Billionaire Decoded (14 page)

Shit.

That wasn’t good. When they were
together, he had been able to rein in Alyson’s impetuosity, to a degree.
Operating on her own there was no telling how much damage she could do.

Would she really go that far to
destroy him? He didn't think her behavior was aimed at destruction, but rather
capitulation. She wanted him back. He didn't think she wanted him dead. After
all, her insistence that she was carrying his baby and that he
would
be a father to that baby, didn't
imply that she was threatening his life. Still, she could make him miserable.
She could bring him to his knees in other ways. Ways that he didn't care to
contemplate.

Like it or not, Alyson was not to be
underestimated. He decided that tonight he would call her and ask her directly
whether she was having Heather, or him, followed. If she was, he had no doubt
that she would gloat about it. She might even try to lie and imply that she
wasn’t involved, but he would know. He always knew when Alyson was lying. She
could wear a mask and he would still know.

His phone dinged. A text message.
With a sigh, and just hoping that it wasn't Alyson, he pulled it from his
pocket.

I know what's happening. I can help you.

He frowned. It wasn't from Alyson.
He didn't recognize the number from which the text message had been sent. Very
few people had his private number and he knew theirs. He returned a text
message of his own.

Who the hell is this?

A minute later he received a reply.

An old friend. Hoo-yah

Brecken smiled. Now, he knew. Daniel
Briggs. One of his former SEAL buddies, someone hadn't seen in years. He
smiled, but then his smile faded. How in the hell had Briggs gotten his number?
What was he referring to? Another text message arrived.

Set the time and the place.

Brecken sighed. He was tired. What
was Briggs implying? What was he referring to? Bolivia? Nigeria? Singapore?
Brecken had his fingers stirring a number of pots. Which exact pot was Briggs
talking about? He supposed he wouldn't know until he set up a meeting and
talked to his old friend. Maybe it was a good idea to meet.

Copley Square. Tonight. Eight o'clock.

He didn't receive an answering text,
but didn't really expect to. While he was certainly pleased to hear from any of
his old Navy SEAL buddies, he had to wonder at the timing. Coincidence? Or
something more? He had known Briggs for ten years. He had been a good soldier.
A smart soldier. Not long after Brecken left the SEALs, Briggs had, as well. The
last thing he knew, Briggs was working oil rigs down in Texas. He had heard
through the grape vine that Briggs occasionally took jobs as a bodyguard, but
certainly nothing black ops, as far as he was aware of. Then again, he hadn't
heard from him in the last couple of years.

So why now? Brecken didn't believe
in coincidences. Briggs had intimated that he knew about his troubles. Which
troubles? He had more than enough to go around. He didn't talk about his
business dealings with many people, and there were only a very few people that
knew about even some of his dealings. Himself and the person involved at the
other end. They were either secret keepers or the secret revealers.

What the hell could Briggs be
referring to? He knew he wouldn't be able to determine that until he met with
him, so he spent the rest of his afternoon and early evening catching up on
work that always needed to be done. Most of what he dealt with over the hours
involved his legitimate business, the computer programming side. Nevertheless,
despite his attempts to focus and concentrate, his thoughts continued to spin.
Alyson. Heather. Briggs. The tall man that had been following Heather, or
following him, through Heather. The more his mind went around and around, the
more frustrated he became. So annoying.

*

At seven-thirty, Brecken put his
work away. He hadn't been able to concentrate very much and would have to look
over everything in the morning to make sure he hadn't made any mistakes. He
couldn't afford to make mistakes in any aspect of his dealings, even the
legitimate ones. He prepared to leave the building and meet Briggs. The Square
wasn't too far from his office building, so decided that he would walk. His
driver was on twenty-four hour standby, and he would give him a call to pick
him up from the Square and take him home after he met with his old buddy.

As he left the building, he
carefully watched bystanders and passersbys. He didn't see the tall man who had
been taking pictures of Heather. When he thought of Heather, his first thought
was of her lovely body. His dick began to tighten. He pushed those images away.
His second thought why she hadn't called him, especially after their abrupt
departure from the countryside this morning.

Still, he didn't want to give anyone
listening an indication that she meant anything to him, especially if he was
being watched, so he decided he would just have to be patient and wait for her
to contact him. He knew his security guards. They wouldn’t call unless
something was wrong. He knew that if they needed something, or if something had
happened, they would contact him. Otherwise, there was no point.

By the time he got to the Square, it
was full dark. Once again, he carefully checked the area. He didn't see anyone
suspicious looking. There was an elderly couple, walking hand in hand, and talking
quietly with each other. He stared at them for several moments, envious. Would
he ever find a partner like that? A partner to grow old with? A partner that he
could trust implicitly?

He made a face and shook his head.
What the hell was the matter with him? He was turning into a pantywaist. He sat
down on a wrought iron and wooden slatted bench a short distance away from one
of the antique lamps that still graced the Square. About fifteen feet away was
a fountain, maybe six or seven feet across made of cement, with a figure of
some old Norse or Greek god, he wasn't sure. A stream of water dribbled out of
the figure’s mouth, bubbling softly as it dribbled down the statue’s naked
figure, its privates hidden discreetly behind some leaves.

He frowned, not liking the way the
water disguised the ambient sounds around him. He should move, but he didn’t.
More than likely, Briggs was out there somewhere, watching to make sure no one
was around. If he suddenly changed position, Briggs might get suspicious, think
that someone was watching him. He would leave. And Brecken needed Briggs to
show up. His curiosity was getting the best of him.

