Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3

by Swartwood, Robert

  A candle flickers in the middle of the table, the room dimly lit. It’s almost intimate, and I start to have a bad feeling where this may be going, but then a door at the other end of the room opens and the woman I only know as Leila Simmons appears.

  Hayward rises to his feet again.

  “Ah, my love. Thank you for joining us. You know Ms. Lin, of course.”

  The woman barely acknowledges me. Her hair is curly again, and she isn’t wearing glasses. She sits down in a chair at the corner near Hayward.

  “Just so you know, I already ate.”

  “What?”

  “I had a sandwich.”

  “But our guest!”

  She looks at me now, a quick dismissive glance, and sighs again.

  “It’s almost midnight. I told you I wasn’t going to eat this late.”

  Hayward sighs himself, only his is more disappointed. He’s a peculiar man, nothing at all what I expected based on Louis. Louis is the type of man who looks like he’s spent a couple years in the military. Oliver Hayward, on the other hand, looks like a college professor who yet hasn’t become completely jaded.

  “Be that as it may, Carla”—Hayward leaning toward the woman, reaching out to hold her hand—“thank you for joining us. I know it’s late, but I thought our guest could use a familiar face. It might make her feel more at home.”

  Carla doesn’t say anything to this. She lets Hayward hold her hand while she uses her other hand to look at something on her cell phone.

  The same door Carla came through opens again, and a boy enters. The boy is no more than ten years old. He carries a tray with a glass of water and two glasses of wine on top. A man with a gun holstered to his hip follows him, a black fob in his hand.

  The boy pauses first beside Hayward and Carla. He tries to balance the tray with one hand, reach for the wine glasses with his other hand, but it’s clear he’s worried the tray may flip so he sets the tray on the table long enough to set the wine glasses in front of Hayward and Carla before picking up the tray again and walking it down the table toward me. Now with only the glass of water he’s able to balance the tray without trouble, and he sets the glass down in front of me before promptly turning and heading back toward the door he entered through.

  Before the boy pushes the door open, Oliver Hayward clears his throat.

  “Jose.”

  The boy pauses and slowly turns, his face tilted down.

  Hayward says, “How many times must you be told never to place your tray on the table?”

  The boy doesn’t answer. He keeps his face tilted down, but his body has started to shake.

  “I expect an answer, Jose.”

  Jose wets his lips. Swallows. Answers in a soft voice.

  “Too many.”

  “Yes, Jose. Too many times. And quite frankly, I am beginning to tire of reminding you of such a simple command.”

  Before Jose can answer again, his body suddenly goes rigid. His head starts to shake. And like that, he’s down on the floor, writhing in pain, the tray having fallen from his fingers and his hands now balled into fists. He doesn’t cry out, though he issues an anguished moaning, and I don’t realize I’ve stood up until Hayward speaks suddenly.

  “Sit down, Ms. Lin.”

  I don’t sit down, but I don’t move forward either. I just stand there and watch the boy as he continues to writhe on the floor.

  Hayward ignores the boy, watching me.

  “The moment you sit back down, Ms. Lin, Jose’s pain will stop.”

  As Jose writhes on the floor, Carla sits calmly in her chair. One hand still holding Hayward’s while another continues to access her cell phone. Like it’s no big thing the boy is being tortured. Like it happens all the time.

  I sit back down, and the man standing over Jose disengages the fob.

  Jose’s body stops shaking almost at once. He lies on the floor for a couple of seconds, tears in his eyes, and then he quickly gets to feet, grabs the tray, and hurries out of the room, the man following him.

  I decide at that moment when I kill Oliver Hayward he’ll suffer greatly.

  Hayward takes his hand back from Carla, folds his hands again with his elbows on the table as he studies me.

  “You don’t approve of our form of conditioning. It’s understandable. You were raised to believe children should have positive reinforcement, yes? That they should be encouraged to do well, and that they should be praised for when they do well so that they continue to do well. It’s a nice concept in theory, but that’s all it merely is, a theory. Here at Neverland, we’ve come to find children are best reinforced with pain. If they do something they shouldn’t do, they are zapped. If they look at somebody the wrong way, they are zapped. If they say something they shouldn’t, they are zapped.”

  Carla seems to be off in a world of her own, both hands now tapping away at her cell phone.

  Hayward notices this but keeps his eyes on me as he continues.

  “My love shared with me what she spoke to you about earlier. She said she went over the basics. How we’ve been watching you for a while. How we knew we would someday come to need your services but weren’t sure when that day would come. It was Carla’s idea for you to eliminate those ICE agents. For many months they’ve become a thorn in our side. I respect greed as much as the next person, but there comes a point when greed becomes problematic. Those men needed to be eliminated. Killing them ourselves would have been easy—we hire freelancers all the time—but when you’re killing two federal agents, it’s best if somebody’s face is associated with the crime. Otherwise faceless killings always turn into too much drama. It is always preferable to give the authorities and news media a villain.”

  He looks at the woman with adoration.

