by Michael Todd
He nodded. "Hey, I'll make sure that none of our security pals are coming this way."
The other man remained focused on the screen as the operative stepped out of the room and closed the door before he moved down the hall. He positioned himself closer to the stairs and elevators so he could keep an ear out for anybody approaching.
"Are you alone?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I know we didn't have the kind of relationship where we can talk about things before," she said tentatively. "But…well, I think we've grown closer over the past few weeks, and if you feel like the whole situation needs to be talked about… Well then, maybe...you know."
"I appreciate it, Anja," he said softly and leaned against the wall. "It's just a thing, I guess."
"Wow, that's a little too specific for me." She chuckled but sounded oddly nervous.
He smiled in response. "Yeah... It's…uh, the whole Zoo animal thing. Not that I have a phobia of Zoo animals or anything. You know what I mean, right?"
"Right, a monster straight out of the Zoo is a little hard to handle," she agreed.
"It's not only that," Savage said. "I don't want to say something and come off as a coward. I stayed clear of the Zoo for a reason. I can handle humans and the atrocities that come with them. Shooting people isn't difficult once you realize how terrible they are. But the animals...that’s a whole other ballgame. Not only is it terrifying, but if I wanted to shoot animals all day, I wouldn't have gone into the military."
"I think I get that." He recognized the background noise that he had come to associate with her leaning back and the seat groaning loudly in protest. "It's a whole different ballgame."
"It's probably stupid," he grumbled and folded his arms. "But combat is a mental game more than anything else, and I would be out of my depth. It's…different. There's something in me that makes me feel like there would be a block. Kind of like a writer's block, but for shooting things."
"Oh, well, that makes sense." She didn’t sound even a little sarcastic, which worried him more than he would have cared to admit. "Anderson's calling you back into the office."
"Right." He straightened quickly. "Thanks for the talk. And thanks in advance for keeping it between you and me."
"That depends. Will you buy me something pretty for my silence?" she asked as he moved toward the door.
"Well, I won't buy a bullet with your name on it," he offered.
"Ah, the gift that keeps on giving." The hacker sighed. "Deal."
He nodded and stepped into the office where Anderson was still working on the computer.
"Were you talking to yourself?" the former colonel asked and looking at Savage, who merely pointed at his ear in response. "Oh, right. Anyway, I finished transferring all the files to Anja and thought you might want a quick look at this."
The operative circled behind the desk to see what the other man stared at. A picture of a man displayed on the screen, older and dressed in a golfing outfit. He was talking to someone they recognized very easily.
"The big guy from the bar—what was his name?" Savage asked.
"Mr. Kelly. And do you recognize this guy he's talking to?"
Savage leaned in and narrowed his eyes. "He does look familiar. I think he was at one of the board meetings. Older guy, sticks to himself for the most part."
"Charles Stafford, one of the oldest members of the board. He’s been around forever, almost since the founding."
"So that's our elusive Charles, huh? I don't know why, but I thought he would be taller."
"Kelly over there is tall enough for the both of them," Anderson pointed out. "My question is, why does some low-level government accountant who plays middle-man to shady deals for extra cash have this picture on his computer?"
"Blackmail material?" Savage asked with a shrug. "Kelly has to have some shady connections. Putting those two together can't be the best situation for Charles, not with how the guy is attached to his squeaky-clean image."
"We already know that Charles is the man behind this. We now also know his connection to Kelly—which links him to our friend Chance. We should be able to handle him.”
"Well, handling him is one thing," Anderson pointed out. "Lifting the price he has on my head is quite another. We need to have a game plan that might kill two birds with one stone."
"That we do. But for now, we have what we need, right?"
"I have it all here," Anja confirmed. "You boys are good to go, and the security guys don't do their rounds for another half hour at least. Get out of there."
"Back into the sewers we go." Anderson forced a chipper tone as he shut the computer down.
Charles looked up as Kelly stepped back into his office for the second time in as many days—which was annoying enough on its own, but it was also necessary. There wouldn't be time for anyone to deliver these kinds of messages, and Kelly's voice was so unnerving on the phone.
The man tilted his head in query when his host moved to the mini fridge in the corner of his office, retrieved a bottle of water, and poured some into a glass. He pulled a small tablet from inside his coat pocket and dropped it inside.
"The damn motherfuckers are giving me ulcers," he hissed by way of an explanation as he sipped the medicine-infused water before he returned his stare to the giant of a man standing across from him.
"You called me," he said and folded his massive arms across his equally huge chest. "What can I do for you, Mr. Stafford?"
"They got to that dumbass Haynes somehow," Charles said with a significant glare. "He was both stupid and paranoid, a very dangerous combination. Apparently, he thought he might cover his ass by collecting incriminating evidence of our work together."
"How do you know about it?"
"You have your contacts and I have mine," he said dismissively. "But in the interests of collaboration, let's say I have an IT person who owes me a favor or two. I collect by making sure he keeps an eye on Haynes and other persons of interest. He has installed spyware on the man’s system—I don’t understand the ins and outs of it but it’s apparently cutting-edge, undetectable, and monitors his usage and communication. That was how we discovered the evidence he has compiled. More importantly, however, he received an alert of unscheduled usage. It appears that someone—and we have to assume our particular someones—raided his office after hours and copied files from his computer."
