Hell on Wheels (14 page)

“Ah,” Johnny chuckled, and it sounded sort of sick, like the laughter of a little boy pulling wings off a butterfly. No doubt Johnny had done his share of wing-pulling as a child. “Dude must’ve pissed you off, huh?”

“Yes,” he ground his back molars together, “the
dude
definitely pissed me off.”

The sound of his wife talking to their housekeeper out in the hall caused him to glance down at his eighteen karat, yellow-gold Cellini Prince Rolex.

He was due in session in twenty minutes. Time to wrap it up.

“Call me when it’s done,” he told Johnny and didn’t wait for a reply before ending the call.

Now, he’d go listen to his peers drone on and on and
on
about making emergency supplemental appropriations for border security.

What a
colossal
waste of time.

In his not-so-humble opinion, the Chinese had it right all those years ago. Build a wall, supply it with armed troops in guard towers, and kill anyone stupid enough to try and cross that big-assed line you just drew in the sand.

After hauling his ass into the attic of the empty house—Christ, he needed to lose about fifteen pounds in order to make the fit through that narrow opening even slightly comfortable—Nate secured his camouflage M-40 A5 USMC issue sniper rifle on its bipod and hunkered down.

He used a string of detcord coiled in a spiral to blow a loophole in the attic wall beside the window and, as always, the feel of the weapon in his hands was like coming home. It simply became an extension of his arm.

Those armorers at Quantico sure knew how to put together one smooth-working machine…

Sierra was his rifle of choice when honing in on a target within a thousand yards.

The ol’ girl could do a far sight better than that, evidenced by the time his mark had pulled a fast one and left via a warehouse a good two hundred yards farther away than he or Grigg had planned for. Still, that greasy al-Qaeda operative was leveled by 671 grains of diplomacy before his cache of bodyguards ever heard sweet Sierra’s barking report.

As he lowered his eye to the scope and took a brief pass of the park across the way, he tried to forget those days in the field.

Talk about boring. Hours and hours of systematic recon inevitably followed by about half a minute of insane, ball-shrinking activity.

Grigg had loved to quote other snipers. And one of his favorites had been,
Sniping
is
poetry
in
slow
motion, up until the moment you pull the trigger
.

From the pull of Nate’s trigger, it was twenty measly seconds to the time when their gear was stowed and hidden and they were hell and gone from their hide site. Twenty seconds of balls-to-the-wall, get-it-done-or-die activity. Toward the end, they were doing it in eighteen.

They were that damned good. That fast…

A man was walking in the park, he observed as he instinctively switched to tactical breathing. Three big breaths and then exhale.

The guy had on a University of Louisville baseball cap, a blue button-up shirt, and nondescript, white sneakers. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans as he strolled along, head down between his shoulders, watching the sidewalk in front of him.

Perhaps the guy was simply out enjoying the balmy summer day, but then again, Nate hadn’t lived to the ripe ol’ age of thirty-three by taking chances. Saturday-in-the-Park Dude appeared to be about the same height and build as Mystery Man.
Can
you
dig
it? Yes I can. And I’ve been waiting such a long time…
And, geez, he’d been spending far too much time around Ozzie—who broke into lyrics every other sentence. At least Nate could say he had better taste than the kid. In his not-so-humble opinion, Chicago beat out ’80s glam rock any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

“Come on, look up. Let me get a peek at you,” he whispered into the silent, sweltering attic.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his temples. The dust and insulation particles floating in the air made his lungs itch. There was a decaying mouse carcass in the corner perfuming the space with the sickly sweet scent of death.

The guy in the park didn’t cooperate with his whispered demand.

Go figure. No way was Nate getting
that
lucky.

Then an elderly woman passed by with her overweight wiener dog—the poor thing looked like it was about to split its skin—and Mr. Saturday-in-the-Park bent to give the little chubber a scratch behind the ears.

Nate saw his chance.

Pulling out the high-powered guidance laser from his jacket pocket, he kept his eye on the scope and, with a flick of his thumb, the red line of the laser streamed to life. Focusing on his target, he aimed the thin stream of light.