  “Carla sensed you were the kind of person who would not let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. She knew if Juana approached you covered in blood, gave you a duffel bag with a baby inside, and then you witnessed Juana murdered by those ICE agents … you would not let those men’s crimes go unpunished.”

  He shoots me a grin.

  “By the way, what did you think of the pinkie finger? That was my idea. I thought it added a nice touch.”

  He chuckles, realizes that Carla is still staring at her phone, and quickly composes himself.

  “The agents believed Juana was delivering them money. She had been instructed to throw herself in front of their car. She knew she would die that evening, Ms. Lin, and yet she still went through with it. That is what I call ultimate compliance, though I suppose the real reason is love. Juana loved her child so much she was willing to die. She believed if she went through with what we asked, we would spare her child.”

  Hayward pauses to pick up his wine glass.

  “Juana, as it turned out, was not very smart.”

  He takes a sip of his wine, sets the glass back down.

  “Once we knew you would go out to the shed in the oil field, we contacted the agents to let them know we had left a girl there for them to, well, play with. Both men had a fetish for pregnant girls.”

  I remember how Mulkey and Kyer approached the shed like they had never been there before, jiggling the lock on the main door, and how the cowboy had been surprised that the girl was in fact there.

  I stare back at Hayward across the table and speak in a calm, measured voice.

  “I’m guessing the men from the highway were freelancers.”

  “Yes.”

  “They killed two U.S. Marshals.”

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t that cause drama, too?”

  “Certainly. And I should note it is a shame one of those men was killed in the operation, but the risk comes with the job. Anyway, all of that will be associated with you. Obviously the authorities know you couldn’t have taken out the Marshals yourself, but it’s doesn’t matter. It’s another point in your timeline for this week. First the ICE agents, then the Marshals, and then …”

  He pauses again, a grin now lighting on his face.<
br />
  “Love, do you think I should tell her the target now or wait for later?”

  Her focus glued to her phone, Carla absently reaches out to pick up her wine glass.

  Hayward tries again, much more forceful this time.

  “Love.”

  She pauses, glances at him.

  “What?”

  “Should I tell her the target now or wait for later?”

  Carla shoots me an indifferent glance before shrugging.

  “I don’t care.”

  For the first time, Hayward looks irritated.

  “If you’re not going to participate in our conversation, you might as well leave.”

  Carla doesn’t need to be told twice. She immediately pushes back the chair and stands up.

  “Fine. I’ve had a long day as it is, and as I told you, I’ve already eaten.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, simply turns and walks through the door.

  Hayward forces a smile at me.

  “Women! What can you do?”

  Before I have the chance to tell him to slap the bitch, the door opens again and Jose reappears, followed by his minder. This time his tray holds two plates. He’s much more confident with the plates, and balances the tray with one hand as he sets one of the plates down in front of Hayward. Then he walks the length of the table to set the other plate down in front of me.

  I’m surprised to find a thick cut of steak, along with mashed potatoes and asparagus. The steak looks charbroiled and smells amazing.

  Hayward clears his throat again.

  “Louis told me what you requested to eat, and so I had the chef make this specifically for you. Unfortunately, we do not currently have any lobster tail, but you probably knew that, didn’t you?”

  Something in his tone has changed—it’s dropped an octave, taken on an edge—and I glance up from my plate to find him glaring back at me.

  “You’re a smart woman, Ms. Lin. You know at the very end of this you are going to die. That’s why you’re here. When you accomplish your mission, they are going to want somebody to blame, somebody to point to, and that person is going to be you. And obviously it does not suit our purposes for you to still be alive when that happens. In the next seventy-two hours or so, you will be dead, but as long as you do what you’re told, your family will stay alive. Do you understand me?”

  I don’t like being threatened, and I especially don’t like my family being threatened, but there’s not much one can do with a shock collar around one’s neck while a man stands off to the side with a Glock holstered to his belt and other armed guards roaming the property. They’re smart enough not to have given me a steak knife, but there is a butter knife on the table along with a fork and a spoon, and while they may not seem like dangerous weapons, in the right hands they can be. Still, it’s the knowledge that my family is in danger that keeps me from grabbing one of the utensils and making a move at Louis.

  I keep my gaze steady with Hayward’s when I answer.

  “Yes.”

  Smiling, Hayward picks up his fork. He spears one of the asparagus on his plate, takes a bite, chews for a moment, and then wipes his mouth with his napkin.

  “I’m glad that we understand each other, Ms. Lin. I hope you also understand I take disrespect quite seriously. My love, well, you saw how she acts. She’s allowed her little tantrums. Nobody else is. Because of your flippant attitude earlier when Louis asked you what you wanted for dinner, you won’t be eating that steak. Nobody will. Jose’s stomach will growl when he throws it away. He hasn’t eaten for two days.”

  I sit in my chair, motionless, and stare back at him. Conscious of the collar around my neck. Remembering Jose writhing in pain on the dining room floor. He’s just a boy, and I hate to admit I’d probably end up in the same position if they turned my collar on full blast.

