by Stacia Stone
Hunted in the Dark
Stacia Stone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Stacia Stone
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Also by Stacia Stone
Chapter 1
When people glance at me, usually their eyes slide right past and move on. This is what I want. Hiding in plain sight is a skill-set I’ve deliberately cultivated. You have to know how to blend into the background when your enemies believe you’re dead.
Especially if you want it to stay that way.
It helps that I’m good-looking, but in a generic and non-threatening way. I keep myself clean-cut, but not too stylish. The tattoos that wind up and down both of my arms always stay covered in public, even on the hottest summer days. It’s like I tell my guys — we have to be just barely visible and completely forgettable.
The moment we forget that is when it all comes crashing down.
Tonight is different. Tonight is our all-in moment, because we’ve got nothing left to lose.
It started when Savage came busting into my room like he was back kicking down the doors of mud huts in Fallujah. We’d finally got the new safe house set up in a cherry location that Frost found for us.
The building started as a big hotel project but the developers went bankrupt during the recession. It’s changed hands a couple of times, but its location on the outside of a failing rustbelt town far from the highway doesn’t bode well for completion anytime soon.
We put up a few interior walls and ran a generator for power. From the outside, exposed steel beams and graffiti plaster board make the place resemble a deathtrap, while on the inside it’s a perfect hideout.
So Savage bursts through the door that I just put up, hard enough that it flies back to hit the wall. He’s never understood the concept of judicious use of force.
“You’re gonna want to see this,” he grinds out, before turning and walking right back out the door.
No matter how many times I beat the shit out of him, Savage refuses to accept the chain of command. I’m not the one who does the fucking following around here.
But the tight set of his face lets me know that there’s something serious going on. So I roll off of the bare mattress on the floor and go after him.
There’s a flat screen television sitting on a wooden crate in the middle of the main room. Savage bought that television at least a month before he bothered with getting a bed.
Some news station is playing on the screen. A cute brunette with half a brain and too much makeup on blathers nonsense while two pundits argue from little boxes on either side of her head.
It’s hard to respect a news program that’s on a network made famous by animated dick jokes.
“This shit’ll rot your brain,” I say.
Savage uses the remote to turn up the volume. “They’re talking about Mali.”
“Sources close to the administration revealed today that a permanent ceasefire has been announced between government forces and armed militias in northern Mali. This comes with the brokering of a peace deal between the Malian president and rebel leaders. The three year conflict between government and rebel forces has been punctuated by a large foreign military presence, including American soldiers. U.S. military forces stationed in the region will draw back as soon as next week.”
“Fuck.”
Frost moves so quiet that hearing his voice always surprises me. You forget that he’s in the room until he wants you to remember. He leans against the far wall with his gigantic arms crossed over his chest. The unhappy expression on his face speaks volumes.
Savage turns back. “We need a new plan. Once the Army pulls out, we’ve lost our chance to get to Kidd.”
Kidd. Thinking about him sets my teeth on edge as a wave of impotent fury threatens to drown me. That adage about good soldiers never leaving a man behind, it only works when the other choice isn’t dying right along with your fallen comrade. We had to leave Kidd and take our only chance to get out. But I will get him back, no matter what it takes.
“Where are we on the Senator?” I ask.
“He’s locked down tighter than two thumbs up a pig’s ass.” Savage pulls a tin of chew out of his pocket. When he talks the wad puffs out his cheek. It’s a bad habit that gets worse when he’s stressed. “Full security detail follows him everywhere he goes.”
Frost shifts against the wall, making the dozen weapons he always wears on his body creak like well-oiled leather. “There’s talk that Senator Reynolds is about to announce his candidacy for president. After that, he’ll also have secret service agents covering him.”
Senator John Reynolds. That bible-thumping, right-wing Tennessee cattle rancher is also current Chairman of the Senate Armed Forces Committee. He is the only link we’ve been able to find that connects us to the men who have Kidd. We’ve been keeping tabs on him for the last few months, as they’ve transferred him to different facilities, just waiting for an opportunity..
And now we’re out of time.
“Tell me how we get to Reynolds.”
Savage glares at me. “We don’t. Not unless you’ve got a platoon hidden in your back pocket.”
He always gets belligerent when he’s frustrated. “I need a plan, not excuses. What do we know?”
Frost grabs up the most recent round of surveillance photos and fans them out on the table. “The Senator is in D.C. until the summer recess. He has a townhouse in Georgetown. It wouldn’t be challenging to access, lots of windows and doors. But like I said, the Senator has security when he’s home. Some guys from a mercenary outfit called Darkfire — well-trained and ex-military. They’ll see us coming. If we had more guys…”
“No.”