One thing was for sure: it would be enough to scare the shit out of Mr. Saturday-in-the-Park if he was anything other than a complacent civilian out for a little stroll. Because the mind of a complacent civilian didn’t immediately associate a red laser dot as coming from a weapon. Oh no. That type of instinctual reaction was only earned through training and experience, through having lived in a heightened state of awareness where the first thing to come to mind in any situation was not the possibility but the
probability
of an unknown threat…

Automatically his heartbeat slowed.

The world around him faded to black, the discomfort of the steamy attic forgotten as every cell in his body focused on only one thing. The five S’s of the snipers’ mantra: slow, smooth, straight, steady, squeeze.

Well, he’d forgo the squeeze part.

After all, if the guy was CIA, he was on a government-sanctioned mission.
So
even though Nate would’ve liked to add a nice, neat hole between the man’s eyes for having the colossally bad taste to point that piece at Ali, he kept his finger poised outside the trigger guard.

Instead, he focused the laser on the scene in the park. And, sure enough, when he centered that evil red dot smack-dab on the back of the guy’s extended hand, Mr. Saturday-in-the-Park’s exposed jaw turned white as bleached sugar before he bolted into the nearby woods.

The woman holding the dog’s leash jumped back, startled. Her fat pooch let loose a mournful bellow, floppy ears slipping down its swollen back as it lifted his head and cried its surprise.

The walls of the attic snapped into view as Nate lifted his head from the scope and cursed.

He ignored the urge to throw down his weapon and give chase; Mystery Man would be halfway to Texas by the time he even made the park.

So, yeah, the best thing for him to do would be to stay exactly where he was. Watching. Waiting. With five rounds of angry lead that could quickly affect an attitude adjustment in any unfriendly individuals.

Just like Grigg always said,
The
quickest
way
to
change
a
person’s mind on a subject is a 138gr boat tail
.

Fuckin’-A and Hoo-ah!

***

As Ali sat on a five-gallon paint bucket in the filthy garage with the cool, disturbing length of Nate’s reserve weapon resting against her thigh, she was having second thoughts about her decision to accompany him on this little errand.

It hadn’t been a pretty sight that morning when she’d demanded to come along. All the Knights, except for Becky, had sided with Nate, demanding she tell them where the zip drive was located so Nate could go retrieve it.

“No way. This is as much my problem as it is any of yours. More so, come to think of it. I’m the one being followed, mugged, bugged and, oh yeah, I’m also the one who had a gun pointed at her head,” she’d said, glaring at the group squeezed together in Frank Knight’s small office.

“Which is exactly why you should stay here,” Frank said, cool gray eyes watching her warily.

“Oh,” she lifted her chin, “so it’s perfectly fine for Nate to go out and risk his life, but there are different rules when it comes to me? I don’t think so.” Just the thought of sending Nate out alone made her want to scream, especially knowing he’d probably retrieve the drive, solve the mystery, and deign to keep her completely in the dark.

“He’s trained, Ali,” Ozzie spoke with soft authority, which was a little weird considering the guy was wearing nothing but sci-fi pajama bottoms to go along with his rioting hair. It looked like he’d hopped out of bed and in order to blow dry his hair. Backward. “And you, my dear, are not.”

“I have more training than any of you likely know. Grigg wasn’t a slouch when it came to—”

“Ali,” Nate interrupted her, his voice gravelly, black eyes hard as slate when she swung her attention toward him. “Please come with me.”

Oh…perfect.

She cast a furtive glance around the gathered group and was met with impassive expressions.

Okay, so no help from the peanut gallery.

Except for Becky. Becky made a face and then gave her a reassuring wink. Ali appreciated the gesture, but it did nothing to calm her roiling stomach.

This was going to be bad, very bad. But it wasn’t like she could refuse him. If she did, she had no doubt the Knights would just file out of the office, leaving her in the same predicament. Alone. With Nate.

She grimaced and blew out a breath before gathering the cat in her arms. She stood and followed Nate up the metal stairs and into his spartan bedroom.

The
scene
of
last
night’s crime
, she thought sourly and wanted to cry at the piercing memory of his callous rejection.

Instead, she mustered all her self-confidence and, lifting her chin, strode purposefully past him to sit on the edge of his bed. At least there he wouldn’t notice her legs were wobbly as wet noodles, not to mention the fact that her arms were aching from Peanut’s considerable weight.

“You’re not going to change my mind,” she told him, watching warily as he casually lowered himself into his leather recliner, pushing back and propping his big-booted feet on the footstool. He regarded her with diamond-hard eyes.

