by Cait Jarrod
“If you’re looking for the other agents, you won’t find them. They have been disposed of.”
Pamela’s eyebrows rose. She was officially petrified.
“Pamela,” Nicholas’ grip tightened. “Locate the bonds or you will end up like the rest of the agents. You know what those men are capable of. They went after my beloved Vivian.”
“W-what m-men? Do they work for you?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Who then?”
His hand tightening on her arm, he sucked in a breath and released it slowly. “A man that’s willing to kill for what he wants.”
A loud sob escaped her. Nicholas was the reason her mother had an accident. His words filtered back into her mind. “She is not your beloved Vivian. If she was, then you wouldn’t have put her only child in this situation and she wouldn’t be lying in the hospital.” She gasped as an ambush of emotions crashed down on her, and the enormity of the circumstances overcame her. “You bastard.” She jerked her arm trying to break free. His fingers dug into her.
“Careful, Pamela. Perhaps, I should make a visit to Celine.”
“No!” She wept.
“If you don’t want any more harm to come to your friends, then you will find the bonds, or I will have someone find the pretty blonde.”
Her hands balled into fists. She had never wanted to hit someone as much as she wanted to hit her stepfather. Was he out of his mind? “I knew you were crazy, but I had no idea you were a murderer.”
Nicholas stiffened. “I’m not. I have men to carry out that job for me.”
What kind of monster did mother marry? Questions inundated her as she tried to make heads or tails from the situation. Did he throw the rocks through her windows? Shoot into her café? And, why did he hide bonds? Something illegal? “Are you to blame for the horrible things that have happened the last few days?”
“Despite what you think, I’m not deplorable. I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“By giving me what I guess to be stolen bearer bonds and sending me notes?”
Releasing her, his head pulled back as his shoulders shoved forward. “Come again?”
“Did you send me threatening notes?”
“What notes?”
“The ones that crashed through my café stating I needed to bring the bearer bonds to the City Docks.” She paused, trying to calm herself, so her next words would be audible. “The threatening note that said, ‘Leave the bonds in the trashcan by the City Docks, or your mother will suffer the consequences.’”
Nicholas slumped as if her words knocked the wind out of his sails. He stared at the ground, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his jaw. “Pamela, regardless of what you might think of me, I didn’t threaten your mother. I love her. And I haven’t sent you any notes.”
“Did the men that work for you?”
He shook his head. “No, they would never touch your mother or you.”
“Yet, you threatened me by saying you’ll visit one of my best friends if I didn’t locate the bonds. I can’t have faith in a word you say, Nicholas.”
His face reddened, and his eyes tightened. “You’re twisting my words, Pamela.” His tone deepened. “Find those fucking bonds.”
A tremor vibrated through her body. Feeling defenseless, she moved up a step. “I will. I promise, just leave everyone alone.”
Nicholas’ head jerked up. “Where are you going?”
“I need clothes.” Her chin quivered, and her voice quaked.
His eyes flicked to her towel, and he rocked his head. A bit of sympathy showed on his face. “You do.”
Not wanting her back to him, she let the railing guide her backwards up the stairs. When she reached the top, she swerved to flee into the house. His tone halted her. “Pamela, I love your mother. I never meant to put you or her in harm’s way. Please forgive me. Tell her I love her, and I’m sorry.”
Pamela looked skyward and closed her eyes. Could this mess get worse? She straightened. “Tell her yourself, Nicholas.”
He had vanished.
Not wasting time, she scurried to the screened-in porch and inside the house. She punched in the security code and started for the stairs. A red light glowed from the bedroom Jake claimed. Advancing to the room, she spotted a small black box with a flashing red light sitting on the nightstand.
A small button on the side turned it off. The sliding door stood open. Closing the door, she quickly locked it, and pulled the blinds shut. Odd, when she set the alarm, it should have sounded to let her know a door remained open.