We agreed from the beginning not to involve anybody else in this. It’s too dangerous. Anybody who’d care is convinced that we’re dead, and that’s the way it has to stay.
“What else?” I ask. I turn to Savage, who’s pacing back and forth across the room. A spit of dip into the cup in his hand punctuates every step. “We need a weakness. Tell me you’ve got something.”
“That depends what your position is on suicide missions.”
“Enough, sergeant.” I don’t bring up our old ranks that often even if we’ve fallen into a pattern based on them. Our military days are long gone and we’re never getting them back. But the reminder we’ll be enough for Savage to get that I’m sick of his shit. “If you’re not gonna be useful, then get the fuck out.”
“Fine.” Savage stalks across the room. He bends over a file box on the floor. He isn’t wearing
a shirt so I can't miss the trail of whip scars going up his back. The pain of commiseration sweeps through me for a moment before he stomps back towards me with a stack of photos in his hand. He slams them down on the table. “You want a weakness? Here it is.”
I flip through the pictures. They were all taken at different times and locations — but always the same girl. “When did I say you could do your own surveillance?”
Savage ignores the question because he’s an insubordinate fuck. “That’s the Senator’s kid. She’s his only child.”
The first thing I notice is how young she is, like it’d be a stretch to put her out of grade school. In every picture, she’s wearing button-up shirts and knee-length skirts. Initially, I assume that she’s wearing a school uniform, but each outfit is a different color and style. So the girl is choosing to dress like a Sunday School teacher.
I’m pissed at Savage for tailing her without letting me know, but I have to admit I’m intrigued. “Tell me more.”
“Girl’s name is Sophia,” Savage says. “She’s a junior at Trinity College in West Virginia.”
So a little older than she looks, but not much.
“Trinity…” I repeat the name, trying to place it. I know I’ve heard that name before. “Isn’t that the place that was founded by one of those super-rich televangelists to train warriors for Christ, or some shit?”
“That’s the place.”
Poor girl. No wonder she dresses like the child-bride of a polygamist. “That’s not a school. It’s a breeding ground for religious wing nuts.”
“I’m sure she’s a very happy little robot.” Savage laughs and the sound is not pleasant. “Point is, the girl is an easy target. Maybe we can use her to put the squeeze on Reynolds.”
“How?”
“Snatch her up.” Savage has an almost maniacal look in his eyes. He’s got more scars than the rest of us — both inside and out. He looks eager at the thought of finally getting his hands on someone, no matter who it is. “If Reynolds wants her back, he’ll have to give us what we need first.”
The plan has a nice symmetry to it. The Senator took someone from us. Now we take someone from him to get our guy back. It’s an eye for an eye.
“The girl is innocent,” Frost says. He’s got a sentimental streak that’s at complete odds with his bear-like appearance.
“Nobody’s innocent,” Savage snaps. “The Senator is her father. She’s probably as dirty as he is.”
“We won’t hurt her—”
“Much,” Savage interrupts, baring his teeth.
“We won’t hurt her, unless we have to,” I say firmly. Frost doesn’t look reassured by the additional caveat. We decided a long time ago that we would do whatever it took to get Kidd back.
Now it’s time to ante up.
“Tell me more about the girl,” I say. I don’t use her name. Keeping it impersonal is the best way to get through this. There’s no telling what we’ll have to do to her before it’s all over. “How do we get to her?”
“Easy.” Savage opens the beat-up Toughbook that sits on the table and types in a few keys with one hand. The laptop looks like it’s been to hell and back, which probably isn’t that far from the truth. “Trinity let out for a class break a couple of days ago. She’ll be coming home for the summer.”
I look over his shoulder. A blueprint of the Senator’s townhouse is pulled up on the screen. Savage has always been a genius at hacking computer systems. It’s one of the few things that redeems his shitty attitude.
“I thought you said Reynolds has crazy security.”
“Reynolds has security.” He presses another key. A zoomed-in picture of the girl’s face fills the screen. “They go with him everywhere. We just need to sit on her for a bit and wait until she’s alone. Picking her up will be easy.”
My gaze moves over her face. She’s running to catch up with someone in the picture. Her eyes are bright and her full lips are parted like she’s about to yell their name. She’s pretty, I note distantly. Pretty in that sweet, innocent way of a girl who never grew out of the stage where other people make all the decisions for her.
That other person has probably always been her father. Soon it’ll be whatever mouth-breather the Senator picks out for her to marry. They’ll live in a suburban house, have exactly two kids and attend church every Sunday.