“
Why
d’you wanna come?”

“Because Grigg was my brother, and I’m sick to death of secrets. If I let you get your hands on that zip drive, I’ll never know what this has all been about.”

He simply watched her.

“You don’t deny it?” she asked incredulously.

He didn’t move an inch, didn’t speak; it didn’t even look like he breathed.

So it began. The part where he simply sat and waited her out.

Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. Nuh-uh. No way. No how.

The silence stretched on and on and
on.
She could actually hear the second hand ticking away on his wristwatch. Peanut’s rotund belly gave a warning growl before he emitted a very un-feline fart.

“Cripes,” she said, waving hand in front of her face, trying to waft away the fairly rancid aroma of partially digested Fancy Feast.

Nate blinked, unmoved by Peanut’s gastrointestinal attempt to break the tension.

Dropping her hand to scratch Peanut’s chin—the cat actually seemed to be smiling—she glared at Nate’s frustratingly impassive face. This
wasn’t
going to work. She could wait him out until their hair turned gray. She could just sit here and bide her time and—

“Oh!” she threw her hands in the air. It was either that or she was going to use them to strangle the man. “Speak, for the love of God! Speak!”

Peanut let loose with a soulful, drawn-out
mereeow
. His scarred black nose pointed toward the ceiling as his crooked tail flicked back and forth in agitation.

“Not you!” she admonished the cat in annoyance. “You!” she pointed a finger at Nate’s muscled chest.

“What’d’ya want me to say?” he asked, sighing resignedly. “If I deem the information too delicate for civilian consumption then, yeah, I’ll make sure it’s only seen by authorized personal, which you’re not.”

“But he was my brother!” she screamed at him, furious and frustrated and scared she just might lose this battle and then she’d never know what any of it meant. “I deserve to know just what the devil he was involved with.”

“No,” he stated with ultra-cool conviction. The Ice Man was back in full force. “You don’t. Besides, you already know too much.”

“Sheesh,” she pulled Peanut to her chest, comforted by his kitty warmth. “So what does that mean? Now you’re going to have to kill me?”

Did government spies/covert defense contractors really snuff-out snoopy civilians, or was that just in the movies?

Although, come to think of it, fiction was usually built, at least in part, on fact.

Well, crapola.

“Never,” Nate vowed, his already deep voice reduced to a guttural growl, almost savage. “I’ll never let anyone or anything harm you, Ali.”

Wow. She swallowed the knot of…
something
that’d sprouted furry legs and crawled up to sit in her throat. What did a girl say to something like that?

“Th-thank you?”

His jaw firmed, if that was possible considering it already looked like it was made of marble. “I promised Grigg.”

“Oh,” she said, and frowned.

What was that strange sensation in her chest? Disappointment?

“So given that,” he pinned her with a pointed look, “you’re stayin’ here.”

“Read my lips,” she told him sweetly, more determined than ever. She was sick and tired of no one trusting her. It ended now. Today. “No effing way. You want that zip drive? Well, you’re taking me with you to get it. I’m finished being left out in the dark. I
can
keep a secret, you know.”

If only Grigg had trusted her, told her the truth years ago, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“Ali.” It was a warning.

“Yes, Nate?” she smiled and batted her lashes.

“You’re gonna give me the location of that zip drive if I hafta paddle your ass ’til it blisters.”

The erotic imagery momentarily seared her weary brain as something hot fluttered low in her belly.

Huh. How about that? Did she
want
to have her bottom spanked? She’d never thought she was into that before, but with Nate?

Yeah, maybe…

Then the import of his words sank in or, more importantly, the infuriating male arrogance and lack of respect behind them.

“
What
?” she demanded, standing and ignoring Peanut’s disgruntled growl when he slid off her lap and plopped to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Y’heard me,” he answered, one brow raised tauntingly.

Oh, that did it. She could almost forgive him for not telling her the truth about Grigg’s death. He might have sworn some sort of oath on the Bible, or the U.S. Constitution, or his mother’s grave, or whatever it was they made spies/covert defense contractors, or whatever the h-e-double-hockey-sticks he was, swear oaths on.

But one thing she could not, would not, abide was this macho male attitude, this arrogant highhandedness.

Oh no, he di-int!