“You can ask our FBI contact. He was the one who got in touch with us in the first place.” C.W. placed a gnarled hand on the sofa armrest and rose on shaky feet. “I haven’t heard from him in a few months, but he was the one who helped orchestrate this whole thing.”
“And just who is this agent?” Hunter said.
“He went by Mr. J.”
Chapter 32
“Mr. J?” Hunter echoed.
What the hell? Why would his mentor, his coach, have set up a sting connecting the MRG and Al Seriq without telling anyone? Why would he have endangered Evie that way? Mr. J was one of the few men who knew about her and how much leaving her had torn Hunter up inside. And pretending to be FBI?
Mr. J had fed Task Force Scorpion information. He’d taken care of his team. Hell, he’d been the one to form TS-F. To set up their last mission. The mission they’d lost Shane.
“He was dirty.” Ranger spoke first. Hunter was still stuck between the hard place of knowledge and the rock of disbelief.
“Yeah, weird fella. Always wore sunglasses. Black hair. Beard. Real quiet. But he had credentials and I can tell an agent when I see one.”
“Not agent, old man, operative. Mr. J was our CIA contact. We found him dead over three months ago,” Hoyt said.
Three months of torture and guilt...only to find out Hunter’s mentor was a traitor.
“You must be wrong. Mr. J made us. Made me. He wouldn’t have betrayed us to the one man we’ve been hunting.” Hunter tried to reconcile the idea of Mr. J as a traitor, but couldn’t. He could see him laughing, pushing, driving them forward. Relaxing on a fishing trip. Grabbing a six-pack on his down time.
“Wore this big black ring on his right hand. I wouldn’t have paid it much attention, but it ain’t normal for men to wear rings,” C.W. said. “I take it he didn’t plan on intervening at all. Well, hell’s bells, you can’t trust anyone these days.”
Hunter wanted to deny the truth. Deny that a man who was almost as close as family had sold them out. But a huge ax of evidence was wedged into his chest.
“He must have been the one funneling the weapons all along. He knew he could use the MRG to move more weapons,” Jared said.
“He knew I would turn a blind eye to Mercy.” Betrayal, swift and sharp, nearly cut Hunter in half.
“So he kept us busy. Too busy to figure it out.” Ranger said.
“When did Mr. J make contact?” Hunter’s revelation was quickly morphing into rage. His hands shook.
“Over a year ago. Shit like this doesn’t happen overnight.” C.W. grunted and then walked to the bar. He grabbed a whiskey bottle, twisted the cap off, and took a swig from it like it was water.
“Look, boys,” Hank interjected, “we have to move, or it won’t matter. Marcus isn’t the kind of man to keep people around who have betrayed him.”
“You’re right. We need to figure out where he would have taken them.” The cold hard truth was that Marcus had Evie. And Maxine. And he would hurt them.
Rage, familiar and welcome, flooded into Hunter’s veins. Forget betrayal. Mr. J was dead and rotted. Hunter cared about one thing–Evangeline Videl.
“I know where we need to go.” C.W. took another slug of whiskey and then slammed the bottle down. “But we’re gonna need a boat.”
Hunter glanced at Ranger. "We've got one."
"Good. Let me get my knife." C.W. went back to the couch, dug a hand in between the cushion and armrest, and pulled out a knife the size of a man’s arm.
"Looks more like a sword." Hoyt snorted.
C.W. smiled and turned the knife in his hand before sliding in into a leather holster strapped to his thigh. "I've found the Bowie knife can accomplish more than a gun in close combat. It’s silent and can slice a man's head off his neck in one motion."
C.W.'S grin spoke of experience. But the man had to be in his seventies, no way he was going with them. "Listen, C.W., I appreciate your experience, but I think it would be better if you let us handle it."
"I was killing before you were out of diapers, boy. No way am I staying behind when my girls are in danger. Save it. Besides, I know where we're goin'. And you don’t."
Shit. He didn't have time for this. He could move his team undetected. Just like always. But not if they didn't have a destination. "We’re gonna need another boat."
