Nadia Wolf: My Traitor Part 5

Ava was running out of time. She had to make Brock see reason, but he was still as stubborn as she remembered. If there was anyone else she could've asked, she would have. But it all centered on him.

After escaping her room, she parked a mile away from the mansion, waiting for Brock to leave. She would follow him. Perhaps if he was tied and gagged, he might finally listen to her.

She sat in her car, hidden behind an old billboard, and waited for an hour until two cars drove up the road. She spotted David's black sports car immediately but wondered who was driving the tiny blue compact behind him. As they pa.s.sed, Ava held back a laugh. It was Brock, crammed into the small contraption.

Odd.

The Brock she knew had an absurd love for Cadillacs.

Ava waited a few moments before pulling out behind them, tailing Brock. If he suspected she was following, he never let on. After several miles, he parked in front of a warehouse and opened the locked gate.

So this is where he's been staying.

Ava continued down the road and out of sight.

She'd be back tonight.

Chapter 5.

Remy scanned the road from the warehouse door. It had been two days since he saw Ava at the mansion. He purposely led her back to the warehouse so she would know how to find him. But there was no sign of her anywhere. It was as if she'd vanished. He didn't know what to think about that. She wasn't the type of person to back down. If she said she needed something, she wouldn't stop at one altercation. So, where the h.e.l.l was she?

Remy shook off the feeling creeping up his neck. Was she in trouble? Or was she out there, waiting for him?

Slamming the warehouse door closed, he stormed back inside. He felt like prey, waiting for Ava to strike, not knowing when or where. And he was on his own. David, not liking Mya having been so close to Ava, had left town with her in tow. He promised to return and help, but who knew when that would be.

Rat had fled as soon as he heard what had happened. Said he wasn't getting paid enough for hunting the likes of Ava.

Remy didn't care. He was better off on his own. He preferred it that way. Only, he was still in the dark, not knowing anything useful.

Well, he was done waiting. There had to be someone who knew something. Studying the wall, he tried to find a spot to begin.

All of his men were dead. So, who else would know anything? Who could he get to without raising a flag that he was alive?

Remy s.n.a.t.c.hed his keys. There was one person he could talk to without worry. An officer who recently stepped into early retirement. He might know something, and he lived only a couple of hours away. Remy trusted him.

It was time Brock Remington made a reappearance.

Ava clenched her fists into tight knots. She had been so close to Brock, and now this pale-faced b.a.s.t.a.r.d sitting comfortably in front of her had yanked her back. She wanted to punch that placid expression right off of him.

"Did you get what I asked for?" Jeremy French asked, his words as calm as his expression.

Ava looked around the motel room before answering. Every time she had to meet him it was at a shabby old motel. She knew why. If anyone was to see her, it would look as if she was meeting a lover.

Please. If she was meeting a lover, it wouldn't be in a fleabag motel with broken beds and dirty linens.

"You didn't give me enough time," she finally said.

He raised a blond brow. "You're slipping, my dear. When I give you a deadline, I expect it met."

"You know d.a.m.n well Brock trained me. He can easily avoid me when he wants to."

"Don't you mean Remy?"

Ava started. How did he find out? Did he already know where Remy was?

A silky smile curled on his lips. "You seem to forget that I'm always watching. Did you have a pleasant stay at the Miller mansion?" His tone mocked.

"I was waiting."

"And it seems you waited long enough. So, how was our old friend?"

"Angry."

"Well, you are a traitor," he said, sarcasm thickening his voice.

Ava's fists clenched tighter. Not even the sting of her fingernails gouging her skin did anything to relieve the resentment for the man sitting in front of her with his smug expression. With his pallid features and frigid blue eyes, he looked as if he could fade into the air had his athletic frame not defied it.

But that's what he was-a faded image of his former self. She remembered him clearly. Six years ago he had the same light complexion, which was h.e.l.lish in the brutal foreign sun. The years had not been kind to him. Heck, they hadn't been kind to any of them. He had grown cold and bitter. Through his serene faade simmered a man teetering on a cliff.

"If you knew I was so close, why did you pull me back?" Ava questioned. "I could have ended this by now."

"I have another task for you." His fingers pressed into a steeple in front of him.

"What could be more important than this?"

"A transfer will need to be made in three days. I need you there."

A transfer? That caught Ava's attention. She uncurled her fingers, stretching them.

"What kind of transfer?" she asked, keeping her voice cool and steady.

"Here are the coordinates," he said, flicking an unmarked envelope.

She caught it and quickly opened it. Reading the contents, she swore. If these were correct, she'd be in the Atlantic, way outside of U.S. territory.

