Patriot Deception: A Thriller Suspense Novel (Mason McCall Book 1)

by Ross Elder

  The look in her eyes is not terror. She doesn’t believe she will die. The injection must be something else. It isn’t deadly. She doesn’t want it, but she is aware of what will happen. I can see it on her face. Unpleasant, she said. How unpleasant, I wonder?

  I squeeze her hand, forcing the plunger of the syringe to sink into the shaft, injecting the pale liquid into her breast. She is struggling again, this time viciously and accompanied by screams muffled by my hand. Her head is twisting so violently that I have lost my control of her mouth. She’s biting me.

  “Butterscotch! Butterscotch! Butterscotch!” Toni is screaming. I’m taken aback. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Butterscotch? Seriously? I’m sliding off her now. Finally, and after such an exhausting struggle, our bodies are separated. Toni is pulling the syringe from her breast, rolling away from me.

  A horrendous crash sends shockwaves up the stairs and into the dark bedroom. The door has been forced open, either by a crashing body, or a battering-ram. Heavy footfalls, running, more than one pair. They are ascending the stairs quickly. I see Max’s pistol on the nightstand and reach for it, taking the grip in my right hand while throwing off the holster with my left. Something isn’t right, but I turn toward the bedroom doorway and raise it anyway.

  The world around me is different. The room is different. Where is Toni? Where are the running figures entering the room? Where have I gone? There are gunshots and bodies falling to the floor. I’m firing a pistol but not the pistol Max gave me. Searing heat and stabbing pains cover my body, and I scream in agony. Then nothing. Then Toni is back, and I see a shadow crossing the doorway of my bedroom, and I squeeze the trigger.

  There is nothing there but a short, spongy lever under my finger. No click. No bang. Fuck. That’s what wasn’t right. The weight. The feel. The pistol has been unloaded, and the round ejected from the chamber. I don’t remember doing that so I instantly place the blame on Toni as I turn my gaze toward her. She’s panting and wheezing and clutching her breast.

  The Taser darts catch the streetlight outside as they race through the air, pass under my extended arms, and penetrate the skin of my abdomen. I’m paralyzed. No, petrified! Every muscle of my body has tensed so fully that I fear they will tear away from the tendons holding them to my bones. The vertebrae of my upper back crackle rapidly like an adjustment from a psychotic chiropractor before two loud snaps shoot through my neck. I’m tumbling. Not really tumbling but falling, like a tree, stiff and erect. The pain of my head slamming into the nightstand is excruciating, but I can’t place my hands out to stop any further damage.

  The shadows, obviously men, faces covered with hoods and masks, race into the room and gather up the comforter, placing it around Toni’s naked figure before hoisting her over one of the men’s shoulder and rushing back out of the room. I can’t stop them. I can’t speak to them. I can’t demand answers. I can only lay here, naked; a felled tree stripped of bark.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  September 20, 2016

  0129 hours

  “Mason!” Amanda. She’s yelling from downstairs. “I mean… Morgan! Where are you?” She isn’t alone. I can hear other footsteps. Cautious. Calculated.

  “Police! Everybody down! Keep your hands in the air!” Shit, the cops are here.

  I can’t move, really. I mean, I can. I just don’t like it. My head is pounding. The nightstand did quite a job on my skull, and I’m sure my right ear is bleeding. Hurts like a sonofabitch. I’m still on the floor, naked, and the barbed spikes from the taser are still embedded in the skin of my abdomen.

  “In here!” I’m groaning, over and over. “It’s just me up here. They’re gone.”

  “Show me your hands!”

  What? I’m the victim here! Jesus, somebody get over here and help me!

  “Drop the gun! Drop it! Drop the gun now!” Two cops are screaming, almost in unison, but not quite. One seemed to enjoy adding the phrase, Mother Fucker, to his version. Totally uncalled for. Shit. The pistol. Let it go, Mason. Let it go! I slide the pistol under the bed with a quick shove and raise both arms, shaky as they were, in the air above me.

  The cops grabbed my ankles and dragged me across the carpet away from the bed. Awesome. Tased, a skull fracture, and now, rug burns. Hating life, right about now.