"Is security aware of this?" Kelly asked.
"I do have a pet security guard—low on the food chain but eager to please—whom I approached. Security is blissfully unaware of any intrusion, but it would appear that their footage is conveniently missing." He took another sip from his glass and grimaced before he returned to his desk. "It's them. No doubts about it. The only question is what the fuck are you doing to fix this problem?"
"My options are limited by your budget," the other man pointed out.
"Double the money," Charles snapped. "No, triple it. I want every person with a gun and a need for money to hunt these fuckers now." What was a paltry three million in the bigger scheme of things?
His visitor nodded. "I'll handle it personally, Mr. Stafford."
He watched the man leave and glared at the glass in his hand. He would give anything for it to be bourbon, but his doctor had told him that alcohol would only make the ulcers worse. He needed to reduce his intake of fat, alcohol, and stress.
Well, so far, it was two out of three.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The smell would never wash off.
Savage scowled at the clothes he'd placed in the bags the hotel provided for guests who requested dry cleaning. He wished the people involved all the luck in the world, but he wondered if they wouldn’t simply throw the garments into an incinerator and eat the charges that came with him trying to get his clothes back.
He wouldn't blame them. The fact that he'd worn a rubber suit throughout the trip somehow hadn't helped with the smell. The only problem, of course, was that he'd worn his body armor underneath, a
nd that couldn't be dry cleaned or scrubbed. While the fewer fibers would make the smell less pungent, it was still there.
From his fairly limited experience with the gear—and the hasty glance he’d had at the manual back at the warehouse—the armor was strictly wash by hand, which he had started to do in the shower. It smelled of cheap yet strong motel soap now, but time would tell if their adventures down under would have a lasting effect on it.
Thankfully, he'd brought spare clothes that didn't smell of toilet, which he quickly pulled on. Anderson needed time off, a fair amount of venting, and a little alcohol, and damned if he wouldn’t get it to him.
He stepped out of his room and moved to the one across from his, where he knocked three times on the door.
His boss opened it and narrowed his eyes when he saw him standing there. "What's up? Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I thought you might appreciate going out for the night, getting your drink on, and lightening up."
"I think I'd rather get some sleep."
"Come on, man." He fixed the man with a firm look. "It’s been a stressful few days. I say we get the fuck out of this depressing hotel and find someplace to have a quiet drink and something to eat. Nothing fancy but enough to kick back and relax a little. It’ll do us both good to do something halfway normal for once, and if we keep a low profile, it’ll be safe enough."
Anderson considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, I'm sold. I'm just...I need to get some clothes on."
"What were you—no, you know what, I don't want to know." He closed his eyes and shook his head vehemently.
"I was taking a shower, asshole," the man snapped. "Meet me downstairs in the car."
“Yeah, right. I’m your babysitter, remember? That means I sit until the baby’s ready.”
Anderson slid into their booth and set two beers on the table. "So you're telling me that you wouldn't be fit for combat in the Zoo? Is that it? How does that add up?"
"It's doubt, man," Savage replied and drew his beer over. "I'm not sure that if I stood up against one of those monsters, I'd be any good. And that doubt is enough for me to realize I might not have what it takes to be good enough in the Zoo."
"You took on that critter in the sewer well enough," he pointed out.
"It was reflex. I simply didn’t have time to think about it and had the gun out. When I have time to think about it, the doubt kills me. The point is, I like animals better than I like humans. That's why I'm so much better at killing people."
"You like me well enough, right?"
"There are always exceptions that prove the rule. I like Anja well enough too."
The ex-colonel chuckled softly. "So, is that the reason why you wanted to come out for a drink? To talk about your feelings?"
"Hey, you were the one who asked why she wanted me outside for a minute," he replied. "No, the drink is because...well, you seem like you've had a rough time lately, and I thought you might want to take some time to unwind."
He smirked and shifted into a comfortable slouch. "Don't think I don't appreciate it. And yeah, I do miss Ivy and Damon. I was getting used to being around them a lot more lately, but it's not like I don't enjoy what we're doing here."
"Well, the point is we both need to relax. Here's to unwinding." He raised his glass and clinked it softly against his companion’s. "That means no talking about the job, no reminiscing about any old days, or dreaming about times gone by. We drink and let the night play out. One night with nothing on the agenda, what do you say? People think you're having a vacation anyway, so you might as well enjoy it a little. As long as we don’t lose sight of why we’re out here ducking from all those idiots who want you dead, we should be golden."
"Yeah, whatever you say. Let's finish this beer and we'll see how it goes from here, what do you say? I didn't feel like getting all heavy with the emotions tonight anyway."
"That sounds suspiciously like a plan."
They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying the drink and the quiet ambiance. Halfway through the mug, Anderson jumped a little before he pulled a vibrating phone out that displayed a blocked number.
