Chapter Seventeen

Every time he thought about kicking that smug expression off Spears’ face, Brett had to fight the urge to punch the air and yell with visceral pleasure.

He hated this part of himself. He took no pride in the uncanny talent he’d discovered—thanks to the Gormantech folks—for beating people up.

Then he’d think about the way Spears put his hands on Jacie, and he’d feel that slashing satisfaction again.

Brett and Jacie settled in on stools lining a massive kitchen island. The driver, Sgt. Bogna, made them a four-star lunch out of a huge stainless steel refrigerator in a perfectly appointed, restaurant-sized kitchen. Maybe later he’d hunt around for six hundred dollar hammers and twelve hundred dollar toilet seats.

A much subdued Womack and Kaplan joined them in the kitchen after a while. Brett saw Spears limping past a window toward the stables.

Brett gave Kaplan a sandwich as a peace offering. “We aren’t responsible for that explosion at the bunker.”

“We lost a couple of good agents in that blast and we’ve been tearing up the country looking for you ever since. Disappearing like you did, well, it didn’t look right.”

Brett noticed they both sat where they could keep an eye on him. So did Bogna, for that matter.

Jacie sat right beside him, apparently confident that his violent streak wouldn’t spill over onto her. It warmed his heart.

“We came here because we need to talk to O’Donnell.” Jacie wiped her fingers, finished with the salmon salad sandwich Bogna had whipped up from fresh, grilled salmon.

After a little haggling, Womack grudgingly agreed to get O’Donnell. While Womack was out of the kitchen, a heavily-armed man dressed in combat fatigues came in. He called Kaplan aside and talked quietly with him.

Kaplan, always calm, clenched his fists and his eyes sharpened as he turned to them. “Things just got a lot more complicated.” He stopped talking when Womack returned with O’Donnell.

Brett had expected an aging computer nerd with pants pulled up to his armpits and a plastic pocket protector. Instead he looked as if he’d stepped off the pages of GQ. O’Donnell was no older than 50, which meant he’d been tagged as one of the top engineers in the nation at a very young age—which made him brilliant.

He had a lush main of dark hair, stylishly cut so it swept back off his forehead and hung a little too long on his collar. His face, deeply tanned, looked as if he spent the long Atlanta summers on the golf course. He wore expensively tailored khaki slacks and a collarless rusty orange knit shirt with buttons at the neck that he left unbuttoned halfway to his navel.

A heavy gold chain dangled a pendant in his abundant chest hair. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to uncover his muscular forearms, with a casual flair. An inch or two taller than Brett and twenty pounds heavier, he was all corded muscle.

Brett detested him on sight.

And then Mr. Universe started ogling Jacie. O’Donnell ignored the men to run his eyes slowly over Jacie’s curves.

Busy pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Jacie didn’t notice the hungry eyes. Brett wasn’t completely free from the adrenaline surge that had ignited his temper earlier. He stood up to make a point of O’Donnell’s insulting behavior.

“At ease,” Bogna snapped with all the brutal authority a sergeant has at his fingertips.

Brett looked away from O’Donnell. O’Donnell looked away from Jacie. Jacie looked away from the coffeepot.

“We want him conscious,” Bogna added.

Brett lowered himself back into his chair.

O’Donnell smirked and sauntered to the stool around the high counter. Sending a smoldering smile at the now attentive Jacie, he tossed his hair when she looked at him.

Jacie wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion at Bogna’s sharp order. Giving O’Donnell a dismissive look, she returned to the marble countertop with her coffee and sat on a brass and leather barstool. Brett scooted his chair to within an inch of hers and settled his hand on hers. He made eye contact with O’Donnell until he was sure O’Donnell got the message.

O’Donnell’s lip quirked and he arched his eyebrows at Brett, as if accepting the challenge.

“Your disdain doesn’t bother me, O’Donnell. I just want you to know who Jacie belongs to, then you have no excuse.”

“Excuse? What do I need an excuse for?”

Jacie looked at Brett with wide eyes. “I belong to you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brett grinned at her.