* * *
A few minutes later, Hoyt and Jared returned with a second boat in tow. This one was even better than the last. "Found it just upriver, still bobbing on the rope." Ranger jumped out and tied it off on the porch.
Jared throttled behind in the Bass Tracker. "This thing costs more than my freaking truck. I hope whoever owns it doesn’t mind, but I'm taking her."
"That's John Redman's. Don't worry. He got extra insurance on it." C.W. and Hank climbed in with Hoyt.
Jared pulled up and Hunter and Ranger loaded in with him. They could move twice as fast on the water with less weight. "C.W, where we headed?"
"Five miles that way." C.W. pointed downriver.
"That’s closer to the freaking dam," Hank said, his voice carrying over the water as if he were right next to Hunter.
"Yep. And I caught a conversation on the radio that there's a crack in it. So we need to shut up and drive."
Hunter assumed C.W. was referring to the type of radio a man could use to listen in on other people's conversations, but this wasn’t the time to ask questions. He throttled the motor and shot into the middle of the river. Swerved just in time to miss a fucking trailer. Jesus.
Hoyt fell in behind, following in his wake, and they floored it, topping the Mercury motors out at full speed. Jared sat at point, keeping his light on the water in front of them. They dodged more debris.
"Damn, this place is a mine field," Jared yelled over the roar of the engine.
Hunter didn't answer. He could not focus on anything beyond saving Evie.
There had been a funny feeling in the pit of his gut when he’d realized Maxine’s house was empty, but that pit had opened up and swallowed him whole at The Wharf. He knew Evie had overheard their conversation. He'd seen the look on her face through the window of Hank's truck.
He had to find her. Tell her he was sorry. Tell her he didn't mean it.
Tell her he loved her.
The thought didn't catch him off guard. The knowledge had been creeping up on him for a while. He knew it just as surely as he knew she was in danger at this very moment. More debris floated past and Hunter steered around it. The last thing he needed was to get distracted and put a hole in the hull. He wouldn't be able to help her if his boat was at the bottom of the river.
Hoyt whistled behind him and Hunter killed the motor.
C.W. piped up. "We better find somewhere to pull off and kill the engines if you don't want him to hear us coming. We got about a half-mile to go."
Hunter nodded. "Okay."
He would slow down. The element of surprise was worth more than gold. That way he could slip up behind the bastard, stick a knife in his back, and have the pleasure of twisting the blade.
A scream ripped across the water and Hunter jerked his head in the direction of downriver. "Evie."
Chapter 33
Evie stared in horror at Colette's dead, mutilated body on Marcus’s covered porch. She covered her mouth, but it was too late to take back the scream. Marcus had killed her. Why? Why would he do that?
"Nice work, huh? That bitch mouthed off to me one too many times."
Evie looked over her shoulder. Marcus leaned against the door jam, arms crossed, the pistol in his hand hanging loose in his grip.
Evie stepped back, stumbled over Colette's leg, and hit the ground. Snake. Monster.
"And guess who I've got waiting inside?" Marcus pushed off from the door, his slacks pleated and his shirt without a wrinkle. Like killing was…easy. Pleasurable, even.
"Let her go, you bastard." The words scraped her raw. "Let her go now."
Marcus waltzed toward her, his movement
s as indolent as his tone. He stopped at her feet. "Why don't we go inside and visit a while first?" His sickly-sweet façade disappeared in an instant. "I said, get up."
Evie grabbed the rocking chair behind the dead body and lifted herself up. She recognized this side of him too. The one that itched like poison ivy to cause pain, and she knew to keep silent. Or it would get worse. A lot worse.
She followed him inside, head down, keeping her posture meek. Subservient. Just like he preferred.
"Good girl. Now, how about a drink? I think I'll have my favorite."
Evie walked past Marcus on wooden legs. He leaned against a velvet-backed barstool in front of the granite island. The wet bar, a masterpiece of mirrored tile and stone, stretched along the back wall of the kitchen.
