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

by Kristine Mason

  When Rose had first disappeared, he and the Director of the FBI, Martin Fitzgerald, had just become acquainted and their relationship was still tentative. Three years later, they’d gone from mere acquaintances to friends. During the many luncheons and dinners he shared with Martin, he’d learned quite a bit about the FBI. When he’d heard about a case Thomas Wood had been working on, he’d swooped in and took advantage. Ric had tortured the man and his girlfriend, making it look as if the criminals Thomas had been after had done the job. But neither of them gave up any information on Rose. Well, the girlfriend probably would have, only Ric had taken her beating a little too far. He’d rendered her unconscious to the point they’d all assumed she’d die. She hadn’t, but due to the results of the beating, she would have been better off dead.

  The day of Thomas’s funeral, he’d disguised himself and had made an appearance hoping Rose would show. She hadn’t. With no other family, no close friends and no lovers, he no longer had any leverage with her.

  He looked down at Mickey and smiled.

  He had plenty of leverage now.

  “Harrison, come here.”

  When the man didn’t move, Santiago grabbed his arm and forced him to his feet. Harrison’s eyes were wild with fear as the Columbian gave him a shove. He stumbled forward, righted himself and stood above his brother.

  “How’s your handwriting?” he asked the smart brother.

  Harrison frowned. “I…it’s okay. I’m better at typing.”

  “Unfortunately you won’t be able to type what I’m going to dictate to you. So, I suggest you do your best to make your letters legible. I’d hate for you to have to rewrite the information I’m about to give you.”

  Nodding, his hair falling into his eyes, Harrison turned slightly toward the table. “I’ll grab the pen and paper.”

  “No need. I have your writing instrument right here,” he said and tapped the blade against his palm for emphasis.

  Harrison darted his gaze from the blade to his brother’s bared chest and stomach. He slid his eyes closed and slowly shook his head. “Please. Don’t.”

  “I haven’t even told you what you’re to do and you’re already begging me to stop?”

  Harrison opened his eyes. The grief and hatred in them only made him want to taunt the man even more. The hatred he could accept. Many men hated him for good reasons. The bellyaching, childish sadness he could do without. That was an emotion foreign to him, along with regret and guilt. How could he feel sad or remorseful even if the resulting outcome hadn’t been what he’d planned? From a very young age he’d learned that no risk meant no reward. Sometimes those risks had paid off, while other times they hadn’t. The risks he’d taken today, planning terrorist acts against his country, against his own business would yield his reward. Rose would come to him. And, yet again, the smart brother would help send her another message.

  “Do you believe in fate?” he asked Harrison.

  The man nodded.

  “I don’t. A real man makes his own destiny. There is no God up in the heavens predetermining our lives.” He touched Harrison’s shoulder and forced him to kneel at his brother’s side. “Everything in our lives comes down to choice. Mickey chose to accept this job and you did, too. How you handle the assignment and everything that comes with it, is for you to decide.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to Ric. “Put a gun to Harrison’s head.”

  “Gladly,” the sadist responded and did as he’d been instructed.

  Harrison’s breathing grew labored. Sweat coated his face, causing his hair to stick to his forehead. Mickey, on the other hand, lay prone and, if not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, appeared dead.

  Not yet, but soon.

  “Here.” He nudged Harrison with his knee. “Take it.”

  Harrison looked at the knife he offered. When he didn’t take it, Ric shoved the barrel of the gun against his temple.

  “Do as you’re told,” Ric prompted him.

  Harrison took the knife and, for the briefest moment, he swore he caught calculation in the other man’s eyes. He smiled. The smart brother wanted him dead.

  Not today.

  “You have a knife in your hand and a gun against your head. If you so much as direct that blade at me, Ric will first blow off your ear, then he’ll put a bullet in your brother’s head. When he’s done doing that, Santiago will slice off your other ear and maybe your balls.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see just how pissed off I am. Do you understand?”

