Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 20

Webber reached in his pocket and pitched a wad of rolled bills to the other three. "Go party." He nodded to the peewee who'd wanted his blood-in so bad. "You done good. You're a brother now."

Poor little f.u.c.ker.

Whooping and high fiving, the three sprinted up the concrete steps. They faded away, high on the smell of blood and whatever they'd pumped into their veins.

Webber walked toward the flashlight and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, along with a bottle of water. He walked back and poured it all over his childhood friend's face.

Brody moaned, rolled, and clutched his stomach.

Webber leaned low. "Lewis has a message for you. Quit s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around and do what you're told, or he's going to make sure your sister's nothing but a toss-up for every Apocalypse piece of s.h.i.t to plow through."

Brody cried. He just curled up and sobbed like a baby.

The puke fisted harder up his throat.

f.u.c.k. Webber wanted to cry like a big baby, too. Like the p.u.s.s.y he was trying so hard not to be anymore. But he had to think about the money that would keep his mom and Amber from being tossed. G.o.d, these people knew how to find just where to hurt a guy. Lewis had sure found his weak spots fast enough.

He kept kneeling beside his friend and waited until Brody's heaves slowed.

"I'm gonna take you to the emergency room now. Okay, dude? It's over. You just gotta keep your mouth shut and do what you're told. You need to remember you're a foot soldier. Follow orders, and you'll stay alive."

Brody wasn't half as smart as he thought, and that was dangerous.

Webber stood again. He'd taken a chance in planting a cell phone that actually had been used for Brody to "find."

Lewis hadn't counted on that. The older guy had told him to use a new one and fake out Brody. Risky thing, disobeying Lewis. Too easily Brody could have been the one delivering the beat down.

But Webber knew he was smarter. His planned disobedience had a purpose. For sure the cops had to be tracing calls after that bomb threat. Setting up Brody to use the cell phone that had been used for the bomb threat, hoping for a trace . . . it was their only chance at taking Lewis out.

And maybe even figuring out what else Lewis had going on that he wasn't sharing.

Hope. He hated that feeling most of all.

Webber stuffed his hand in his pocket and shook off the bra.s.s knuckles. He extended a bloodstained hand.

Brody clasped on tight and tugged himself up, barely, leaning most of his weight. "Doesn't seem fair I get the beat down when nothing happened to you for taking that b.i.t.c.h's purse."

"Life isn't fair, and if you think it is, then you're even dumber than I thought, my brother."

Lewis had given him his orders and made the consequences clear. A suicide bomb explosion would have everyone looking for terrorists and paying less attention to jacking up g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers. Shutting up Shay would make for one less-very persuasive-do-gooder who'd somehow snagged big government attention.

And if Webber didn't comply? Lewis would shoot Webber's mama full of the c.o.ke she'd fought so hard to kick, then cut out Amber's baby, leaving them both to bleed out.

All Webber needed to stop everything?

Do exactly what he'd threatened on the phone with Shay Ba.s.sett that first day he'd been told to call and get under her skin. He had to kill himself. Strap a bomb to his chest and blow himself up, along with an auditorium full of people.

All during a nationally televised congressional hearing.

FIFTEEN.

Don wished the pieces of this investigation would come together faster. Instead, it seemed every time they figured something out, the puzzle expanded as wide as the web of cell phone numbers they'd collected by building networks from that banger's call.

And they had less than twenty-four hours to complete the picture.

Their broadening scope of law enforcement now included the Cleveland Police Department, and the D.C. contingent had shifted to Ohio in preparation for the hearing. He'd been given full use of a station interrogation room for a secured meeting while Paulina settled the Congress members at the hotel.

Although it didn't take much effort, given the California congressman's aide seemed to have taken care of everything from a private guard to mints on the pillow.

Don glanced at his watch again, waiting for Vince, Vince's commander, Shay, and Officer Jaworski. He needed work, in fact welcomed the chance to avoid Paulina and the discussion of a possible pregnancy. She had to have noticed the lack of a condom, but after their explosive s.e.x, she'd hauled out of his place p.r.o.nto. That was okay by him since he was still reeling at even the thought of a baby.

Another child.

Another chance to fail.

Something was cracking wide open inside him, and he was slapping emotional Band-Aids all over himself to keep from hemorrhaging out faster than coffee gurgled in that old coffeemaker in the corner. The h.e.l.l of it all? He couldn't figure out what else to do.

The door clicked open. He jolted to a stop. Whoa.

Officer L. Jaworski was truly and thoroughly torqued off. You'd think the guy would be happy they'd brought him into the loop. Of course, calling the baton-clutching cop had been a no-brainer when Vince had reported from the air about the attack launched on the boy. They'd followed Brody as long as they could until he slipped into a back alley. G.o.d only knew what had happened to the kid. Hopefully Shay could offer insights to help them.

Shay, Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon, and Vince followed the young officer who flexed his muscles like an action hero wannabe. The door snicked shut behind them.

