“My mom was very overprotective. To the point of ridiculous. I always wanted to do everything the other kids did, like go to camp, stuff like that. But I never got to go. She was worried I’d get hurt. Or so she said. Maybe she knew something. Or maybe it’s my dad. But I’m screwed all the way to Sunday on that. I don’t even know his name.”
He thrums his fingers on the table. “Did your mom have any friends?”
“None that I know of. She never hung around other women.”
He mumbles something.
“What did you say?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he says, “She’s the typical profile of someone in the WPP.”
“What’s that?”
“Witness Protection Program. Changed ID, no friends, stays clear of everything. Maintains a low profile and completely flies under the radar. That’s your mom.”
What the hell is he talking about? That idea is so preposterous. I’d be more inclined to believe him if he told me she was the Tooth Fairy. “No. My mom wouldn’t be anything like that.”
“We’re going to San Angelo.” Just like that, he drops the bomb. He moves about the room, throwing things in a duffle.
“What do you mean?”
He turns and his eyes drill into mine. “How can I be any plainer? I need to check out your house. We need to go in the dead of night. When no one would suspect or see us.”
He taps his phone and a few minutes later, he’s chatting with someone named Huff.
“I need the Lady Belle in San Angelo.” Silence. “How long?” Silence. “Huff, that won’t work.” Silence, except for the drumming of his fingers on the table. Then his hand plows through his dark brown hair. If he’s not careful, he’s going to yank it out by the roots. “Can’t do that. I don’t want any rental records.” Now he stands and paces. “Then do that. Two stops should do you. You’re about a thousand plus miles away. Flight time of maybe six and a half hours. Bring someone. Your choice. You’ll need help. And then you’ll have to catch a flight home, unless you want to hang with me. Get there as soon as you can. We’ll be heading out shortly and I’ll be in touch in case we need an extraction somewhere else. Thanks, man.”
“What’s the Lady Belle?” I have a strong feeling I’m not going to like this.
“It’s a helicopter.”
“And why would you need that?”
“For a getaway. Do you not get what I’m telling you? Terrorists want you. I’m pretty fucking sure they want to take you or possibly even kill you. And they don’t play nice. Now get your stuff, because we’re heading to San Angelo.”
“I don’t have any stuff, remember?”
“Right. Hang tight for a minute. I need to talk with the team leader. I’ll be back in a moment.” He leaves and I think about everything. And then my mom’s words crash into me again. I don’t know him from the man on the moon. For all I know, he could be the terrorist, acting like the agent. I haven’t seen this team leader or anyone else. And he expects me to trust him. The only thing I trust right now are my mom’s words and myself. I decide it’s time for Gemini to skedaddle.
I quickly search for my apartment key and find it on the bathroom counter, along with my medicine. I grab them and anything else I think will help. I spy my wallet with credit cards and ID, my cell phone, and a bit of cash. I snag those too. Then I bust through the door and hit the hall at the closest I can get to a sprint.
The elevator isn’t my best option, so I head for the stairs and trip down them as fast as my Lortab-addled legs will carry me. My chest burns as my heart pounds. It’s obvious my lack of exercise coupled with my excessive reliance on drugs these last few months have taken their toll.
At last the end is in sight. When I shove the first floor door open, I run right into the concrete wall of Drexel.
“Going somewhere?”
My lungs are in such need of oxygen, I can’t answer. And this is from running down the stairs. So what does the bastard do? He spins me around and marches me right back up all those damn steps. After about three flights, he gives up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He must be in damn great shape because he runs the remaining stairs in twos. I’m breathing hard just watching.
We get back to his room and he slings me across the bed. He’s pissed. He paces in front of the bed, fists clenched, and it’s like he’s at war with himself.
His breathing slows. That’s when he rips into me.
“What the fuck are you doing? I’m risking my ass, trying to save yours, and you take off on me? What the hell do you call that? Huh? Tell me something, Gemini, because I’m about to blow a damn gasket here.”
My eyes dart between him and the door and he sees it. “Oh, so that’s how it is? Do you even know what those motherfuckers will do to you if they catch you? Do you even know how they will torture you to get answers? Answers you claim not to have? At least if you had some, they’d get what they wanted and would shoot you. But not this way. They’ll keep you alive, just to try again and again. You say you wanna die? Believe me, this is not the way to go. And trust me on this. I’ve experienced it firsthand, Gemini. It’s beyond your worst nightmare.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” My body shakes with fear.
He laughs and it’s ugly sounding. “The way I see it, you don’t have a goddamn choice.”
THE DUMBASS TRIED to leave. After everything I’ve just explained to her, she walks. Well, runs is more like it. And she says she wonders if I’m the terrorist. I throw all my IDs on the bed and tell her to inspect them closely.
“None of them are fake.” I call Colt. “Can you come here for a sec? I have a situation.”
“On my way,” Colt says.
Gemini is still lying on the bed watching me when Colt knocks on the door. I let him in and introduce him to Gemini.
“Will you verify what’s been going on here? She’s having some trust issues and we need to get the hell out of here. We’re losing precious time.”