“What he means is, later, when he’s handing you your head, you’ll know why.” Bogna pointed O’Donnell to a stool, then stepped back with his hands clasped behind his back to act as a sentry.

“We’ve been talking about Moreau and Garrison, O’Donnell,” Kaplan said. “This is them. Brett Garrison and Jacie Moreau.”

“Garrison, you told me you and Miss Moreau had never met before the hotel explosion,” Womack exclaimed, looking at their joined hands.

“That’s right.” Brett looked coolly at Womack.

Womack opened his mouth then looked a little longer at Jacie and gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. As if he didn’t blame Brett for staking a claim.

“O’Donnell, we’re here,” Jacie pulled her hand out of Brett’s grasp, “because there is a maniac trying to kill us. He’s the same nut who killed your old colleagues.”

“I’m sure the FBI is seeing to it that you’ve heard nothing else for the last week, but it came to us while we were dodging bombs, that this isn’t about national security. One, or all, of you got away with something fifteen years ago. We’re betting on you, since he’s left you to die last. If we know what it is you did, maybe we can find the person who hired this hit man.”

Brett scrutinized every seam in O’Donnell’s aging Casanova face. He saw the sudden intake of breath when Jacie suggested he got away with something. A flicker of fear in O’Donnell’s expression turned calculating.

Brett suspected the jerk of sorting through memories of things he’d gotten away with. Added to the way he dressed and the way he looked at Jacie, Brett had a good idea what crime O’Donnell would favor.

“A woman,” Brett said through his tightly clenched teeth.

Jacie jumped.

Brett patted her hand without taking his eyes off O’Donnell, but out of the corner of his eye Brett saw Jacie study him for a long moment. Something solid and confident settled in her expression before she turned back to O’Donnell. Brett realized she trusted his instincts. She read his mood and, even though she didn’t fully understand it, she threw in on his side. His heart warmed and expanded until he almost didn’t want to smash O’Donnell’s smug face.

Almost.

“And the dead men all covered for you,” Brett continued. “She must have reported you or you wouldn’t have needed an alibi. For what, O’Donnell?”

Brett rose from his stool and moved around the table to face O’Donnell.

A dull flush appeared on O’Donnell’s face. He pushed his stool back, stood looking down on Brett like he’d had a lifetime of practice at it. “I don’t have to answer these questions.”

O’Donnell turned to Kaplan, “Who is he? I want him out of here.” O’Donnell shoved Brett’s shoulder to move past him.

“Don’t, O’Donnell,” Womack warned, rubbing his stomach.

Brett didn’t attack, although he was already salivating from the desire. He shoved O’Donnell back until he stumbled against his stool. Brett grabbed O’Donnell’s shirt front. “What did you do, O’Donnell. What did your pals cover up for you that now they’re dying for?”

“I’m not under investigation,” O’Donnell shouted.

His suave demeanor disintegrated, leaving a brutish ugliness.

“You keep him away from me,” O’Donnell yelled at Womack. “I’m not the criminal here, I’m the victim. And she wanted it. Later she screamed ‘rape’. Claimed she was underage. But while it was going on...”

Brett drew back a fist but Bogna moved fast to restrain Brett’s arms.

Jacie dodged in front of him. “We got it, Brett. We know what’s going on now.” She rubbed the front of his boring white T-shirt and looked at him as if she’d never seen him before.

Brett shook his head to clear the red haze of fury. He relaxed enough to quit struggling against Bogna and the sergeant let him go.

“I didn’t start this to give myself an excuse to pound O’Donnell,” Brett said to Jacie. “I had that excuse just from the way the guy looked at you.”

“Guys look at me all the time,” Jacie said. “I’ve never had anyone take exception to it before.”

“Guys look at you all the time, huh?”

Jacie shrugged, “Sure.”

“Guess that's because you’re so ugly, right?”

Bogna gasped behind him. Brett thought about what he’d said, and shook his head. “I’m a poet aren’t I, Jace?”

She smiled and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “It’s not Browning, but I hear you.”

She understood his clumsy, backhanded compliment. In fact, he was pretty sure she wanted to kiss him right there in front of everybody.