"Do you have a team ready or do I just row out there?"

"Sarcasm?" he questioned, but didn't seem to give it much thought as he stood.

Ava scowled. It would be so easy to knock him to the floor, to plunge a knife into him. She could do it within seconds. She had never killed anyone, but he was quickly becoming a large, provoking target.

"Plotting my death?"

Ava glanced up to find him staring at her, a.s.sessing.

A smile slid onto her lips. "I wouldn't need to plot something so simple."

Fury flashed across his face. It was immediately smoothed. "You know what would happen," he warned.

Ava swallowed hard. "Do I have a team?" she repeated, drawing the conversation back to neutral territory.

This time, he smiled, lighting his eyes with something that unnerved Ava.

"Yes, and I think you'll enjoy it. You'll have plenty of time to reminisce with your old pal."

"Who?" Ava questioned, nervously watching the satisfaction grow on his face.

"Brock, of course."

Ava crossed her arms. "Why him? You know what he thinks of me. He already said he wouldn't help."

"Then you'll have to twist his arm."

"Why Brock?"

He shrugged. "Two birds, one stone."

Realization dawned. "You want me to kill him after the transfer. I won't do it!" She could never. What had happened to French that would make him turn on Brock?

"No. He is the transfer."

"I didn't expect to see you so soon," retired officer Jared Boyer said, eyeing Remy from behind his screen door.

How could Boyer expect to see him when Brock was dead? Remy stood silent. He wouldn't say anything until Boyer explained.

"Still the quiet, stoic one?" Boyer laughed and swung the door wide open, motioning for Remy to enter.

Remy stood his ground. "How did you know?"

"I believe you asked me that same question nearly a decade ago after the rocket launcher incident. I'll tell you the same thing as I had then. I know everything."

Remy stared, flummoxed. How could he possibly know? And the rocket launcher incident was an accident.

Boyer laughed again. It was deep and rich. Soulful. It was as if nothing had changed. "Come on in," Boyer said. "Miller arrived an hour ago."

David?

Dammit to h.e.l.l!

Remy pushed through the door as Boyer stepped back, his brown eyes filled with laughter. Remy saw the same humor in David's eyes and swore.

"Why are you here?" Remy demanded.

"I guess for the same reason you're here."

"I thought you were with Mya."

"I was. Now I'm not." David's impish smile had Remy clenching his jaw. "She's tucked away at my mom's house."

Remy grunted.

David grinned. "Boyer was on the way home, so I thought I'd stop by for a quick chat."

"Is that what you call it?" Boyer scoffed, making his way into the living room. It reminded Remy of a hunting lodge, complete with mounted trophies of various sizes. A stuffed squirrel in the corner was looking at him funny. "He's been drilling me with questions for the past hour. I haven't been interrogated this hard since my old sergeant caught me pilfering from the mess hall." He clapped Remy on the shoulder. "It's d.a.m.n good to see you. And Miller. d.a.m.n shame about the whole incident. d.a.m.n shame."

Remy gave a quick nod, not able to look into Boyer's eyes. He couldn't. The jagged guilt whenever he was around Boyer rushed back. Boyer never said much about his son Tom who had died on Remy's watch several years before the raid. He didn't have to. Remy felt the silence more than any words could convey.

But Remy wasn't here to rehash the past. Still, it was good to see Boyer, despite their turbulent history. He had always been the solid bridge over rapids and had helped a young and brash Brock out of several sc.r.a.pes. It felt good to be in his presence again.

"Have a seat," Boyer said. "Let's see if we can't sort this out."

"What has David told you so far?" Remy asked, sitting on a worn red-plaid armchair.

"Not much," David answered. "I told him about Ava and asked about the file. He knows exactly what we know."

"Which is nothing," Remy sighed, running his hand over his head.

"I was surprised to hear about Ava," Boyer admitted. "She had been questioned after the attack, but no one ever thought she might be behind it. She looked pretty sh.e.l.l shocked."

"She had everyone fooled," Remy said.

"Especially you, it seems," Boyer said, keeping his voice light, but Remy could see the questions in his eyes.

"Why is she looking for me?" Remy asked.

Boyer shrugged. "To rekindle an old flame?"

Remy shook his head. "I'm more apt to believe she'd rather snuff the flame. But she asked for help."

"What kind of help?"

"I don't know. I went to go check on David, but she escaped before I returned."

"Escaped, huh?"

"Tore the hinges right off the frame," David said.

Boyer's lips twitched. "Never one to stay put. But what's this about checking on David?"