"Thank you for meeting with us." Don nodded a welcome to the familiar faces, shook hands all around. He'd billed himself as a part of Paulina's team, since technically the CIA had no jurisdiction here. The role of "concerned father" wouldn't get him the same level of attention. All the more reason to focus on the job at hand rather than checking how Shay was holding up. "We're looking forward to working together to ensure everything goes smoothly tomorrow."

"So I hear, Agent Ba.s.sett. Let's get right to it." Jaworski gestured for everyone to take a seat then set a digital photo frame on the table. He clicked to the first image. "Major Deluca tells me his technology indicates that the boy in this photo made a call today on the same cell phone that was used to place the bomb threat at the community center. It's important that we be sure. Are you certain that's Brody? I can't make out anything from this."

Vince waved for him to click to the next. "There are more here than she got to see on the printout." He turned to Shay. "Brody's the professor-looking one with the scraggly beard, right? 'Cause it appears there's some facial hair on the chin."

Shay leaned closer on her elbows, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears. She'd done that as a child when nervous. An image of her as that sweet little tomboy side-swiped Don with questions of what a kid of his with Paulina would look like.

His daughter rubbed the lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger. "Sure, but that's not what tipped me off. Honestly, it's just something about the way he's standing." She pointed to a tiny smudge on the kid's neck. "And the head of a snake tattoo wrapping around."

Jaworski and Vince nearly missed b.u.mping heads looking back at the photo. Vince tapped the magnify feature to zoom in. "Sure enough, there it is."

Jaworski spun the frame around to fully face him. "We'd have figured it out."

Ungrateful a.s.s. Don looked at his daughter to give her an atta-girl, then stopped. "You seem surprised by what you're seeing, Shay."

She was really working to make that hair stay behind her ear. "I just wouldn't have thought he would be the one. Other than his drug use, he doesn't fit the personality type of someone who's suicidal."

Suicide. Just the word slammed him back in his seat. He wasn't sure he wanted this peek into his daughter's psyche, but had to ask, "What do you mean?"

She tipped the frame toward her, tapping the zoom in on the partially revealed face. "Brody doesn't seem depressed or isolated. The times I've spoken with him face-to-face, I didn't pick up on any verbal cues. Of course, I could be wrong."

What cues? Because G.o.d, he wished he'd known what to look for and couldn't hide from the fact he might need to learn so he didn't screw up again. "Could the hotline calls be a setup? Maybe the kid really doesn't want to die."

Maybe Shay hadn't really meant for it to go so far back then, in spite of what the doctor had said.

Vince rested a hand on the back of her chair. "Your dad may be onto something. A setup to get to you somehow. Put you on edge. Maybe they plan to call right before the hearing. They've got you carting your cell phone around with you, taking calls from the kid no matter what's going on. What would you do if a call came in right before the hearing?" He tapped her shoulder absently. "No need to answer."

"Sure, it's possible, but there was still such helplessness, desperation even, in this boy's voice." Shay pivoted toward Vince as she made her point.

Very close. Vince's wrist was still draped over the back of her chair, almost touching her.

Don eyed the two, and sure enough, their body language spoke loud enough it didn't take a trained agent to see something had shifted between them. Although he'd thought there was something between them years ago and had been dead wrong about that, too.

Shay traced the outline of the image with one finger. "Brody's more reckless, in your face. When I caught him behind the Dumpster toking up during the bomb threat, he totally didn't care."

Jaworski tapped his club absently. "That could be the drugs talking."

Don felt a tickle in the back of his brain. Something about the Dumpster . . . He shot upright in his seat. "The night I stumbled on the two bodies-Kevin and the student-I smelled marijuana by the Dumpster. There were stubs all around."

Shay scooted her chair back, as if putting distance between herself and the image of Brody.

"Oh G.o.d." She clapped her hand over her mouth.

Vince's hand on the back of her seat slid to ma.s.sage her neck lightly. "That evening of the bomb threat, Shay said something about Apocalypse being after the Mercenaries because of a tag getting dissed. Then there was Mercenary talk of that just being retaliation."

The cop pulled his PDA back in front of him. "So let's say Kevin disses a tag, signs his work. Mercenaries up the stakes by painting over Apocalypse art and killing the original tagger. The college student was just collateral damage."

Don lined up the clues and events in his mind. "That feels right. All this activity makes me even more certain they still plan to go through with disrupting the hearing, even with one of their key players-Kevin-dead."

Jaworski turned off the digital frame. "The time has come for me to pick up Brody for questioning. Maybe we can even get a DNA match off those blunts left at the Dumpster."

"Just you?" Don could already imagine the steam rising off Paulina if she was shoved aside in the investigation. And if she was dismissed personally? He knew her temper well. They would have to talk soon. "We brought you this information. The murderer will pay in good time. For now our focus has to be security at the hearing."

Jaworski snorted. "Don't p.i.s.s on my shoes, and I won't p.i.s.s on yours."