Jake’s gun sat on the opposite nightstand. “Oh, no.” Her hand flew to her mouth. Jake didn’t have a gun. Whose gun had fired? Had he been shot? The image of Jake in the sand popped into her mind. It’d be her fault. Why had she behaved irrationally?
A noise sounded in the kitchen, and she snatched a shirt and a pair of elastic waistband shorts from a chair. Taking his gun, she slid into the closet and stared at the cold, hard object. Not sure how to use it, she figured, she could at least use it as a deterrent.
Another sound came from the direction of the kitchen. It had to be Jake, had to be. Feeling queasy, she clutched the gun tightly with both hands as she squeezed her eyes shut and waited.
Chapter Fourteen
Be patient. Who was he trying to kid? Jake was about to self-destruct, and watching Pamela sashay away from him made it worse. Once they were settled back in the house, alarms set, he would apologize for his stupid comment. With any luck, she’d forgive him, and they’d wake up together in the morning.
She disappeared over the small dune leading to the boardwalk. Quickly, he ran the fifty yards to catch up. She wasn’t there. A red light coming from his bedroom caught his attention.
The perimeter of the property had been wired prior to their arrival, so the constant threat of someone sneaking up behind them would be dissolved. Now, the light blinked through the darkness, letting him know someone uninvited was here. Earlier, he had run out of the house without taking any of his equipment, leaving the indicator in his bedroom along with his gun. He shook his head and drug a hand down his face. “Damn, dumb move.”
The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He needed to get Pamela the hell out of dodge. He sprung onto the boardwalk leading to the beach house a hundred yards away and heard mumbled voices. Figures moved at the bottom of the stairs, one grabbing the other. He gritted his teeth and bounded up the walkway.
His feet flew out from under him. A solid object rammed him in the side, hurling him into the sand. He popped up. Before he had a chance to duck, something hard whacked his face, slamming him back into the sand. “Son of a bitch!” His face burned, but he needed to get up and help Pamela.
He went for his gun, then remembered where he left it. If his dick hadn’t led him to the beach chasing after her, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He lifted his head off the sand, spotting a man wearing a jacket running in the opposite direction. His head hurt too much to chase him down. Instead, he eyed the house.
Clouds were moving in, covering the light of the moon. He had excellent vision in the dark, but with his head throbbing, he couldn’t focus. Until he located the man who fled, he was a sitting duck and no good to Pamela. His brain engaged, telling him to get out of the open. On his stomach, he slithered through the sand until he reached the low growing vegetation.
He lifted his throbbing head, closed the more painful eye, and skimmed the area. A large lump lay close by. His gut twisted. Closing the gap, the shape of a man came into view. After checking for a pulse and finding none, he dug into the man’s pocket and pulled out a wallet. His finger traced the edges of a badge, exactly what he was afraid of. He set the wallet on top of the man and finished searching him.
Retrieving a gun, flashlight, and a radio, he pushed the talk button to call for backup. No reception or the batteries were dead. He pocketed the radio, then crept away from the fallen agent toward the trees on the adjacent property. He needed a mor
e substantial hiding spot to get his bearings.
A hand clasped his ankle, stopping him. Ready to kick and pull the trigger, Jake blew out a puff of air when the man released his ankle, and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m Agent—”
Jake shined the light. The man lay on his back with his hand tucked inside his jacket, a bloodstain on his shirt. “You try it, and I’ll shoot.” Jake pointed the gun at his head.
The agent stared up at him. A moment elapsed, then he responded, “I was reaching—” he paused, gasping for breath, “—for my badge.”
“Uh-huh, if it’s all the same to you, keep your hands in view.”
He groaned. “The bastard came at me from behind.” The agent coughed. “I engaged in watching Ms. Young in the water and didn’t pay close enough attention to my surroundings.”
Jake grimaced and reached inside the agent’s pocket. The badge confirmed that the man told the truth. “Black Scorpion?” Jake asked as he examined the injury.
“Yes.” The man’s reply came out on a short breath.
A knife wound in his stomach, blood splattered the sand around the body. “Where’s your weapon?”