She glanced over her shoulder at O’Donnell, cowering away from them, then turned back to Brett. “I really don’t know you at all, do I?”

He slid his eyes toward O’Donnell. “This isn’t me. You know me, Jace. Don’t get the idea that I go around beating people up all the time. This is just junk I learned in my previous career. It’s all in my past. I didn’t want you to ever see this side of me. I didn’t ever want to see this side of me.”

“Am I complaining, Garrison?”

“No,” he admitted, “I’d know if you were complaining.”

She smiled and arched her eyebrows. “Darn right you would.”

And just like that his anger subsided. He slipped his arm around Jacie’s waist, and they turned to face the man who had started something so long ago.

“O’Donnell, whether or not you disgust me isn’t the point. The girl you raped obviously has the money to buy some vengeance. If we track her down we can get her to call off the hit.” Brett waited.

“I’ll break you...” O’Donnell snapped his fingers in Brett’s face. “...like that. You put your hands on me and I want to press assault charges. I want a lawyer. Now! I’m going to sue you, Garrison, for every penny you have.”

Womack pulled O’Donnell out of Brett’s reach. Jacie stepped in front of Brett and pressed her hands to his chest. Bogna grabbed Brett’s shoulder. Brett had no plans to attack again, but they didn’t know that. He tried to remember the last time he’d been treated like he was this ‘un-nice.’ He mentally scolded himself for enjoying it.

“And as for this Amazon woman of yours...” Then O’Donnell proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that, for a genius, he was a certified idiot. “…maybe, if you wrap her up, stick her under the Christmas tree and put a bag over her head, I’ll give her a break and show her how a real man...”

Kaplan was the one who saved O’Donnell from Brett when he said, “We have proof the hit man has been on the grounds, within feet of the building.”

“He was here?” O’Donnell bellowed.

Brett heard something strange in O’Donnell’s voice, like true surprise as if, despite all this security and expense to protect him, he hadn’t before felt any danger. That made no sense.

O’Donnell forgot he was close to getting himself killed by Brett through his own stupidity and suddenly wanted very much to live.

“I demand that you find a better place than this.” His voice became shrill. “I want more guards. The FBI is incompetent. I want protection.”

O’Donnell distracted everybody from protecting him. That left Brett free. Before he could act, Jacie snared O’Donnell’s shirt and hauled him up onto his toes. “We need a name, O’Donnell. We need it now. If he wasn’t after us, too, I’d let him kill you and never lose a minute’s sleep over it. He’s killed four people under protective custody. Each place more secure, more heavily-guarded. He’s killed FBI agents who put themselves between victims and this maniac. He’s too good. The only way to save yourself is to tell us who’s after you.”

Jacie released him. Kaplan shoved the wobbling man into a chair. He leaned over O’Donnell in such a way that he blocked Jacie and Brett from O’Donnell’s vision. “A name, O’Donnell.”

“He doesn’t remember names,” Brett sneered.

“An address. The circumstances. This place is one of the most securely defended compounds in the country. It’s better than a military base. It’s better than the basement of the Pentagon. The President comes here for high-level security meetings. If we’ve got a guy who can walk through our defenses, he’s a national security nightmare. I’ll bring the entire weight of the United States government down on your head if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”  

“No,” O’Donnell burst out. “I didn’t do anything wrong. My reputation—her lies—” O’Donnell’s voice broke.

Brett looked at Jacie, and rolled his eyes.

“It’s all lies,” O’Donnell blathered. “I’ll be ruined.”

Womack leaned over O’Donnell. “It’s not a matter of will he get to you. It’s a matter of when. He’s not coming, O’Donnell. He’s here. There’s a leak somewhere. This guy’s information is good. He’s been right behind us every step. He could have killed you days ago. My guess is; he’s been waiting until they get here.” Womack jerked his head at Jacie and Brett.

Jacie pushed Womack out of the way. “We’re here, now. He could be right outside. We may have only minutes to decide our next move.” Jacie twisted his already mangled shirt. O’Donnell caught her hand but he couldn’t loosen her hold.

Brett eyed Womack and Kaplan. There were laws against torturing confessions out of criminals. Brett assumed Womack and Kaplan were familiar with every one of them. Still, they didn’t seem inclined to interfere.