  “Stop it! Stop it! He’s the victim, you idiots! He lives here!” Amanda is quite a ball of anger, it seems. She is not afraid to speak her mind.

  The cops rolled me onto my stomach. Yes, the stomach with the barbed spikes attached. They handcuffed me and then turned me back over, allowing the spikes to catch the carpet as I was moved, and helped me into a sitting position against the wall under the window.

  “Oh, my god. Mas…Morgan, what happened? Are you alright? Oh, my god. Who did this?” They allowed Amanda to come to my side. The cops are searching the remainder of the house, ensuring no one is hiding out, attempting an ambush. I can hear more sirens and more footsteps downstairs. Sounds like they rolled out the entire police department for me.

  “I think I’m okay. Jesus, what a headache. Am I bleeding? Feels like I’m bleeding.”

  “Yes, you are. Your ear is kind of smashed up. I think there’s a cut on the side of your scalp too.” She is examining me gently. “Probably won’t need stitches, though, so that’s something positive.

  “I’m all about staying positive, you know.”

  “Do you even wear clothes when you aren’t outside in public?”

  “Sometimes, not even then, apparently.” I am looking off to the right with a goofy look.

  “What?” She’s giggling.

  “Never mind. Hey, pull these damn needles out of me.”

  “Don’t touch anything!” One of the cops is saying from the bathroom. “Evidence. We’ll collect it.”

  Damn.

  “Sorry, baby. I can’t.” Amanda’s right hand is gently caressing my shoulder. I’m tuning out.

  Emergency medical personnel arrived and gave me a thorough examination. They recommended two stitches for the cut on the side of my head but told me there wasn’t much you can do for a cut ear other than to just clean it up and let it heal. They did, finally, remove the Taser needles. It wasn’t pleasant. Thankfully, they were quick with the task. They just grabbed them and yanked them out.

  For the following two hours, I was interviewed extensively by the police. Many notes were taken, and a crime scene unit went over my townhouse collecting swabs, fingerprints, hair samples, and photographing footprints in the flower beds outside. They concluded the door had been bashed in with some sort of ram. The fingerprints could take weeks to sort through, but they had doubts any of the intruders left any.

  As for Toni, that was a mystery. I don’t even think they believed my story about the weird interrogation and the syringe. They didn’t find the syringe. The men who retrieved Toni must have collected it while I was involuntarily planking on the floor. Toni’s backpack was also gone. She kept everything in her backpack, even her toothbrush, so nothing of hers remained in the house once she was gone. Sure, there was evidence a woman had been in the house. It would just take them a while to figure it all out.

  I refused medical treatment, relying upon Amanda’s considerable skills to clean out the wounds. She offered. Sometime around 0500, Amanda and I were alone. She notified Max of the situation, and he agreed to come right away. In a couple of hours. When he woke up. What a guy. I guess he felt I was in good hands.

  I, at least, got into a pair of sweatpants at some point, but I don’t really remember putting them on. God, my head hurts. Amanda walked me to the other townhouse and used her own key to open the door. I was home. I’m home. I instantly felt better. Something about being in that other townhouse made me tense. It didn’t feel right, and so I could never truly relax in there. In this one, I feel as though I belong. These are my things; my furniture, food, mouthwash, and guns. I think this is also good for my mental health. This is where I belong, and this is where I should have been
staying the last couple of weeks.

  Amanda drew a hot bath, complete with bubbles, and scented candles burning on the sink counter. I sat on the closed toilet seat while she cleaned the cuts and scrapes along my ear, neck, and scalp. It was a little painful, but she was careful and apologetic about it. In this moment, her voice is soothing and sweet. She cares about me. She isn’t just some woman I used to sleep with, no. She truly does care. I can hear it in her voice. She’s worried about me. She speaks very softly. Comfortingly. I find myself melting away, surrendering to her ministrations.

  “Okay. Bath time. Easy now. Be careful. It may still be too hot. Is it too hot?”

  “It’s fine. Really.”