"Should I answer it?" he asked. Savage had already finished his beer and his fingers tapped on the empty glass as he considered the question.
“Anja said she encrypted our lines, so it should be safe. Either way, keep the call short, eh?"
He nodded and pressed the accept call button. "Hello? Oh…hi, baby. It's so good to hear your voice again."
"Baby?" Savage mouthed.
"Ivy," Anderson spelled out silently.
"Speak of the devil," the operative said a little louder than he should have.
"Oh, yeah, that's Savage...what? No, we were talking about you and then you called, that's all," the man said quickly and defensively as he flipped his companion a middle finger and earned a broad grin
"Should I leave you two lovebirds alone?"
Anderson didn't answer verbally. He was clearly already deep in conversation with his wife, a clear enough indication for the other man to get lost. Savage grinned, picked his mug up, and bowed his head in playful surrender. He teased but he was happy that Anderson was talking to his family again. It made him feel all warm and gooey inside although he honestly didn't know why.
Sure, joke about it. That'll make all your own problems disappear.
He drifted to the bar to allow his boss to have his conversation without any more distractions. He needed another drink anyway. It had been a while since he'd got his drink on properly, but with his responsibility and the ever-present threat hanging over Anderson, he’d have to shelve his desire to simply break loose for another time.
In some respects, he was a bit of an alcoholic and was willing to admit it. He could function without it—and had if the past couple of weeks had been any indication—but that didn't mean he would turn the vice down when it came his way. He was sure it was a healthy attitude to have. As long as he didn’t let it interfere with what was really important, that was okay.
Savage reached the bar and placed the empty mug on the counter while he waited for the bartender. The man was talking to another patron—a woman in her late twenties by the look of it. He didn't want to stare, but the expensive jewelry around her neck and wrists didn't seem to match the jean skirt, flannel shirt, and Stetson she wore, although the richly tanned boots did.
His habitual scan of his surroundings soon revealed, based on the outfit, that she was a part of the bachelorette party that occupied most of the far side of the room. They weren't being too loud, but the night was still young and they weren't that deep in their cups yet. Besides, this seemed like it was only the starting point for the party. Strip clubs had to be on the agenda.
The tender finally realized he had other patrons waiting for him at the bar and tore himself away from the woman with a nod at Savage.
"A lager, thanks," he replied with a smile. The man nodded and pulled one of the mugs from the shelf behind him. He frowned a little as he watched the woman he'd been hitting on move down the bar toward Savage with interest in her eyes.
"Look, honey," she said, and her voice milked the Alabama accent. He honestly couldn't tell whether it was real or not. “I'll be honest with you. I'm thinking about breaking my one rule in a bar and buying you a drink, but it'll have to be a hell of a lot stronger than a lager."
He turned to look fully at her. She didn't look quite drunk enough to make him consider calling her a cab rather than accepting her offer. And he'd gotten involved with far less classy women over the past month or so. The least he could do was let her buy him that drink. It would be rude to refuse.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he replied as the bartender placed his drink on the counter and he paid the man for it. "I'm starting off light with a lager, to warm myself up. But if you're buying, you pick the juice, and we'll see if it makes us both happy."
She tilted her head and smirked before she turned to the bartender. "I'll have another Pina Colada, a
nd if you could get this gentleman a..." She paused and made a show of studying him. "He'll have an Old Fashioned."
Old Fashioned was always a safe bet, he mused. It was good enough that nobody disliked it, and it wasn't fruity enough to make people turn their noses up.
She couldn't be the only one playing the game, though, he thought. "Oh...you're good," Savage said with a chuckle. She winked and leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear.
"You have no idea how good I am, sugar," she murmured softly, and he chuckled as her hand drifted across his chest to find the firm planes under his shirt.
"Savage," he whispered. “You can call me Savage.”
“I’ll bet I can. And you can call me Caroline.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Caroline.” He caught her hand as it trailed suspiciously low on his torso.
“Hey, Bea, come over. We need to toast,” one of the women at the party called, and “Caroline” turned to scowl at her friends.
“I’ll be waiting right here…Caroline.” Savage winked and took a sip of his beer.
“Ma’am?” the bartender asked as she moved away from the bar.
“Put them on the tab,” she called over her shoulder and jogged to where a toast actually meant a line of shots.
On the tab, he thought. She was buying him drinks and putting them on her party’s tab. He had to admire that kind of thriftiness.
The tender eyed him, almost as if to make sure that he didn’t actually drink until she returned. There was an odd kind of loyalty between bartenders and their patrons, and he had to respect that. He raised his beer to the man before he took a nice long draught.
“Hey there, honey!” a woman said a moment before she slapped him on the shoulder. He almost dropped his beer and coughed discreetly when a little went down the wrong pipe.
“Honey?” he asked. A short, perky redhead sporting all the right kinds of curves grinned cheerfully. “Isn’t that a little familiar?”
“I plan on getting all kinds of familiar with you, big guy.” She tilted her head to study him with avid interest. “Do you feel like buying me a drink?”