Colt pulls out his FBI ID and hands it to her. Then he tells her who I am. After she thoroughly checks it over, she nods and thanks him.
“Satisfied now?” I can barely control my snide attitude. The whole thing is ridiculous. I’m trying to save her ass and she’s acting like I’m the perp.
“Yes, thank you,” she says. Colt nods and before he leaves, I ask him how the other two men are working out. He assures me all is well and wishes me luck on this jigsaw puzzle I’m trying to piece together.
Then I turn and give Gemini the most brutal look I can muster. I’ve interrogated all sorts of nasty guys for years and can make even the most seasoned criminal cringe. She takes it without flinching. Begrudgingly, I admit to myself, I’m impressed. She’s shown a lot of moxie, especially considering her condition.
“Let’s go.”
We head down to the parking garage below the hotel. As soon as we turn the corner to go to the car, she makes another break. This time I let her go. It’s her life and she can do what she wants with it. Who am I to stop her?
My mind screams at me to follow her. She won’t last ten minutes with those guys. But damn it, I can’t keep trying to convince her if she doesn’t want my help. And I don’t need this complication. I head back upstairs and as I unlock the door to the room she’s been in, I begin to think about her out there alone. She’s not thinking clearly and she’s been through a lot these past two days. Suddenly, I find myself turning around and breaking into a run for my car.
When I get back to the parking garage, I have a fucking mental debate on the merits of saving her ass. Why the hell should I care? Because she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, that’s why. What if she really is one of them? Come on, you fucktard, you know damn well by the looks on her face she isn’t. And that face of hers … those damn eyes, and that mouth. If I never see them again, I know they’ll haunt me forever, not knowing what happened to her. Mother-fuckery.
Inside my SUV, my hands slam against the steering whee
l. Now I have to figure out where she went. I hope to hell she doesn’t try to use a credit card because that will bring everybody and their brother down on her. My best guess on finding her is either the Dirty Sixth or her apartment. I pray she didn’t choose her apartment. It’s dusk now, so I drive the route and keep checking for her. No luck. When I get close to the club area, I park and wait for it to get dark. It’s much better for me to work at night, unnoticed. The moment that happens, I start to hoof it toward her apartment. My heart pounds in fear—I’m afraid something has happened to her and I’m surprised that I even care. Now I’m questioning my judgment on being out here alone, looking for her.
I cut through backstreets and yards of nearby homes. When I arrive at her building, I find a strategic place where I can watch for a few moments. It’s not long before I see movement in her window. Damn it! I check the status of the street and notice that the tails are gone, but that means nothing. Others were most likely assigned and are now inside, holding her hostage. A head count is what I really need to see how I can outmaneuver them.
There are two ways in and out of her place—the front door and a sliding glass door on a small balcony off her bedroom. I decide to get on the roof and drop down onto the balcony. I’m pretty much naked out here without backup. I’m not wearing any Kevlar and this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. There’s not enough time for me to make a call to Colt and wait on him to send anyone, so I move on ahead.
I kick myself for being so unprepared, but I check my firearms and my two knives. I’ll head for the tree on the left side of her building. It’ll give me good access to the roof. Once I’m up there, I’m careful to tread lightly. One can never tell how sturdy the roofs are in these places and I don’t want to trigger an alarm of any kind. It doesn’t take long before I’m in position to drop onto her balcony. I need to make sure I’m as quiet as possible.
When I drop down, I crouch. I want to remain unseen by anyone inside this apartment, plus I don’t want to raise alarms for any passersby. I peek in her slider and don’t see or hear a thing. When I try the door, it’s locked. Picking the lock is child’s play and when I hear that click, I let myself in. That’s when I hear their voices—they’re speaking Pashto, a prominent language of Afghanistan.
Then one of them says to her in English, “Tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything,” she says. I hear a crack and she cries out. They hit her. The slimy fucking bastard just smacked her. My blood boils. That’s my signal to move. I’m fluent in Pashto so I know they plan to get her out of Austin. They’re only waiting for instructions. There are three distinct voices so taking them down shouldn’t be a problem, depending on how effective they are at fighting. In my experience, they’re better with weapons than hand-to-hand combat.
They talk about their leader and what he wants—it’s some kind of list. One among them argues with the other. One wants to use harsher means with Gemini, but the other is afraid because their leader wants her alive.
“If you do not tell us what you know, you will not live to see another sunrise,” one says.
“Fine. Kill me. I don’t care.”
That comment sets off a huge argument, which gives me my break to get in there.
I speak to them in Pashto. “Good evening, gentlemen. Nice of you to drop by and pay us a visit. Unfortunately, the next time, you need to wait until you’re invited.” And then I break loose. It doesn’t take long for me to disable them, and I take great pleasure in it. Two are unconscious, but I leave the third awake so I can have a little chat with him.
In his native tongue, I ask, “Who is your leader?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, come. You know very well what I mean. Tell me everything you know and this will go a lot easier on you. You know, no waterboarding at a black site … that kind of thing.”
“Your government does not allow that anymore.”