  “Okay. Go slow. There we go. Good.” Amanda is a better nurse than Toni ever was. Is that…love…in her voice? Did I break her heart? She was quick to dismiss our…relations, before. Was she lying? She is so quick with a lie, too. Remember the bar? Those other times? Smooth and natural. She can spin a yarn effortlessly, even when it is complete fiction.

  “Ahh. Hot. This feels good, though. I’m sorry you are always finding me naked.” We both laughed. She’s sparkling, and there seems to be a glow emitting from her cheeks. She is happy. Her happiness is making me happy. I like seeing her like this. So beautiful. So natural.

  “I’m just happy you are okay, baby, naked, or not.”

  “Good.” I’ve let my eyes close, relishing in the warmth of the water. She is pouring warm water over my chest and shoulders, the parts unable to sink below the surface, using a large, plastic cup retrieved from the kitchen earlier.

  “If I can be honest, though…” She is waiting for my reply.

  “Please do.”

  “Well, honestly, I’m kind of getting tired of…you know…cleaning other women off of you.” I can hear her lips part into at least a partial smile. My heart is sinking rapidly. This is too much. She is swallowing her pride and her feelings to care for me and here we are, for a second time, her hands washing away the aftermath of my exploits with others. She is too good for me. I know this as much as I know anything.

  My fingers are wet, but she doesn’t move away when I caress her left cheek. Her eyes have closed softly. She’s turned her face into my hand. Oh, my god. What have I done? “I’m sorry. I am not sure what I’ve been doing, but I know it hasn’t been the right thing. I…”

  “Mason…don’t…”

  “No, really. I am so very sorry, Amanda. I didn’t know I was hurting you.”

  “Look, it isn’t your fault. And I sort of…you know, backed off from you before any of this happened. I thought we were getting too close too quickly and that…it felt…I don’t even know. It scared me. We hadn’t seen each other, well, not intimately, for a month or so before your incident. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I don’t believe that. I think I have much to apologize for. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Her voice is so soft and light I don’t even know if I heard the words. I saw the lips and felt the intent, and that was enough. She took my hand in hers and kissed my palm softly. “We just need to get you well again. That’s what is important.”

  She bathed me. It was careful and caring and, well, a little sensual, to be honest. A little too sensual for me to conceal my reaction. She was still in her sleeping clothes; small cotton shorts and a plain white t-shirt covered with a terrycloth bathrobe. She had been asleep when the commotion at my place awakened her.

  After the bath, she helped me to bed. We were both exhausted now that the adrenaline overload had passed. She slid under the covers next to me and snuggled up against my arm and thigh. We weren’t…caressing each other, or anything sexual, really. She was just with me. And it was incredible. I am somewhere between the waking and sleeping world. I am not in pain, and I am not confused about myself, my surroundings, or tiny, warm figure against me. For the first time in weeks, I know exactly who, what, and where I am. I’m beginning to dream. I can hear Amanda’s breathing. I can hear her inhale sharply. A whisper comes.

  “I’m totally going to kill that little whore.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  September 20, 2016

  1450 hours

  “Oh, no. Hey, wake up, darling.”

  Why? I don’t want to. Just cuddle up some more and go back to sleep. Come on. That’s a good girl.

  “Mason. Wake up. Someone is at the door. It’s probably Max. Get up.”

  Fine. Dammit.

  Max burst through the door like he was rushing in to rescue children from a burning building. He was out of breath. I think he sprinted from his car. He needs to do more cardio.

  “Dude…” He’s pausing to take a few breaths. “All kinds of shit…happening. I…was at…the hospital. Ooh, that ear looks nasty. Water. Get me some water.” He’s moving to the kitchen, throwing open cabinets in search of a glass.

  “Left! Keep going left. There ya go.”

  “Thanks. Throat’s really dry. Been talking for a couple of hours and running everywhere.” Water from the tap filled the glass a third of the way before he tossed it down his throat. The glass went back to be filled again. “So, here’s the thing. I went to…” Amanda is quietly descending the stairs. As quiet as she is, Max notices. She’s wrapped up in her robe, heading toward the downstairs bath.

