Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “How do you know her brother?” Jake asked Ian.

  “This is how.” Rachel tapped a few keys, then Thomas’s photo and FBI badge emerged on the screen. “I also believe this is how you were able to change your identity without leaving a paper trail. Correct?”

  Naomi met Ian’s gaze. “My brother is dead.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry to hear he’d died.”

  “He killed Thomas, and my parents, too.” She swiped at an errant tear. “What I say to you about Thomas cannot tarnish the excellent reputation he had with the FBI. Agreed?”

  “You have my word.”

  “After my parents were killed, Thomas and I collected their life insurance and our inheritance. A few days later, he made arrangements to give me a new name and new life. His superiors had no clue what he was up to. The only other person who knew was his girlfriend. She was also FBI, in an administrative capacity. With her help, Thomas was able to ensure that no one would know who I really was.”

  “Who’s the girlfriend?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Ian crossed his ankles and steepled his fingers. “I suppose not.”

  “The night my brother was murdered, they’d beaten his girlfriend and left her for dead.” Shame heated Naomi’s face as she recalled the once beautiful, vibrant and intelligent woman. “Because of me, because of the head injuries she sustained, she has the intellectual capacity and motor skills of a two-year-old.”

  “Oh, my God.” Rachel looked to the ceiling as if searching for words. When she met Naomi’s gaze again, she shook her head. “How many other people are you going to let him hurt?”

  “Enough,” Jake said, loud and firm. “I told Naomi we could help her. All that’s happening is a bunch of bullshit finger pointing.”

  “Come on, Jake.” Owen smacked a hand on the table. “In six minutes more people are going to die. She’s so damned worried about protecting herself that—”

  “Wrong,” Dante said, staring at her with patience and understanding. “She’s not protecting herself, she’s protecting Jake. Right, Naomi?”

  She caught Jake looking at her through her peripheral vision, then faced him. “He’s killed everyone I’ve loved. The only reason you’re alive is because he doesn’t know about you.” She didn’t bother to fight the tears. These people obviously didn’t think highly of her and, at this point, she didn’t care if they thought she was weak. The only one she did care about was Jake. “The bombings could have ended hours ago if you’d let me go to him.”

  Jake clenched his jaw. “Not an option.”

  “I disagree,” Ian said.

  The fury in Jake’s eyes should have had the other man shrinking back and shutting his mouth. Instead, Ian turned to Rachel. “Tell them what you’ve found.”

  Rachel’s fingers danced across the keyboard until a map of the United States replaced Thomas’s FBI badge. Red markers indicated the locations of the past six bombings. A black line had been drawn from north to south, running from Texas, through the Midwest and ending at the northern border of North Dakota. A rainbow of markers had been placed across the half of the country that hadn’t been targeted. Yet.

  “First, it’s obvious the bombings have been set up to go west to east.” Rachel stood and moved toward the screen. “Since the last bombing occurred in the Amarillo area, I’ve run a line through here under the assumption he’s not going to backtrack.” She pointed the black line separating the country. “These colored markers represent every variation of rose and wood I could find—cities, streets, counties, businesses, etcetera. Only…the pilots from Denver threw a wrench in my system. He didn’t use a place to send you a message. He used the pilots’ names. Do you have idea how many people have rose and wood in their names?”

  “What I find interesting is that he knew those pilots would be flying that particular plane at a specific time and day.” Owen rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “I also find it interesting that the assistant manager of the Rosewood Bar & Grill in San Francisco remembers getting a delivery a week ago that she’d later learned wasn’t authorized by the owner of the restaurant. Because the delivery took place during the lunch rush, she said she had the guy bringing in the produce take it right back to their cooler rather than one of her regular employees.”

  “Was the bomb detonated in the cooler?” Jake asked.

  “No. The storeroom next to it.”

  “Same goes for the Sun Valley Hotel and Conference Center,” Dante added. “Only this time it wasn’t produce, but linens. And the company responsible for the delivery is part of the hotel’s vendor list. Turns out the regular delivery guy and his truck have been MIA for six days.”