  Harrison nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, you don’t have to write much, just two short words, so you can start slightly below Mickey’s chest.”

  The smart brother kept the knife at his side and used his other arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. He raised the blade, hovered it over Mickey’s stocky midsection, then blew out a deep breath and sat on his heels. “I can’t,” he said and hung his head. “He’s my brother. I can’t do this to him.”

  “Remember The Little Engine that Could. Tell yourself, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’”

  Ric and Santiago both laughed. He did, too, and added a “choo-choo” for the hell of it.

  After the laughter died down, Harrison said, “And if I don’t do this?”

  “I’ll have Santiago slice off both of your ears and then I’ll force you to watch as he carves a message into your brother’s stomach. The choice is yours. Either way, the message will be written and sent. It’s up to you to decide if you’re willing to man up and keep your ears.”

  Harrison focused on his brother’s torso and mumbled something that sounded like a prayer. He then straddled his brother, and with his hand shaking, raised the blade over Mickey’s midsection. “What’s the first letter?”

  “R.”

  The smart brother wiped his eyes with his free hand, drew in a deep breath, then smashed his lips together. He placed the tip of the blade against Mickey’s flesh and then quickly pulled back. A small drop of blood swelled from the tiny cut.

  “I can appreciate why you don’t want to do this, but I don’t appreciate when people waste my time. The clock is ticking. You have another bomb to set off in forty minutes. So I’m going to be generous and give you ten minutes to write the message. If you don’t then we’ll go back to slicing and dicing your ears. Got it?” He nodded to Vlad and Santiago. “Vlad, get down on the floor and hold Mickey’s arms, Santiago, you take his legs. If Harrison’s handwriting isn’t good to begin with, it’ll be worse if his brother starts moving around.”

  Once he was confident Mickey was secure, he said, “Proceed.”

  Harrison sliced into his brother’s flesh. Mickey’s good eye flew open and he let out a scream. Sucking in his stomach, he raised his head and tried to flail his arms and legs. Vlad and Santiago kept him prone.

  “Continue,” he ordered Harrison.

  The smart brother cried and sniffled as he carved the rounded part of the R. Blood oozed down the side of Mickey’s torso and, thankfully, onto the garbage bag. “Not too deep,” he warned him. “You don’t want to kill the messenger.”

  Ric chuckled. “No pun intended.”

  He grinned. “Of course not.”

  By the time Harrison completed the R, he’d had enough of Mickey’s girly screams. He moved toward the corner of the room and grabbed the large metal vase setting on the bookshelf. The thing was heavy and likely weighed about fifteen pounds. It should also do the trick.

  Within a few strides, he stood over Mickey. “Let’s make this easier on all of us,” he said and careful not to hit Vlad, he whacked the dumb brother’s head with the vase.

  Other than Harrison’s crying, the room was now blessedly silent. “Ah, much better. Vlad, Santiago, you can release Mickey. Vlad, get a towel and wipe off some of the blood. Harrison needs to work with a clean area.”

  After Vlad grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen, he sopped up the blood.

  “Very good. Harrison, continue with an O.�
�

  As the smart brother sliced into Mickey’s flesh, Ric’s cell phone rang. Keeping his gun against Harrison’s temple, Ric pulled the phone off his belt clip and glanced at the caller ID. The sadist grinned and looked at him. “Could be her.”

  “Santiago, trade places with Ric and put your gun to Harrison’s head,” he ordered, then he turned to Ric. “Answer it.”

  When the sadist did, his smile grew and he gave him a single nod. “Hello, Rose,” Ric said. “I’m so glad you got the messages.”

  Utter satisfaction rushed through Christian’s veins. Since he no longer needed to use Mickey as a human billboard, he should tell Harrison to stop. Instead, he’d wait until Ric completed the call. “Harrison, the next two letters are an S and an E.”

  He’d find out what the bitch had to say, first.