  “Hi. Shower. Don’t mind me.” She’s still sleepy. She will want coffee. I’d better put some coffee on. Max is looking at me now. He’s rolling his eyes a little. Not exaggerated, but enough.

  “Jesus. Do you ever…just…stop with…”

  “Oh, stop it. It was a rough night for both of us. We were just sleeping.” He did not believe me. “No, seriously. Hey, make some coffee while you’re over there.”

  “Coff…what am I? The maid now? Make your own fucking coffee.” He’s moving away from the counter as though being near automatically makes the responsibility yours. Maybe that should be a rule.

  “Fine. What are you babbling about, anyway?”

  “Toni. I went to the hospital. I was able to talk my way into the Director of Nursing’s office. Even flashed my ID. I love doing that. I rarely get to do that.”

  “Focus! What did they say?” I’m filling the coffee pot and adding grounds to the filter.

  “She quit the day after you were released from the hospital. She doesn’t work there.” Before I could spin around and ask a question, Max is going again. “And! And, get this. She only started working there two days after you were admitted. While you were in that coma. She had impressive credentials and wanted to work nights. That would make her the nurse on staff during the late hours. That would give her, pretty much, unfettered access…to you.”

  “What?”

  “She was a plant. She probably isn’t even a nurse. Maybe, but we may never know. I have no doubt that all of her paperwork and credentials are forgeries. I think she was there simply to keep an eye on you. Maybe attempt to extract information from you.”

  “Yeah, like last night. She kept asking about the Patriot Deception file. Jesus.” My mind is racing a little. The sound of the shower running, and knowing Amanda is close by gives me pause. I don’t want to talk about this in front of her.

  “You were honey-trapped, Mason.” At least his breathing has returned to normal. “Like a total amateur.”

  “Wow, thanks, Commander Bond.” Amateur? Me? “I am the legend maker.” I’m so melodramatic. The pause and pour feature of coffee makers is a great invention. I’m sneaking the first cup.

  “Bite me.”

  “He’s not a biter.” Max and I both turn in unison. Amanda is drying her hair with a towel, once again wrapped up in her bathrobe. “You.” She’s looking at Max. “Don’t even think about getting a cup before I do.”

  “Honey trap. Honestly, is that still a thing? That’s old school Soviet stuff, man. It’s…an antique, isn’t it?” I remember learning about these risks at the farm. I don’t think I ever met anyone who had been turned using that method. I thought it was
too obvious and any good… awe dammit.

  “You are a sucker for a pretty face, dear.” Amanda seems nonchalant, stirring sugar into her newly filled mug.

  “I’m not that easy to…”

  “Totally are.” Max has decided to take sides.

  Amanda, sporting a very cute, yet evil, grin, adds, “So easy.”

  Something heavy and thick is washing over me. A crushing anxiety. Like a veil lowered over my face. Everything is small in my vision, shrinking away. I’m such a fool. I can’t hear anything other than the ringing in my ears. A long needle enters the right side of my head, somewhere along the Zygomatic process, maybe the Zygomatic arch. It’s traveling upward through the Sphenoid bone and entering my Frontal lobe. It isn’t real, I know. There is no needle. I am slipping away, nonetheless. Drifting back into my place among the emptiness. No. No, I’m not returning to the serenity of the nothing. I’m just falling. Again.

  The fog is lifting. I see white. It is calming and comforting in some strange way. For what may be the first time, I am not sad that I am not in the void. Have I outgrown the need for such power and authority? Is my brain healing? I’m fully aware of where I should be and why. The white, though, what is it? Focus.

  “Oh, my God, Mason. What happened?” Amanda’s face is a blur, but it is there. She is at a strange angle. How can she…oh. Yeah. I fell again.

  “I’m okay.” I’m lying. The back of my skull hurts, and I must have smacked my right elbow into something because it is now hurting.

  “Holy crap, man, your skull is taking a freaking beating. That can’t be good.” Max is now gazing down at me from my right. He seems to be studying my eyes. I think he is looking at my pupils, checking for dilation. “What happened?”