“Wanna bet? Don’t answer the question and you’ll have a chance to find out.” I pick up my phone and dial Colt. I speak to him in Pashto so our new friend understands he’s in big trouble. “Hey, buddy, I have a group from Aali Imaam over at Gemini’s right now. Come on down and make your big arrest.”
“We were only told to get the girl. I don’t know anything else,” the terrorist whines.
“Right. Well, maybe you’ll remember this … never, ever hit a woman, fuckface.” I plow my fist into his nose, grab Gemini, and get the hell out of there. I don’t want her anywhere near this joint when the feds show up.
She’s over my shoulder, again, as I run through yards and alleys until I get to my car and toss her inside. This is looking more and more like it’s becoming a routine with her.
I don’t stop for anything until we’re on the highway. After a few minutes, I spot a place where I can pull over.
Reaching across the console, my hand curls around the neckline of her shirt and I pull her close to my face, nose to nose. I’m so furious with her, I grit my teeth and say, “Do you think this is all for shits and giggles? Because let me be very clear. It’s not. They play for fucking keeps. But mostly they kill. Without im-fucking-punity. What about ‘they’re after you’ did you not understand? Because I’m about done with your shit. I’m asking myself right now, why the hell I even care. But then I knew you’d be in trouble. I just knew it. And I knew they’d take you. My fucking conscience wouldn’t let that sit with me. So now you’re risking my life too. And I don’t have time for this shit. Are we clear?” I release her shirt and push her away.
“Yes. All clear. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. That you were lying to me, I guess. Why else did you handcuff me?”
It takes several deep breaths for me to calm down. “When someone’s name is associated with the most lethal group of terrorists in the world, that’s how we operate. That’s what I was trained to do. Does 9/11 ring even the tiniest bell with you? I’m sorry if you didn’t like my methods, but until we confirmed you were who you said you were, we had to assume you were one of them. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.
She has the damn audacity to smart off to me. I feel myself turning into a raging maniac. “Don’t you dare be a fucking asshat. Not after what I just went through to get your ass out of there.” I rifle through the center console and toss her tissues for her bloodied nose. “Here.” Then I throw her a baseball cap. “Put this on. Pull it down low over your eyes. And try to get your hair up in a bun or something. Your damn hair and eyes attract way too much fucking attention. We may have to shave it or cut and bleach it blond.” That’s the last thing I want her to do. A bleached blond only draws more attention, but I want to shock her. I know it’s harsh, but I’m trying to pay her back. It doesn’t work.
“Can you pull this duct tape off my wrists?”
“Not until I know you’ll behave.” That elicits a good loud huff.
“You didn’t tell me you spoke Arabic,” she says.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you everything about me? That’s not how this works. And it wasn’t Arabic. It was Pashto, the native language of the Afghanis. They also speak Dari or Farsi and I’m fluent in those as well. I speak Arabic too.”
“Whoa. Where did you learn all that?”
I glance at her for a second and find her staring at me. “I was in the Special Forces, stationed in the Middle East. Give me your hands.” I jerk the tape off her wrists. She bends down and pulls the stuff off her ankles.
“You have any scissors in here? And more tissues?”
“I think there might be some in the console. Should be more tissues in there too. And don’t try to stab me with the scissors.” I point to the storage console between us. She finds the tissues and wipes her nose. It’s still bleeding from their blows.
“Funny.”
“Funny is the last damn thing I’m trying to be, after all the shit you’ve pulled. How can I trust you now?”
“Oh, that’s a good one, coming from someone who’s held me captive for the last two days.”
“I only did what I had to in order to figure you out. And I still haven’t got that part done. You’re a real fucking mystery.”
She shrugs. “Well, we’re even then, because so are you. And you expect me to trust you when there are men out there who maybe want to kill me.”
It’s hard to argue with that. “Is your nose broken?” She’s still holding a tissue against it.
“I don’t know. It hurts a little.”
Suddenly, she pulls her hair in front of her and cuts a chunk off.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I’m shocked.
“You said to cut my hair, so I’m following orders.”
Jesus Christ! “But you can’t even see in here.”
“I can see well enough. Besides, what does it matter?”
Oh God. Her hair is magnificent and I don’t want her to cut any more off.
“Stop! Don’t cut any more. If it’s too short, you can’t change your appearance like you can when it’s long.” She’s hacked off about four inches.
She gives me an odd look and nods. “I’m sure it’s all crooked now.”
“We can even it up later.” She is so nonchalant about the whole thing, I can’t help but ask. “Why the hell did you go and do that?”
She huffs, “Because you said …”
“I know what I said, but most women would balk at the mere suggestion of cutting their hair and here you go, chopping it off without a clue as to what it’ll look like.”
She blows out her breath and is back to massaging her head. “You’re going to have to stop talking out of both sides of your mouth.”
That comment grabs my full attention and then she screams, “Watch out!” I’ve let my attention wander away from the road.
“Fuck!” I slam on the brakes. She’s addled me. I need to get a damn grip here. Now I’m rubbing my temples.
“You need to pay attention to your driving.” Her admonishment almost makes me laugh. A smile tugs the corner of my mouth.
“You need to quit distracting me!”
Tragic Desires Page 6