  Chapter 11

  CORE Offices, Chicago, Illinois

  12:26 Central Daylight Saving Time

  NAOMI CLUTCHED THE phone. Ric Mancini. God, she hated the heartless bastard. Just hearing the smugness in his tone brought back the many unwanted memories she’d tried, and failed, to purge over the years. Some wounds never healed and, thanks to what Ric had done to her on Christian’s behalf, she had the scars to prove it. “Yes. I got the messages,” she managed, the sound of his voice sickening her.

  “Good. You had us worried. We were in the process of sending you another one.”

  “Please, don’t,” she begged. “Enough people have—”

  “Where are you calling from? Are you alone?”

  “Yes,” she lied and looked at Jake, who sat next to her with one headphone resting against his ear. Rachel was doing the same, while Ian, Owen and Dante sat at the edge of their seats. “I’m in Chicago.”

  “Chicago? That’s too bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will take several hours for you to come here. Lots can happen between now and then.”

  “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t—”

  “It’s been too long, Rose. How soon can you be in Norfolk?”

  “I’ve already chartered a jet and can leave within the next forty-five minutes. I think I can be there sometime after three,” she responded, giving Ric the version of the plan the CORE agents had come up with before she and Jake had even arrived.

  “Excellent. It’s been a sad day for this country. Seeing you will make it right.”

  Relief washed over her. “Does this mean there won’t be any more messages?”

  “I didn’t say that. Until you’re here, the messages are going to continue.”

  “But—”

  “Where will you be flying into?”

  She gave Ric the name of the private airstrip where Ian had arranged for the jet to land.

  “Good. Do you remember the Columbian, Santiago?” Ric asked, and she fought a shiver. She most certainly remembered Christian’s vicious bodyguard and his fondness for knives. “He’ll pick you up. And, Rose, I suggest you come alone.”

  She swallowed. “I’ve been alone and on my own for eight years. Thanks to—”

  Ric hung up on her. She dropped her cell phone on the table and pulled the wire to the headphone out of the jack.

  “Who were you talking to?” Ian asked.

  “That was Ric Mancini”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “BH-Xpress’s COO? Seriously?”

  “Yes, and according to him, Christian’s going to keep setting off bombs until he sees me.” The bastard.

  “Christian went through all of this trouble to force you to him,” Owen said. “I wonder why he didn’t speak with you. How do we even know Christian is behind this? Mancini never even mentioned his name.”

  She caught the skepticism in his tone and tensed. These people didn’t know Christian the way she did. If the bastard could have someone wipe his ass, he would. “Because he loves making other people do his dirty work. And don’t you dare doubt that Christian isn’t behind the bombings. If Ric could have killed me eight years ago, he would have. Trust me on that. The man has no use for me.”

  Ian shoved his chair back and stood. “We have to move out.”

  “No.” Jake kept a protective hand on Naomi’s arm. He hadn’t wanted her going to Hunnicutt in the first place, but after seeing the fear in her eyes and hearing the threatening tone in that piece of shit Mancini’s voice, there was no way in hell she was going to Norfolk. “I don’t like your plan. Come up with a new one.”

  “It’s the most effective,” Dante said, his confident tone belying the concern in his eyes.

  “Maybe so, but Naomi isn’t going in as bait.”

  “She has no choice,” Ian reminded him. “We can’t storm in to his offices and demand that he turn himself, and all of the evidence against him, into the authorities.”

  “Why the hell not?” Jake tightened his hold. “We fly down there, when this Santiago comes to pick up Naomi, we put a gun to his head and tell him to take us to Hunnicutt.”

  “And do you really think Hunnicutt is going to simply hand over incriminating evidence?” Ian asked and looked to Dante. “Prep Naomi.”

  Jake stood and forced Naomi to her feet. “No. We need to talk first.”

  “Jake,” Dante warned. “The charter is going to be ready in less than forty-five minutes and we need ten of them to get to the airfield. I’ll need time to plant the GPS chip on Naomi.”