He needed to know what Briggs was
talking about. His old friend was gifted in many ways, and not just because of
his Navy SEAL background. Like Brecken, Briggs had been raised by a wealthy
family. Unfortunately, that family had cut him out of their life when he turned
to the military as a career rather than the family business. It was a silly
reason as far as Brecken was concerned, to cut a child out of the family over
such a stupid reason, but there you have it. At any rate, Briggs had started
over, made a new life for himself in the Navy.

Briggs was, or had been at least,
one of those people that always landed on his feet. No matter what knocked him
down in life, he always managed to escape unscathed, maybe a little battered
and bruised, but certainly not cowed. That was what Brecken had liked so much
about his old friend. Nothing could keep him down.

He glanced at his watch. Five
minutes to eight. He tried to appear relaxed, just another guy resting on a
bench, passing the time. Suddenly, a shadow separated itself from the darkness
nearby and in sat down on the bench beside Brecken. Brecken glanced at the man,
grinned, and extended his hand.

"Long time no see," Briggs
said, returning the grin and clasping Brecken's hand tightly.

Brecken was surprised at the emotion
that surged through him. He hadn't seen any of his old buddies in quite some
time. Seeing Briggs reminded him of the unique camaraderie, the sense of
belonging and acceptance he had felt as a SEAL. The special relationship combat
veterans shared. There was a bond among brothers in arms that was like no
other. His team had lived together, endured together, fought together, and
suffered together. There was not much that could break such a bond besides time
and distance.

"How you been doing,
Briggs?" Brecken smiled.

To his surprise, Briggs scooted a
little bit closer to him on the park bench. Then, still smiling, he broke the handclasp
and leaned forward. He began to chuckle as he pulled something from his pocket.
In the next instant, Brecken felt something hard pressed against his rib cage.
He frowned.

"Get up slowly, Brecken, and
don't try anything funny."

He stared at Briggs. Was this some
kind of a stupid joke? "What the hell, Briggs?"

"Do it, Brecken."

Brecken stood, his mind racing. What
the hell was going on? He tried to maintain a sense of calm as Briggs gestured
toward a dark sedan that pulled up and parked at the curb about fifty yards
away. "What's going on, Briggs?"

Briggs didn't answer. Brecken didn't
know what to think. His heart pounded crazily in his chest. This couldn't be
happening. This was his old buddy. "Briggs, what are you doing?"

"Don't try anything that you'll
regret," Briggs replied calmly, as if he was talking about the weather.
"I don't want to have to hurt you. You know that, Brecken, don't
you?"

He was stunned. "I don't know
anything right now," he replied honestly. "Is this a joke? Because if
it is, it's not-"

"Shut up, Brecken," Briggs
snapped. "Just head to that car and keep your mouth shut. I'll explain
everything in a minute."

He didn't want to get into any
strange car, much less at gunpoint, but at the moment he didn't have a choice.
By the time they reached the car, his mind was spinning with questions, but he
forced himself to rely on his training, his experiences, and his background as
a SEAL to bide his time.

Briggs opened the back door and
half-shoved him toward it.

"Get inside."

There was not much Brecken could do.
He climbed in and then moved over as Briggs slid in next to him. Two men sat in
the front. The front seat passenger turned to glance over his shoulder. His eyes
widened in surprise. Captain Williams, the former leader of Brecken's SEAL
unit.

"Close your eyes,
Brecken," he said.

"What the hell is going on-”?

That's all Brecken managed to get
out before something was pressed against his neck. It wasn't a gun. He had just
turned to stare at Briggs in surprise when he felt it; an electric shock
sending fifty thousand volts of electricity surging through his body, impacting
every muscle, every nerve. Every cell in his body spasmed or so it seemed. His
jaw clenched shut. His brain suddenly turned to mush. Every muscle in his body
stiffened and jerked spasmodically.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
Couldn't escape. Shit. And then, the blackness closed in around him.

*

As Brecken slowly regained
consciousness, he felt like he had been run over by a Mack truck. Twice. Every
muscle in his body tingled with the aftereffects of being tasered.
What the hell?
His mind was foggy. He
couldn't think straight. Had Briggs really tasered him? Had he really seen his
own team leader, Captain Williams, in the passenger seat of the car he had been
ushered into at gunpoint? What the hell was going on?

He heard voices – male voices
speaking softly. He tried to move but couldn't. Part of the aftereffects of
the taser? He'd never been tasered before, so he didn't know. He opened his
eyes, found himself staring down at his knees. He slowly lifted his head,
clearing his foggy vision, trying to make sense of what he saw. It was impossible.
His brain was all jumbled up.

"Welcome back, Brecken," a
voice said.

As his vision slowly cleared,
Brecken realized that he was tied to a chair, his hands behind the chair back.
He tried to move his legs and realized that his feet were also tied to the chair
legs. He wasn't really surprised. As a Navy SEAL, he had been trained and was
quite adept at a number of martial arts skills. So was Briggs. So was his
former unit leader.

He looked up, saw Briggs crouched
down a few feet in front of him, watching him carefully. Brecken stared at him,
not saying anything as he quickly cast his gaze about. Where the hell was he?
It was big, filled with shadows. A warehouse? If it was, he had no idea where.
In the distance he heard the sounds of a buoy clanging. The harbor. Then he
heard a foghorn, even further out. He knew he was somewhere around the harbor,
but that was about it.

"Bet you're wondering what this
is all about, aren’t you?"

Again, he looked at Briggs. He tried
to speak, but couldn't quite form the words. He didn't have any saliva. He
tried to swallow.

"Hurts like hell, doesn't
it?" Briggs asked.

He appeared amused. Brecken glared
at him. Ever so slowly, he felt the tingling subside, but his brain was still
jumbled. Confused. A chair scraped against the floor past Briggs’ shoulder and
he looked up to see Captain Williams approaching.