Jacie tightened her hold, leaned in until her nose almost touched his and hissed with delicious menace, “Dry those crocodile tears, Cupcake, and tell us what we want to know. He’s going to kill all of us if he lobs a bomb in here. None of us have anything to lose. We’re not letting up on you until you talk to us.”

O’Donnell gasped, trying to pull a few precious breaths of air into his lungs. “Chita. It has to be Chita. But it’s all lies. She wanted it. I paid her.”

Jacie twisted the shirt tighter until O’Donnell couldn’t speak. “Don’t waste my time with excuses. Chita who? How do we find her?”

O’Donnell opened and closed his mouth without making a sound. Jacie eased up on her grip.

O’Donnell stammered, “D.C...it was in D.C.”

“You’re wasting time,” Jacie hand twisted tighter. “We know D.C. because that’s where you worked with Bagwell and the others.”

“She was nobody—a custodian. I only remember her name because Chita sounds like cheater and she cheated me. Chita Mendez. Her mother was on the night shift custodial staff at the research headquarters where we worked. Her mother...her mother was...Rosie, Rosa, something like that. Chita told her mother. The little slut had the nerve to bring formal charges against me.”

O’Donnell started to work up a self-righteous lather. “She should have thanked me.”

Jacie cut off his air. He clawed at her iron-fisted grip. When his face had turned maroon, she eased off.

O’Donnell went back to his mewling confession. “The others, Bagwell, Ruffing, Pierce, and Mitchell covered for me when I told them what she’d done. How she took my money then threatened me with statutory rape. The charges were dropped. She and her mother went crazy, confronted all of us. I...I ended up...I had to get them off of me. She and her mother were hurt. Her mother had a head injury or her spine. I don’t know what. It was self-defense.”

“So, you raped a child.” Jacie’s voice cut like an Arctic wind. “A pack of men lied for you. You beat her when she dared to object. You left her mother a cripple. Your rich, powerful friends stood by and let it happen. That about it, O’Donnell? I leave anything out?”

“That’s not how it was. I had sex with a hooker. She tried to extort money from me afterward by claiming to be underage. When I refused to pay she went to the police. My friends supplied me with an alibi. She and her mother attacked me and I defended myself.”

Jacie’s temper boiled over. “Four men covered for you fifteen years ago, and four other men are saving your life right now. If they weren’t here protecting you, I’d tear your face off.” She jerked him out of the chair by his shirt front.

Brett leaned forward so his ferocious girlfriend could see his face. “The bomber’s probably slinking up to the back door right now, Jace. Can we shake and bake O’Donnell later when we’ve found a more secure location?”

Jacie turned on him. Brett thought she might unleash her fury on him. She breathed through clenched teeth for ten long seconds. Then she shoved O’Donnell hard enough he fell over the chair he’d been sitting in, and landed in a heap on the floor.

Kaplan was already reaching for a cell phone in his pocket. “Bogna, bring the military vehicle around. Signal the helicopter. We get airborne now, and decide our destination enroute.” He hollered, “Move.”

Bogna charged out the door.

“The five of us go together,” Womack ordered. “I know how to turn off all the tracking devices on the chopper and so do Bogna and Kaplan.”

“Me, too,” Brett said.

“Good, then we can all verify they’re off. No one, not even the other guards at this place, will know where we’re going.”

The military vehicle roared up to the back door. Brett heard the distant whine of a helicopter blade warming up. Womack picked O’Donnell up off the floor while Kaplan issued terse orders into his phone.

Five of them—Womack, Kaplan, O’Donnell, Jacie and Brett—rode to the helicopter landing pad. As Bogna drove down the rough road like a madman, Kaplan leaned forward to Womack. Brett heard him say under the roar of the motor, “If he finds us, we know the leak is someone on the chopper.”

Even if they were all trustworthy they couldn’t hide forever. And when they surfaced the Loona-Bomber would be waiting. If the FBI found Chita Mendez first, maybe the hit man could be stopped. Brett looked at their little group. They were a long way from safe.