Evie poured him a Crown and coke, measuring the amounts by memory and put in three cubes of ice. Brought it to him. Marcus took a sip and sighed in appreciation. "That ditz out back never got it right." Marcus sifted a hand past her cheek and into her hair. "Not like you."
Evie went cold at his touch. Ice-statue cold. He held her there as he took another sip. She wished she had filled it with poison.
"Now, where is Brown?"
Evie couldn't tear her gaze from his steel grey eyes, but she wanted to look away so he couldn't see her terror or disgust. When she tried to pull back, he tightened his grip.
"He…went for a swim." The image of Brown grabbing his throat, blood pouring through his fingers, filled her mind. She knew she should feel guilt. Or at least regret. She felt neither. She'd felt his bullet whizz by her ear. He'd tried to kill her. Too bad he didn't know C.W. had taught her how to shoot…and she was good. Really good.
Marcus threw his head back and his high-pitched laughter grated across her nerves like a cheese grinder. It took every ounce of her willpower to hold still. "You killed him? You?" He shook his head.
Evie eyed the revolver on the island behind him.
"My, my. Haven't we changed?" Marcus sat his drink down, followed her gaze, and picked up the gun.
She swallowed. "He tried to shoot me. I just got to him first.”
Not that Marcus would care unless it affected him in some way.
"I'll have to thank you for that. That little pissant was getting on my nerves. I was planning to kill him when he brought you to me. Now I don't have to bother." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Evie smelled his cologne. The same one he'd worn while they were together. Her stomach churned. "My little pet has turned into a stone-cold killer."
"Marcus." What could she do? She had to get him to take her to her mother. Had to get his gun. Think, Evie, think. She'd almost married the man, so she knew things about him no one else knew. She knew he liked to hurt people. She knew he liked power and money. But what he loved more than anything else was himself.
Evie laid a hand on his chest, gently, and he let her push him back. She cleared her throat. "Marcus, your shirt is clean. I've been in that filthy water outside. I don't want you to get dirty."
Her disgust was too obvious. Crap. Evie dropped her eyes, hiding her gaze. Breathe, Evie. Compartmentalize. Put it in a box. Marcus had taught her how to do that.
When she looked up, her eyes held a smile like her lips, thin and fake, but real enough for him to buy it. He had no ability to recognize real happiness. To do that, he would have needed a soul.
"How thoughtful of you." But he didn't put down the gun or take his assessing gaze from hers.
"Why did you send that sleazebag Brown in the first place? I can’t stand him. He is so coarse. So…ignorant.”
Marcus’s chest puffed up. A chest that didn’t hold a candle to Hunter’s. "You know I don’t deal directly. Besides, he’d been effective enough before.”
"Brown was going to kill you when we got here. He was planning to take the drugs himself." The lie slipped past her lips without even her conscious design. Marcus's grip on her hair tightened ever so slightly.
"So you killed him to save me?" His tone was disbelieving and Evie knew he would never buy it.
"No. I killed him because he pointed a gun at my head."
Marcus pulled her in close. Her scalp burned, her side burned, but she ignored the pain. "I know when you’re lying. I've always been able to tell."
His eyes had gone light grey and angry. He tightened his grip more and Evie let the tears sting her eyes. He wanted to see her cry. She would let him. And then she would blow his head off his shoulders.
"I'm not lying. I did kill him. Shot him in the throat and he fell into the river." She gasped and grabbed his hand, her natural reaction to fight barely suppressed.
"So now, my ex-fiancée, the killer, is worried about my shirt getting dirty." His eyes went hard.
Shit, she was losing him. Evie let the tears fall. "No. No, Marcus. I just know you don't like to get dirty. And…and…the bar is sinking. We're running out of money. I know I held back at first, but I need this deal to go through."
"You need me. Say it, Evangeline. Tell me you need me."
Evie pushed words past the bile lining her throat, past her trembling lips. "I need you, Marcus. Please. I need you. I should have never left you."
He smiled then. That smile reserved for those special nights. The nights that haunted her nightmares. "I know you need me. You've always needed me. I was the one who caught you when that idiot ran from you in the first place. I was the one who taught you to be a lady. I was the one who gave you a nice house, a nice reputation."