“I’m lying on it.”
“Radio?”
The agent dipped his head slightly. “Don’t know.”
“Where’s your partner?”
The man winced. “Don ... don’t kno ... know.”
Jake tore a piece of the man’s suit and pressed it against the agent’s injury. “Hold this snug.” After tilting the man up, he retrieved the gun. “Don’t shoot the wrong guy.”
“I won’t.”
Jake snapped off his light and checked the surroundings. The throbbing in his head lessened. He looked over a bush toward the house. A few lights were on, but he couldn’t tell if Pamela was inside or not. He hoped so. The red glow still emanated from his room, which didn’t help with him determining Pamela’s location. If she saw the glow, she may or may not turn it off.
No doubt there was a leak within the FBI, a mole.
Two agents were down and who knew how many more. Had they ambushed like they had at The Memory Café? After the silent alarm was activated, more agents should be arriving. His eyes shifted to the agent gasping in pain. The clouds moved off, and the full moon beamed.
The air stirred, and Jake’s instincts went on high alert. Someone was close. A faint sound of feet scooting across sand mixed with erratic breathing grew near. The hair on Jake’s neck rose again.
Another second passed; he did an about face as an intruder thrust a knife forward. Jake clutched the man’s wrist with one hand and slammed his fist into the assailant’s jaw. The man stumbled backwards. Jake removed the gun from his grasp as the man fell to the ground.
The attacker righted and charged toward Jake.
Jake held fast, the blade pushed into flesh, and the intruder collapsed. After verifying he was spent, he searched the dark leather jacket for the FBI issue radio and gun. He found nothing and quickly scanned the area with his flashlight.
Not a single person in sight.
Turning his attention back to the agent, he asked, “How are you doing?”
The agent coughed. “Not too good.”
“Hang in there.”
“I could have shot the man, but you kept getting in the way.”
“I figured,” Jake said over his shoulder, as he started toward the house.
“Hey, man.”
Jake stopped. “Yeah?”
“There are four of them. I heard them say no more agents were left, and the man had the girl.”
Jake’s heart raced, and the metallic taste of adrenaline reached his throat. He’d kill whoever touched Pamela. “What man?”
“I don’t know.” He coughed. “Shit, I have blood coming out of my mouth.”
“Hang tight.”
“Are you The Warrior?”
“This is a hell of a time to ask me a question!”
“It is,” the man sputtered, “but I was hired to kill you.” The man aimed the gun at Jake.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me. I don’t have time for this shit.” Only a few inches away, Jake could grab the gun easily. The man’s weakened state would make it a no contest. Then why didn’t he?
“Listen, I really don’t want to kill you. I’m not that kind of man. If I pull the trigger on myself, will you tell them I was killed in the line of duty, so my family can get my life insurance?”
There’s the reason he didn’t move. As much as he needed to get to Pamela, he needed to hear what this man had to say. He could have information about the mole. “I can’t.”
“Then I’ll shoot you.”
“Who hired you?”
The agent lifted his fingers off his wound. “I know I fucked up,” he said through labored breaths, “but I’m still an agent.”
“If you’re working with them, why did someone stab you?”
“Because…” The agent’s cough was followed by a gurgling noise. “Agen….” The gun fell to his side, and the agent went silent.
“Shit.” Jake dropped on his haunches. He guessed the man’s family would get the life insurance after all. If only he had another second to hear who the leak was, who was corrupting the bureau. He sucked in a breath and grabbed the gun.
Reaching the front of the house, a motion detector light turned on. Ahead, a bush moved.
Damn, another goon. Jake eased to the side of the house and braced himself with his gun at the ready.
A man barreled out of the bush, snapped his wrist, slinging a knife at Jake. It nicked Jake’s chest as he dodged away from it.
The thug charged him, knocking Jake off balance, and sending his gun into the tall grass.
Jake reached for the man’s neck.