She looks happy. And oblivious.
The minute we get our hands on her, she’ll turn into a blubbering, blithering mess. We’ll send a few pictures of her roughed up to the Senator and he’ll give us whatever we want to get her back.
As I stare at the picture, it almost seems like she’s looking back at me. Her obvious innocence is in direct contrast with the dark thoughts swirling through my head. Can I really sacrifice an innocent girl on the altar of retribution? Do I have it in me to do what has to be done?
I think about Kidd. He was innocent once, too. And he got caught up in the teeth of a machine controlled by those with more power and knowledge. People who should have protected him and, instead, traded him for a slight increase in stock prices. I swore to do anything in my power to get him back.
Nothing has changed.
“You sure this is going to be enough?” I ask, my gaze still moving over the girl’s face. Something about it tickles at the edges of my awareness. She’s like a puzzle with a piece missing right in the center. Something about her seems unfinished and incomplete. “Somebody as cold as Reynolds might just let his daughter get killed before he gives anything up.”
Savage grins and it looks more like a baring of teeth. “We’ll think of a way to convince him we’re serious. Trust me, the last thing the Senator wants is for all of this to go public. He’s gonna run for president, remember?”
The thought of that crooked fuck as Commander-in-Chief sets my teeth on edge. He may or may not have been involved in Mali from the beginning but he made his money in all the same ways criminals do, even if he had somebody else do the dirty work. I refuse to think about what we saw happening out there, the things that the shadiest parts of our government let happen in the name of preserving freedom. Well, preserving freedom and generating massive profits for the unethical elite.
I ball my hands into fists. Someone is going to pay. “How long do you think it’ll be?”
“No telling,” Savage says. “The Senator is going hard on the campaign trail. Lots of appearances at events with his lovely family. I think the guy is on his third wife at this point. But the daughter makes a nice piece of set-dressing when he’s trying to play on all that Christian family values shit.”
“We’ll catch her alone, eventually.” Now that we have a plan, a new calm has settled over me. I won’t sleep until we have her if that’s what it takes. “We start tailing her tonight.”
Savage cracks his knuckles against the table as he leans toward me. “Oh, I got this.”
I don’t trust the look in his eyes. “I’ll do it”
“Fuck you,” Savage bites out. “This is my plan. Let me sit on her.”
“No.” My voice is sharp. “I don’t need you deciding that it’s time to have a little fun.”
Like he did with the Malian commander who gave us the Senator’s name in the first place. The guy was already half-dead by the time I figured out that Savage had even tracked him down.
I can trust myself not to jump too soon or go commando and do something stupid. Savage is a better soldier, but he’s unpredictable. I can’t be sure what he’ll do if I let him get his hands on this girl when there’s no one else around to rein him in.
I turn away from the screen with an effort as part of me fights to return to keep staring at her face. There’s something compelling about her. It’s her eyes, I think. Or maybe it’s just the knowledge that we’re about to destroy the peaceful little bubble this girl lives in.
The knife scar down my arm throbs, just like it always does when shit is about to go down.
Soon, I think as I stare at her face on the screen tryi
ng my best to memorize her features. Soon this will all be over. I almost feel bad when I think about what we’re about to do, but I know that I’ll feel worse if we fail.
One girl isn’t that much of sacrifice to the god of war. And that’s exactly what this is.
Chapter 2
“That’ll be $4.79.”
I paste the superficial smile on my face — the one that screams how much I love customer service — as I hand back change and an overpriced cup of coffee. The customer thanks me but his gaze is already sliding over me and away. Nobody actually pays attention to the person behind the counter. I’m a nameless and faceless form who hands out liquid desserts masquerading as beverages and keeps my contempt for all these laptop toting assholes to myself.
Throw the coffee in his face, simply to see what happens. I ignore the little voice inside my head that urges me to commit mayhem just for the fun of it. If twenty-one years of Sunday School and mandatory Bible study didn’t cure me of that little trace of evil, then nothing ever will. Even if it means I have to make a choice between fading into near invisibility and committing an assault.
Lucky for me I’m used to being invisible.
Except when he walks in. The guy is tall, gorgeous and brooding in a way that sets all of my nerve-endings on fire. His gaze doesn’t pass over me like I’m a fixture attached to the counter. Instead, his eyes settle on my face and stay there. His walk is sedate and deliberate, like every muscle in his body is completely under his control. I don’t quite know what his deal is, but he comes in at least a couple of times a week. I’ve never asked his name or anything about him, despite the fact that I’ve been serving him a double cortado and everything bagel with no cream cheese every day for the past two weeks.