  “How do you know this?” Naomi asked, shocked they had information that hadn’t been aired on the news.

  “An FBI agent that’s part of the bombing task force has been giving us inside information,” Rachel answered. “We’ve worked with him in the past and he knows what we’re capable of doing here. He’s looking for an extra set of eyes and it doesn’t hurt that CORE is composed of agents with backgrounds in the military, FBI and CIA.”

  Owen cleared his throat.

  “Sorry,” Rachel added and rolled her eyes at Owen. “And the U.S. Secret Service.”

  While Naomi could understand this agent’s interest in using CORE’s help, at this point she had bigger concerns. “Did you tell him about me?”

  “No. Jake asked us to wait.” Ian rested his hands on the table. “Naomi, I have friends in very high places. We can’t wait any longer. If I give the name of the man behind this, they will investigate him.”

  Ian might know people, but she knew in her gut they wouldn’t back him. Not when the bastard was a personal friend to the Director of the FBI. “You’re wrong.”

  Ian sent her an arrogant smile. “Try me. Who is behind this?”

  “Oh, no,” Rachel gasped as she stared at her laptop screen.

  “What is it?” Ian asked without taking his focus off Naomi.

  “There’s been another explosion. This time in Leavenworth, Kansas.” Rachel looked up from the laptop. “During a funeral at Chapel Woods Presbyterian Church.”

  Naomi tensed and grabbed onto Jake’s hand. “Was anyone…how many people…” Unable to utter the words, she covered her mouth with her free hand. The killing needed to stop.

  Rachel blinked several times, then cleared her throat. “Authorities estimate that there was close to one hundred people in the church at the time of the explosion. I…it’s too soon to tell how many survived.”

  “Whose funeral?” Jake asked.

  “The woman’s name is Rose Michaels.”

  Dante stood and paced. “How in the hell could he plan that? How could he know the funeral would be held there, that her funeral would even take place?”

  Rachel looked back to the laptop and began typing. She stopped. “Because Rose Michaels sat on the church board as one of the elders.”

  Dante quit pacing. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but how could he predict…shit. When did the woman die?”

  “She was found Friday afternoon.” Rachel continued typing, then hovered her fingers over the keys and looked at the laptop screen. “Cause of death…natural causes. She was eighty-eight.”

  “Natural causes my ass,” Owen said and pushed out of the chair. He moved to the map Rachel had created and ran a hand through his hair. “Because these bombings are so frickin’ random, we can’t predict their next move, only how they managed to plant the devices. How much you want to bet the day Rose Michaels died, she had a delivery or her damned phone line inspected or some other horseshit?” He turned, placed his hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward. “Naomi, you have to stop this.”

  “Even if I tell you his name, he won’t stop until I go to him.”

  Jake squeezed her hand tighter. “You don’t know that.”

  Actually, she did. She knew the man, knew that he wouldn’t quit until he possessed her. He’d made that pa
inful fact clear even before he’d murdered her family.

  She drew in a shaky breath, squeezed Jake’s hand back and then turned to Ian. “Christian Hunnicutt.”

  Ian’s eyes widened, while Jake tensed. “The owner of BH-Xpress,” Ian said with disbelief.

  “The very same.”

  Ian drummed his fingers against the table. “I had lunch with Christian and the Director of the FBI, Martin Fitzgerald, last month. Do you realize—?”

  Naomi released Jake’s hand and stood. “I tell you his name and you still don’t believe me.” She looked down at Jake. “Forget it. I’ll handle this on my own.”

  “Wait,” Ian called as Jake grasped her wrist. “I believe you. But you’re right. No one else will. Hunnicutt is not only a personal friend to the Director of the FBI, he and the Vice President have a long family history. Hunnicutt has also been a big player on the political scene.” He glanced to each of his employees. “We’re on our own until we have the evidence we need.”