  His skin crawled at the mention of the GPS chip. Dante’s brilliant idea didn’t work for him and he couldn’t believe Naomi would go through with it. “Before you rip a tooth out of her head and replace it with your chip, we need to talk.” He looked to Naomi. “Now.”

  Ian nodded. “Make it quick.”

  Jake dragged Naomi from the evidence and evaluation room, then down the hall to his small office. Once inside he slammed the door shut and locked it. “You’re not doing this.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and straightened. “He’s given me no choice.”

  “Bullshit. There are other ways to handle Hunnicutt.”

  “You mean like storming off a plane and threatening Santiago? I might’ve not seen or spoken to Christian in eight years, but I know the man and I know the Columbian. He won’t turn on him. If he did, he’d be dead. That’s how Christian operates. I’d think after what he’s done today, you’d realize that by now.”

  “Screw that, and screw not going to the Feds or Homeland. No one is that untouchable.”

  “Okay, so if Ian makes those calls and those agencies contact Christian, he’ll know I’m working with CORE. Just imagine what he could do to you and your fellow agents.” She cocked her head to the side. “How far along is Rachel? Six months? Christian is sick and twisted. If he knew Rachel and Owen were married, he’d keep Owen alive and make him watch as his pregnant wife was tortured.”

  Jake’s stomach soured with nausea. “Jesus, Naomi,” he muttered, and ran a hand through his hair.

  She moved forward and latched onto his arms. “He doesn’t care about anyone or anything but himself. It’s always about him and his objectives. I know what he’s capable of, Jake. I’ve seen him in action, I’ve experienced…”

  He wrapped an arm around her lower back and drew her closer. “Experienced what?”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “There’s something new.” The anger and resentment he’d been trying to keep at bay resurfaced. “What pisses me off is that you won’t talk to me about any of this, but you’re willing to tell a bunch of strangers. If the bombings hadn’t happened and we started seeing each other again, were you ever going to tell me anything about your past?” he asked, wondering how long she planned to string him along with her lies.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “No.”

  He looked away and let her go. The last shred of trust he’d been stupidly hanging on to melted away. He had his answer. Time to put an end to the bombings, make sure Naomi survived so she could go on with her life
and then move on with his.

  Without her.

  “Let’s go,” he said, turning for the door. “You have a plane to catch.”

  She tightened her grip on his arms. “Stop. Please,” she said with a catch in her breath.

  He faced her. Damn, he hated it when she cried. He also couldn’t stand the desperation in her voice. Even more, he detested being lied to, especially by a woman he’d loved and trusted.

  “You’ve made yourself crystal clear. There’s nothing more—”

  “Do you have any idea what my life’s been like? Since I met Christian I’ve lost my family, my identity and you.”

  The guilt returned, if it had ever left. Hunnicutt had put Naomi through hell, but if she’d trusted him enough, he could have helped her. As much as he still cared, as much as he hurt on her behalf, he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t continue to live with lies or wondering if she was still holding back.

  “I’m sorry about your family and what Hunnicutt has done to you. It doesn’t change anything. I can’t—”

  “Crack open your thick stubborn skull and hear me out.” She released him and used both hands to wipe her tears away. “I’m exhausted,” she said with a weary sigh, and sat at the edge of his desk. “For eight years I’ve been living a lie. Do you know how tiring that is? To constantly pretend to be someone you’re not? To always be ready to run again?” She shook her head. “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. When Thomas died, I almost did. But I was so scared you’d act like you are right now.”

  Conflicted by the guilt and the love he couldn’t shake, he crossed his arms when all he wanted to do was hold her. Kiss her. Tell her he’d make everything go away. “Pissed?” he asked instead. Tired of being shit on, he needed to keep reminding himself why they didn’t belong together.

  She tilted the corner of her mouth with a sad, half smile. “No. Ready to go in guns blazing. If I’d told you the truth, you would have gone after Christian and he would have killed you.”

  “So you keep reminding me.”

  “And yet you’re not listening.” She pushed off the desk and searched his eyes. “I lied to protect you from Christian and from yourself.”