  Hayward forks some of the mashed potatoes, chews thoughtfully, and sets his fork aside as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

  “Jose, take her plate away.”

  The boy lifts my plate from the table, places it on his tray, and starts back toward the door, his minder following close behind.

  I watch Hayward as he cuts into his steak, stabs a piece, and chews on it for a couple seconds before pushing the plate away in disgust. He takes a sip of wine, glaring at me over the glass, and finally shakes his head.

  “I was hoping we would have a nice, quiet dinner, but no, you had to go and be obstinate. I don’t think you appreciate the fact that you’re a guest here at Neverland.”

  Hayward takes off his glasses, uses a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the lenses.

  “You see, Ms. Lin, I appreciate the fact that you think you’re special. I can understand why after what I know you did to the Diaz family, and how you took down El Diablo the way you did—the cartels had been trying to take him out for over a year with no luck—but the simple truth is you are only another freelancer. You’re nothing special. Just yesterday two sicarios passed through here. They were brothers. Imagine that. Brothers who work together as hitmen.”

  Hayward puts his glasses back on as he pushes up from his chair. He starts to walk down the length of the table. Taking his time, tapping his knuckles along the tabletop as he goes.

  “I’m a businessman, Ms. Lin. That’s who I am. That’s what I’ve done all my life. I was the one who founded Neverland. I created all of this. You might not understand what it is I do, and that’s all right because it doesn’t matter. I’m simply a man fulfilling an obligation. People much more powerful than I want something done, and I’m the one to make it happen, and the only way that happens is for you to do what you’re told. If not, your family dies.”

  He pauses at the corner of the table, leans down so his face is only inches from mine.

  “I will admit I don’t know much about your background, but from what I understand you killed people for the United States government. You were basically a drone. Just another cog in the massive war machine. You’re nothing special. That’s what I want you to understand before this is all over. When you fulfill your duty and Louis aims his gun at your head, I want you to accept the fact that you are not special.”

  He pauses, turns toward Louis.

  “Give me a bullet.”

  I hear the frown in Louis’s voice.

  “Sir?”

  “Give me a bullet.”

  From the corner of my eye I watch Louis pull the Glock from its holster, rack the slide to cough out a bullet. He catches it midair and hands it to Hayward.

  The man holds the bullet close to his face, like he’s inspecting a priceless diamond, and then taps it on the table.

  “You see this? This is all you are. You’re not a weapon. You’re simply a bullet. Louis, what kind of bullet is this?”

  “Hollow point, sir.”

  Hayward echoes it, nodding.

  “Hollow point. That’s what you are, Ms. Lin. You’re nothing more than a hollow point. Your whole purpose in life is to kill. You don’t make decisions. Men much more powerful than you are the ones who made those decisions in the past, just as they’re making those decisions now. They’re the ones that load you. They’re the ones that pull the trigger.”

  He holds the bullet up again, and smiles.

  “You see, Ms. Lin, this is what we do here at Neverland. We make the children understand that they’re not special. That they’ll never be special. And you know what? It works, every single time. Obviously, you won’t be staying here long enough for us to break you, but I still want you to understand that you’re nothing. And this bullet here? I’m going to make sure Louis holds on to this bullet, just for you. So when the time comes—after you’ve completed your final mission—this will be the bullet that ends your life.”

  Twenty-Eight

  They had passed through a new time zone a half hour ago, give or take, so the time was now an hour earlier than it was an hour ago, or something like that. Erik had always gotten confused about time zones when he was flying again
st the grain—that was the term somebody in his boot camp had once used and it had stuck with him ever since—and now here he was flying on an actual private jet.

  He didn’t know the kind of jet and was too intimidated to ask. Besides the two pilots—who were enclosed in the cockpit—there were the two men from Holly’s apartment, Nova and James.

  James hadn’t said a word this entire time, while Nova had said very little. After they’d left the apartment, they drove for nearly an hour before they reached the airfield and boarded the jet, and minutes later they were in the air and now they were somewhere over Tennessee or Kentucky, Erik didn’t know which and again was too intimidated to ask.

  He’d flown before, of course, but he never once flew in a private jet, or even thought he ever would. Private jets were for movie stars and sports stars and billionaires, not for the likes of him. It felt almost obscene, the luxury of the cabin and the large comfortable chairs.

  Part of him was exhausted, but another part couldn’t sleep, too wired with everything that was going on. He kept thinking of the girl whom he knew for the past year as Jen, which was apparently not her real name. This knowledge was somehow as shocking as the fact she had killed two men—the knowledge that she had been living a double life—and part of him knew he shouldn’t have agreed to come along with these two strangers, though for some reason another part instinctively trusted them. The way Erik saw it, if these men had wanted to kill him, they would have done so by now.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  The deep voice startled him. He’d been staring out the window, down at the dark landscape below, and now glanced over at the big man sitting in the chair across from him. Nova’s head was tilted back but his eyes were half-open, watching Erik.

  Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say—and because Nova had startled him—Erik said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Your boss must be loaded.”

  Nova shifted in his seat, and opened his eyes fully.