Vince stepped in. "Officer, it doesn't appear as clear-cut as picking up this Mercenary kid. Sure, the cell phone network my guys are putting together starts with Brody, but already we're building a larger pool of numbers that includes far more Apocalypse members. The calls are each cryptic individually. Yet Brody's the one who made the bomb threats. Both groups are clearly at work here. The question is, are they actually working toward the same end? Or are there two plans in motion?"

Jaworski's eyes lit. "Then let's start rounding them up-"

A cell phone interrupted the standoff, a generic ring that sent Jaworski unclipping his cell from his belt. "Excuse me for a moment."

He flipped open the phone and tucked into a corner, mumbling low before he turned back around, scowling. Not good news.

"You win, Agent Ba.s.sett. That kid Brody is going to be a piece of cake to watch. He was just found in an ER waiting room, pa.s.sed out and beaten to a pulp. He's in surgery now."

Still rattled, Shay curled up in the overstuffed chair in her hotel room, stroking her fingers back and forth along her laptop keyboard. She'd been reviewing her speech, but she wanted to be at the hospital. If life hadn't gone so wildly insane with all this security, she would be there now checking on Brody, sneaking a peek at his medical chart.

Sitting in a hotel room with her b.u.t.t nailed to this stupid chair made her want to scream.

Except that would freak out her current protector, Vince's crewmate Smooth, otherwise known as Mason Randolph. The young sergeant was watching over her while Vince slept.

At least Smooth never lacked for anything to say. She just let him talk while her mind tumbled with confusion. She still tried to reconcile Brody's face with the voice on those calls. It didn't make sense. Of course, none of what these kids were doing made any real sense. Did they have any clue about the terrorist involvement, or were they so oblivious to what was going on they unquestioningly followed orders, no matter what the higher-ups requested?

Right now she was just grateful Brody hadn't died.

Knowing the two Congress members leading the forum were only a few doors down made her all the more eager to scoop up her laptop and plead her case now.

Smooth snapped his fingers. "You still with me? Do you need a nap? I can stop talking."

Go to sleep with him in the room? She trusted him, but ewww. She needed this fishbowl feeling to end. "I'm wide-awake." In spite of the soothing mug of decaf tea in front of her. "So, Smooth . . . uh, do you prefer to be called Smooth or Mason? I never thought to ask."

He flashed a grin. "Smooth or Mason, either is fine by me."

"Okay, Mason." Calling him by a real name made things feel more normal. "I've heard Vince called Vapor by the crew. I thought he and his friend Jimmy were Hotshot and Hotwire."

"That's more of a recent joke." He stretched his legs out in front of him, penny loafers and jeans, bare ankles, seeming casual except for the tense flex of his shoulders and the way he always kept himself between her and the door. "For now anyway, his call sign is still officially Vapor, and Vapor it will stay, unless there's a keg party renaming ceremony."

"But why is he called Vapor?"

"A number of stories are out there. For a big guy, he walks spooky softly, like vaporizing from one place to solidify in another. Or when he's had enough of the world he gets on his bike and roars out so fast there's nothing but vapor left behind."

"Enough of the world?" She cupped her mug with both hands, the AC chilling her back. "Vince has always been so easygoing."

"He's laid back, sure, and G.o.d knows there are days when his humor hauls us through. There are also days it's impossible to joke. Some people think that when we watch through a camera, we're distanced from what's happening. Physically, that may be true." He tapped his temple by a thick head of gorgeous hair that did absolutely nothing for her. "But when it comes to the head games? This isn't like parking yourself in front of a television."

She could only imagine what they'd seen in combat. Or worse yet, what they'd seen over a monitor and been powerless to intervene.

What her father had seen?

Her mother had said for years that he must have some form of PTSD. Shay had even mentioned it to the shrink who helped her put her life back together in college. Not that her dad had ever joined in a session for her to have a peek into what he might or might not feel.

She tuned back to Mason, grateful yet again that he liked to talk. Grateful for these insights into her father, who never spoke, and Vince, who joked so much it was tough to tell what he actually felt. Shay sipped her tea, inhaling the soothing minty smell, complete with three sugars.

"We all know this is real, the people are real. The stakes and dangers are real." One of his penny loafers started to twitch. "People who've never even set foot in a church before will find G.o.d fast. Most folks get this impression of Vince because of the bike and tats, like he's scary."

She stared into her mug, guilt tweaking. She'd almost run screaming from him that first night he'd come back. "I know that bikers go to church, too."

"Good. But the difference with Vince is that when he prays before combat, he's not praying for himself."

She looked up at him. "He's tight with you guys. I can see that."

"Yeah, yeah, we're all one big happy family, but that's not what I meant." His twitchy penny loafer went stone still. "He prays for the other guy. The one he's looking at in the camera."

His words curled through her veins much like the warm tea heating her system. As if she wasn't already confused enough about her feelings for Vince.

"Well, Mason, for a guy who supposedly hits on every woman in sight, you sure are doing your level best to sell me on your friend."

"Shhh . . . That'll be our little secret. As much as I enjoy a kegger, I want to keep my call sign."