Chapter Twenty

“Jake! Get out of there right now!” Lacy hissed, her head low and her left hand over her mouth so as not to disturb the other Starbuck’s customers.

“He’s not hearing us,” Jamaal said. “Keep trying. Call him one more time.”

She and Jamaal had heard everything, all the bumps, shuffles, and other odd noises as Jake searched Rafe’s office, but they needed him to pick up. The SUV was back. A uniformed guard ran out to open the driver’s door, and out stepped the man in the black trench coat. Poindexter.

“Shit,” she muttered. It was Rafe all right. He stood there for a moment scanning the streets, but all he could see was the street from where he stood, not her. She ducked anyway to keep out of sight. Her sixth sense tingled, but she didn’t think he’d seen her. He couldn’t see all the way across the street and into the window with those mean squinty eyes, could he?

“Please pick up, Jake,” she whisper-growled as she dialed again. “Damn it, talk to me.”

Poindexter stalked into the rear of his building and disappeared from view.

“I’m going in,” she told Jamaal. “Maybe I can—”

“No, you ain’t.” Jamaal slapped his hands together, still on the curb across the street and acting the part of sentinel, trying to keep warm while he watched. “Jake’s got time. He’s smart. Give him a minute.”

She swallowed hard. “I know he’s smart, but he’s outnumbered. The Rabbit and Ferret never left. Now Rafe’s back. Jake’s screwed.” This was the worst thing that could happen, him inside facing who knew what, and her outside, helplessly waiting.

Jamaal glanced over his shoulder just as two men in business suits exited through the front doors. Lacy listened and watched, her heart climbing up her throat. Not you too.

“You can’t make me leave. I ain’t doing nuthin’,” Jamaal muttered in a deep Southern drawl to the men. “Jes’ waitin’ for some kind soul to throw a couple crumbs my way, so’s I kin get back home to Macon, Georgia.”

Lacy couldn’t make out what the men were saying when Jamaal shuffled away from them. He made it two steps before they tackled him. He threw an elbow, but they had him down on the ground before he knew what hit him. One held him by the neck while the other punched, and Jamaal was out for the count. Lacy stood. The enemy had the upper hand. They were all screwed.

“Jake,” she demanded one last time. “Jake. Can you hear me?”

There was no time left. Shaking like a leaf and mad as hell, she tugged her cap down low and pushed her chair away from the corner table. Jake needed her help. Now Jamaal. She was going in.

Deep breath. Settle down. Take it easy. As long as Zack kept talking in his head, Jake kept his cool. He replaced the screwdriver in its charger and pushed off the floor, adrenaline pumping right along with frustration. He’d been in Poindexter’s office too long, but there was nothing to be done but start over, so he did.

Back into the bathroom he went where an equally ornate wooden bathroom cabinet held a fancy bowl-shaped crystal sink and several drawers. The drawers revealed the same lack of anything useful other than hand soap and paper towels, so Jake crouched to one knee and opened the doors beneath the sink. Great. Cleaning supplies and a toilet plunger. Nothing mysterious about them.

He dropped to one knee and peered beneath the cabinet. The place looked spotless. The drain pipe, too. He reached one hand in to examine the underside of the top. Jackpot. A single, three-inch diameter metal tube was secured to the bottom right side of the cabinet top by two metal clamps, both screwed to the underside of the top. But time was running out. One of Poindexter’s agents had to have called him by now. He was coming. Jake could feel it in his bones and his clammy fingers.

Retrieving the cordless screwdriver, he made quick work of removing the clamps. Carefully, he lowered the metal tube. It was nothing more than an aluminum pipe capped on both ends, but it was heavy. The caps unscrewed easily. He tilted the pipe and—

Shit. Jakes heart sank. There was no secret list in this damned tube, only gold coins. Had to be solid gold by the weight of them. So, Poindexter was a gold hoarder. Who cared? It was an odd place to hide it though. Jake crouched to view the rest of the cabinet. Four more metal tubes were attached to the bottom side of the wooden top. Shit. Probably more coins. Not what I’m looking for.

His heart pounded loud and clear to get out of there. He’d found nothing. He was just a petty burglar at this point and this was a B&E, pure and simple. But gold coins? What could Poindexter be up to that he needed a stash of gold in his office?

Hurriedly Jake reattached the clamps and restored the metal pipe to its hiding place. He strode back to Poindexter’s desk to replace the screwdriver, intent on leaving before he got caught. He’d failed. He pulled his cell up out of his pants pocket to advise Lacy and Jamaal that he was going out. Lifting the phone to his ear, he heard loud voices in the hallway. The carpet might be thick, but the walls, not so much.

“Listen guys,” he muttered to Lacy and Jamaal. “I came up with nothing. Get out of sight. I’ll meet up with you—”

Of all the damned crazy things, the wooden part of the desk he’d leaned his palm onto had just shifted. It slid smoothly to the side, revealing a hidden compartment. Jake hung up on Lacy and Jamaal before he gave them a chance to answer, and he began snapping photos of the first sheet of paper. A list of foreign names with photos of dark-skinned Cambodian girls. The second sheet of paper was another list just like the first. And so on. He photographed five pieces of documentation in all. From his quick scan, the papers documented the sales and transportation of twenty Cambodian girls with a written guarantee from some guy named Prentiss.

Thrilled and scared to death at the same time, he texted the images to Lacy and Jamaal’s phones. A stack of passports lay beneath the papers, bound tight with a rubber band. Hurriedly, he removed the elastic and opened several of the passports to the page with the girls’ photographs. His heart hurt for those babies.

A plain brown envelope lay beneath the passports. He re-secured them with the rubber band before he lifted the brown envelope. It wasn’t sealed and no address adorned the front. Sliding his finger beneath the flap, he tipped the single sheet of photographic paper out, and ‘holy shit’ fell with it.

The shock of seeing that particular grinning face in this particular eight-by-eleven photograph stopped his heart. This was no arrogant state governor or sex-addict in the senate. This was Sterling Waterman, one of the most influential men in the United States, the billionaire who made presidents. On his knees. Naked. Raping an innocent girl from Cambodia.

Jake’s stomach roiled at the savagery he saw displayed on the glossy photo. Now he knew what Poindexter was really after. Rafe wanted the highest office in the land. He wanted to be president, and with this incriminating shot of Waterman, the most prestigious, powerful job in the world was within his reach.

The oddest calm filled Jake. He might not be the expert sniper that his friend Zack was. Hell, he might not even be half the man he used to be, but the time had come to put the mad dog, Rafael Poindexter, down, once and for all. He, Jake Weylin, could save every last one of those poor, frightened girls.

Composing a quick text to Lacy and Jamaal, Jake attached the pictures he’d just taken, including the one of Waterman. No doubt they’d make Lacy sick to her stomach, but she needed to protect the evidence. Just to be sure he had all bases covered, Jake blind-copied Zack Lennox as well. The attachments might shock him, but he’d get the message, and like always, Zack would help.

Jake restored everything to their previous locations. Taking one step from the desk, he activated the secret compartment, and Poindexter’s ugly secret was hidden once more.

Jake had everything he needed. Except time.

Poindexter’s office door handle was already turning.