“Motherfucker!” the goon spat as he twisted, kicking his foot outward. Missing his mark, the thug briefly lost his footing, then went for the knife.
Jake dove, but the man beat him to the weapon and bounced to his feet.
Jake swung and connected with the man’s face. A quick kick to the stomach, and the gangster hunched over. Jake lifted his knee and tossed him to the side.
Air escaped the guy’s lungs, yet he rebounded quickly, the blade glued to his hand.
Jake spun, kicking a leg in the air. His foot hit the man solid on the side of his face, and they both fell to the sand.
Jake righted himself first. His leg came up again, landing in the attacker’s chest.
The hooligan swayed, and he dropped his weapon.
Jake advanced, grasped the blade, and pivoted.
The man rushed forward. His eyes grew wide as the rigid blade pierced his chest. He crumbled to the ground.
Jake wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Three Scorpions down. Who else was out there? He hadn’t been briefed on how many agents were standing by. If he believed the corrupt agent, then the answer was none.
Jake grabbed the FBI issue radio from the Black Scorpion’s belt and called for help. This one worked. He pocketed the radio and scanned the perimeter. Odd, no other agents arrived at the sound of the alarm. He groaned. The mole.
Approaching the back deck, he tried the sliding doors to his room. They were closed and locked. He went to the side door through the screened-in porch. Locked. Good girl, so she was in the house. If only he had a key.
At the glass door on the screened-in porch, he hit his shoulder against it. It didn’t budge. He picked up an iron flower stand and slung it into the glass. It shattered, and he waited for the alarm. Nothing. He darted inside and ran upstairs. Not finding her, he ran down. Where in the hell was she?
“Damn it all to hell.”
“Jake.” A weak voice called out, and he heard a door slide open. What if she wasn’t alone? He bumped his back against the wall and waited.
Chapter Fifteen
A glimpse of dark hair came into view followed by normally bright Caribbean blue eyes. Now, the hue was dark. Pamela’s pink lips were tight and downturned, trembling. Jak
e would give anything to remove the terror from her eyes. Dismissing the ache in his chest, and resisting the urge to haul her into his arms, he continued to peek around the corner in the hall, a gun firmly in one hand, the other on the table beside him. No telling whether someone was following her.
Pamela’s body sprang forward. Her eyes landed on his. Instantly, they widened and her jaw tightened.
Shit, she wasn’t alone. An instant later, his suspicions were confirmed. A hand covered Pamela’s throat as glaring beady eyes and a nose with an unnatural bump appeared. The brown jacket signified a member of the Black Scorpion gang, and the homeboy jeans that hung halfway down his ass.
“I told you I’d kill you, motherfucker,” Yasin growled. “Two for the price of one.” Yasin pressed his face against Pamela’s cheek. “I’m going to enjoy tasting this tender morsel.” Yasin pointed the gun sideways at Jake. “Drop your gun.”
He had been in this position a hundred times. Just lift the gun and shoot the bastard in the forehead. This time, it felt different. Sweat dripped from his face.
Yasin pushed the gun against Pamela’s temple. “Drop it!”
Jake bent slowly, placing the gun on the floor. He spread his fingers, letting the gun go, and looked at Pamela’s tear-stricken face. He’d fucked up.
“Not so badass without your gun.” Yasin’s hand squeezed harder on Pamela’s throat. The hand that held his gun dropped. “And you’re wearing tighty whities.” Yasin laughed.
Jake glanced down at his briefs, not tighty whities. His hand slid behind his back, grabbing the gun from the table. Simultaneously, his head snapped up, and his hand extended.
“Wait ‘til the members hear I killed The W—”
Blood trickled down his face as Yasin crumbled to the floor.
Pamela froze, her face paled. Seconds passed, she blinked, and slowly her color returned. Without care of his gun, Pamela rushed into his arms, buried her head in his neck, and wept. He squeezed her to him and felt his muscles relax. For the last hour, his body had been rigid with anxiety. Not from fighting criminals—that came with the job—but from not knowing if Pamela was safe.