit, stepping onto the sidewalk and scanning the few pedestrians scurrying about. “We’re in the center of the radius where the picture was sent. This is where we start our search. If we find the phone, it could have prints, maybe even enough juice left that we can use it to backtrack where it’s been. We find that phone, we’re one step closer to finding her.”

  With a determined curt nod, I split from Tank, heading straight for the trash can at the corner of an intersection while he slips back around the SUV and cuts across the street.

  The stainless steel dome lid clatters to the ground with an erupting bang loud enough to be heard several streets over. A few curious and apprehensive glances come my way as people walk by, giving me a wide berth as I rummage through the full trash bag. Cold, lumpy coffee, something sticky like old yogurt—yep, I’m going with yogurt to keep my sanity—and crumbs of food slide through my searching fingers, caking beneath my short nails. Halfway through, I force myself to lean away from the stench and suck in a lungful of fresh air before continuing digging. At the bottom, I curse at not finding the cell phone, those wasted efforts and minutes. Hot metal burns a line across my palm as I shove off the rounded edge, sending the can crashing to the side of its metal protective cage.

  Fat drops of thick, semi-solid liquid dribble from my dangling fingers onto the warm concrete sidewalk as I stride to the next visible trash can. Halfway through the third trash can, I hear my name bellowed from somewhere close by. My head snaps up, hands still embedded in the refuse as I search for Tank. Across the street, he stands beside a pile of trash, holding something high in the air. I squint, resting a disgusting hand above my brows to shield the glare.

  A cell phone.

  Hell to the fucking yeah. Finally.

  The rubber soles of my boots pound on the pavement as I j
og across the street, nearly getting run over twice. The yelling of the furious drivers fades in the distance as they continue on. I stop beside Tank, whose focus is on the small device.

  “It’s smashed,” he says, defeated. Those large boulder-like shoulders slump.

  “What do you want to bet Smith’s friends at Homeland can still pull information from it?” I keep a cautious eye on him. If he becomes too frustrated and launches the phone, there’d be no coming back from that. Carefully pulling the broken device from his hand, I place it gently on the brick window ledge of the nearby building. Only after wiping the layers of gunk off my hands do I dig through the side pocket of my cargo pants and retrieve my phone. Thank fuck I sent Smith’s contact information to my phone from Tank’s earlier in case I needed it in the future. Hitting the Call button, I set it to speaker and hold it face-up between me and my pacing friend.

  “I’m five minutes out” are Smith’s first words.

  “We have something we need your buddies at Homeland to work on. We think we found the cell phone used to send the picture of Randi, but it’s smashed.”

  “They’ll be able to pull something. Everything is traceable.”

  The screen flashes, signaling the call has ended.

  “Now what?” I ask the universe.

  “We use every available contact, every fucking favor owed, to dig up information on Whit.” Before the last word is past his lips, his cell phone is gripped in a grime-covered palm. “The director sent a message stating they’re in a standstill like we are,” he says, his eyes scanning the screen. “FBI as well. Everyone is on standby waiting for a location.”

  “It’s our save. My kill.” My jaw works back and forth. “Ponder and Whit are mine.”

  “You find them first, you kill them first.”

  “Will there be a second killing?” An almost smirk plays at my lips.

  “I won’t let you have all the fun.”

  The smirk grows wider into a full sinister smile at his need for revenge almost matching my own.

  Both our heads whip in the direction of a roaring engine. A bright red vintage Chevy Camaro barrels down the street before screeching to a halt along the curb. Dirt, clouds of smoke from the tires, and the scent of burned rubber float around the car as I bend down, leaning into the passenger side through the open window.