  “And how are we going to get that in time to stop the next bomb from exploding?” Rachel asked.

  Ian turned to Naomi, his eyes filled with regret and concern. “We’re going to give him what he wants.”

  *

  Norfolk, Virginia

  1:09 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

  Christian stormed into the warehouse apartment. Loosening his tie, he entered the great room, glanced around, saw Santiago in the kitchen and told the Columbian to pour him a Scotch. After crumpling up the tie and tossing it on the floor, he slumped into his throne chair.

  “That fucking bitch is finished,” he said and rubbed his hand along the mahogany lion’s head. How dare the news anchor cut him off when he’d been about to reveal to the world that another bombing had occurred. He’d planned for that moment. He’d spent hours practicing his speech and facial expressions in front of the damned mirror.

  With fury raging through him, he leaned forward and knocked the tray of refreshments off the table. “Fucking finished.”

  “I doubt she had a choice,” Ric said and took a seat on the sofa next to the smart brother.

  Santiago came forward and handed him the drink. “Do I look like a give a shit?” He drank the Scotch in two gulps, then threw the tumbler across the room. “And what the fuck did you just give me?” he shouted as glass and ice splintered against the wall and hardwood floor.

  “Johnny Walker Blue,” Santiago responded.

  “That swill is for the dicks I don’t like. Give me the good stuff, then clean up the mess.” After Santiago went into the kitchen, he rubbed a hand along his forehead and looked at the TV. He threw his arms in the air. “And, because we couldn’t get out of the building—my motherfucking building, I missed the next bombing.”

  He drew in a deep breath and glanced away from the TV. When he caught Harrison staring at him, he said, “What the hell are you looking at?”

  The smart brother quickly focused on the floor.

  “Again, that news anchor had no choice,” Ric reminded him. “As for missing the bombing…that was unfortunate.”

  “Unfortunate, he says.” Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, he leaned forward. “What would be unfortunate is if that bitch anchor loses her job or, worse yet, is found beaten to death in a back alley.”

  Ric grinned. “Indeed.”

  “After we’re through here today, I expect you to make it happen,” he said and took the fresh tumbler from Santiago.

  “Of course,” Ric responded and picked up the TV remote. “Meanwhile, would you like to hear about the latest tragedy that’s befallen the country?”

  He took a sip of the Scotch and waved a hand. “I heard enough on the drive over here. And, if I do say so myself, the execution was brilliant.” He turned to Santiago. “Excellent job, mi amigo.”

  “Gracias,” the Columbian responded and left the room.

  “Sixty-eight people died in that church,” Harrison said, keeping his focus on the floor.

  God, he’d love to kill the insolent prick. “And your point?”

  “I’d rather keep my eyes and tongue in my head.”

  Chuckling, he raised the glass to his lips. “Pussy,” he said and took a drink.

  The smart brother glared at him. “You’re killing people for a woman. What does that make you?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not killing people for her. I’m killing people to send her a message.” He set the empty tumbler on the table. “Think about it, smart brother. Think about every place that went up in flames so far today. Think about the places that haven’t. What do they all have in common? If you can figure that out, I promise you and your brother a special bonus once the job is complete.”

  “Bonus?” he asked with a mixture of disbelief and pitiful hopefulness. “What kind of bonus?”

  He’d like to fuck with Harrison and tell him the truth. That the bonus would be a swift death, but he refrained. If he admitted he would kill them, he’d lose his leverage. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”

  “Okay,” Harrison said. “Then can I have a pen and paper? I’d like to see if I can come up with the common link and get that bonus for me and Mickey.”

  “May I have a pen and paper?” he corrected Harrison.

  The smart brother gave him an eat shit and die look before asking, “May I have a pen and paper?”

  “Absolutely. Santiago, bring our friend a pen and pad of paper.”

  “Thank you,” Harrison said. “I’m wondering though…this message you’re sending, what if she doesn’t get it?”

  “She will.”

  “But what if she doesn’t?”