He threw her back and Evie fell to the floor. Marcus stalked after her, leaving the gun on the counter. "And now you’ve come running back after you've been slumming at that trashy...bar." He said it like the words were filth and he couldn't believe he'd let them past his lips.
Evie scrambled back, flipped to her knees, and crawled frantically into the dining room. He planted a foot on her behind and pushed. Evie sprawled forward, her arms out, legs behind, her injured ribs taking the brunt of the fall. She blacked out long enough for him to pull her to her feet by her hair. "Please. I was scared. You branded me. I didn't know who to turn to after that."
He didn't slap her like Brown had. No, that was too subtle for Marcus. He punched her, her head flew sideways, and her body followed. Evie landed on her arm and hip, the impact sending pain through her entire body from face to feet.
"I blessed you with my mark. And you acted like it was a disease. My mark!" Marcus roared and Evie had enough awareness to scramble through the dining room door and into the living room. Marcus had always skated the line between sanity and insanity, but he seemed to have finally chosen his side.
He grabbed her shirt; she felt the cool blade of a knife, followed by cold air on her back and chest. He cut her shirt off and yanked her to her feet, his arm wrapped around her middle, a knife pressed to her side. "This. This will stay with you forever. You will always know who you belong to."
Marcus traced her scar with the tip of the knife and Evie froze again, afraid he'd want to re-open the wound. "Marcus. I was just scared. I know I screwed up. Please let me have another chance."
He spun her then, his fingers digging into her jaw, his face suspended an inch from hers. "Why should I give you another shot? I can have any woman I want."
"I...I brought my boat. I can transport the drugs. I can launder your money. Whatever you want."
He shoved his lips to hers and invaded her mouth with his tongue. This time she couldn't stop herself from gagging. When he pulled back they were both panting. She could see the desire in his gaze and prayed he couldn't see the disgust in hers.
"Yes. You can. But it won’t be drugs, my dear. You will transport a shipment of weapons to Mexico. And, you will service me in any way I see fit." He let the words hang between them, power radiating from every square inch of his body.
"Yes. Yes, I will," she whispered. Oh. My. God. It wasn’t innocent pot. He didn’t have drugs. He had weapons. Weapons that could kill Americans.
He squeezed her jaw until she cried
out and then pushed her away. His gaze raked hot coals over her body, but she shivered. "But not like that. You smell disgusting."
Marcus grabbed her again and dragged her upstairs. Evie followed, compliant. She knew he wouldn't touch her like this. Not intimately. She wasn't surprised when he pushed her into their old master bathroom. "Shower. You have five minutes."
"Please, let me see my mom." Evie covered her chest and hunched forward.
"When I'm satisfied, you will be allowed to see her. Now clean up." He shut the door and she heard the lock fall into place. The room had no windows. No other exit than the solid six-panel wood door.
Evie turned around in a frenzied search for a weapon. Any weapon. He'd left the gun downstairs. She just had to knock him out for long enough to get her mom. Or the gun. Her gaze fell on the two-foot bronze statue in the corner next to the walk-in shower. He'd always been so proud of that piece.
Evie turned on the shower, grabbed the statue, and flattened against the wall beside the door. She knew Marcus wouldn't wait. He wouldn’t be able to resist torturing her with his hungry gaze. His touch.
She waited. And waited. Time stretched out so long it felt like thirty minutes had passed rather than two. The door latch clicked and she lifted the weapon overhead. Held her breath.
He slinked inside slowly, the smile curving his lips apparent in the mirror. Oh shit. The mirror. She saw his smile disappear as she slammed the statue down. He ducked to the side just in time and her blow glanced off his shoulder.
Evie threw the statue and ran through their old bedroom and out to the staircase. Marcus's footsteps pounded behind her. "You'll pay for that." His yell filled her ears but she kept going down. Down the grand staircase. So many steps. She reached the bottom, tripped, but righted herself. She couldn't help but glance over her shoulder. Marcus was right behind her.
She gasped and took off, running for the gun. She almost made it.
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 22