  He’d never given that option a thought. Although he hadn’t seen or spoken with Rose in eight years, he doubted the woman had changed. She had always cared too much and carried too much goodness inside her. Plus, she was smart. She’d make the connection he doubted Harrison would, and she’d want to stop him. During both her mother and father’s funerals, he’d taunted her and told her she was to blame for their deaths. When he’d hinted to killing her parents, he’d caught the guilt in her eyes and body language. The people who had died today would weigh heavy on her conscience. Moral and righteous, she’d want to do everything possible to stop him. Now if only the bitch would call.

  “She will,” he said with confidence. “If she doesn’t, I’ll just have to turn it up a couple of notches and be sure she does.”

  Ric laughed.

  “You find that funny?” he asked the sadist.

  Grinning, Ric said, “You’ve already outdone yourself. I can’t imagine what else you could do.”

  He half smiled. “Give me some time, I’m sure I could come up with something.”

  “But you only have six more hours left,” Harrison reminded him. “What if she doesn’t contact you before the final device is set off?”

  He hated to admit it, but Harrison was right. What if she hadn’t contacted him by seven o’clock this evening? Would he stop looking for her? Was Ric right? Could he somehow top the bombings and make his message clearer?

  When the Columbian brought Harrison the pen and paper, and the smart brother began writing, an idea occurred to him. If the bombings weren’t enough to draw her to him, he’d send her another message. Only this time, he wouldn’t be cryptic and use different combinations to come up with Rose Wood. This time, his intensions would not be mistaken.

  “Santiago, have Vlad bring Mickey to me.”

  Harrison looked up, the pen he held poised over the paper. “Why do you need Mickey?”

  “You’ll see. Actually, you can stop trying to come up with the connection. I’m going to give it to you. But don’t worry. Because you’ve given me yet another brilliant idea, I’ll still give you and Mickey that bonus.”

  When Harrison’s eyes widened and his forehead wrinkled with concern, he turned. Vlad half carried, half dragged Mickey into the great room. The dumb brother’s head rested against Vlad’s shoulder. Dried blood coated
his face and part of the silver duct tape covering his eye. The tourniquet around Mickey’s thigh was no longer bright red. Now that the blood had dried, it had turned a dark, reddish brown. Carmine, his wife had called it when she’d showed him an ugly dress she’d bought in a similar shade.

  “Santiago, bring two garbage bags and lay them on the floor.”

  “Look,” Harrison began, “it’s okay, we don’t need the bonus. I don’t need to know the connection.”

  “I’m fully aware.” He cocked his head. “But you were so concerned that my…lady friend wouldn’t get my message. Ric’s right. I don’t think I could top what I’ve done thus far today, at least not without giving it serious thought. What I can do is send a message that’ll be more…personal.”

  After the Columbian placed the garbage bags on the floor, he instructed Vlad to lay Mickey on top of them. “Santiago, I’d like to borrow your knife.”

  Smiling, the Columbian bent and retrieved the blade hidden within his right boot, then handed it to him.

  He eyed the three inch, razor-sharp double edge blade and its blood-groove. He’d given Santiago it as a gift, and had liked this particular knife. When used to stab or slash, the cut was extreme and quite effective. “Excellent. Vlad, expose his torso.”

  With a nod, the Russian knelt and shoved Mickey’s stained t-shirt up to his armpits.

  “Really, sir,” Harrison said, his voice shaky, nervous. “I’m sure she’ll contact you. Give her time. Maybe she doesn’t know how to reach you. Or maybe she hasn’t heard about what—”

  “Unless she’s dead, she knows.” Since Rose had changed her name, she’d remained completely out of reach and always one step ahead of him. During the first three years she’d dropped from existence, he’d thought she might have died. Suicide, he’d figured. After all, he had killed her parents and scarred her for life. But then five years ago he’d considered her brother. Initially, he hadn’t gone after him. The saying, ‘don’t eat where you shit’ had been quite applicable at the time.