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Tracker gave a mocking snort at the comment. “I turned it down at first,” he admitted. “But I was too curious, I guess, because the mark was from Somerset. Once I learned it was one of Dawg Mackay’s sisters, I reconsidered.”
“Took you long enough to come forward,” Alex Jansen commented coolly. “One might say a little too long.”
“One might,” Tracker agreed, his lips kicking up at one corner wryly. “But one might be unaware of the fact that trust isn’t my first inclination and that having my reputation as a merciless killer smeared by a shadow of compassion isn’t exactly the compromise I’m looking for here.”
“We’re not here to snipe at his background, Alex,” Timothy stated from where he sat behind the bar on the other side of the room. “Let’s hear what he has to say, then we can plan accordingly.”
As though agreement had been voiced, Tracker moved from the wall to step behind the bar with Timothy as the rest of them converged on the bar stools in front of the wide teak counter.
“Two million dollars,” Tracker stated as Timothy passed out a file folder to each of them. “The hit has to appear to be either an accident or a case of mistaken identity. When that girl the drug cartel killed showed up, I decided to use it to try to flush out whoever’s backing the contract. So far, it hasn’t worked. At last contact I was given one more chance before the down payment has to be returned and a new offer will go out.”
Graham opened the file to find pictures of Lyrica, notes on her various jobs, schedule, friends, and family. Along with it was the Mackay itinerary for the weeks they were on vacation.
“In checking out her background I learned that Graham Brock’s sister was a close friend and that her number was on Ms. Mackay’s contact list. They talked daily, so I took a chance that if she couldn’t contact her friend and her phone appeared to be malfunctioning then she would turn to her brother. Thankfully, the plan worked.”
Graham glanced up from the file. “You could have just called.”
“Not until I learned exactly whose phones were compromised.” Tracker shook his head before leaning back against the empty shelves of the former bar. “When she disappeared, my employer demanded the records of a tracking and jamming program he provided that would ensure no one accessed her phone. I sent it and waited. The only encrypted number he couldn’t pinpoint on the report was Graham’s.” He nodded in Graham’s direction. “For the rest of you, I was sent call logs, though text and discussion logs weren’t tracked, it appears.”
“Son of a bitch,” Timothy exclaimed. “How was the encryption cracked?”
“From what I can understand about the program, it’s usually hidden in a download of some sort,” Tracker answered. “A picture, website, whatever. Backtracking, I was able to identify a URL common to the unencrypted numbers of those on Lyrica’s contact list. How it got into the encrypted numbers, I haven’t ascertained just yet.”
“A lot of work,” Alex muttered. “A hell of a lot of money. The question is, why? What does Lyrica know that has her marked?”
“My question as well,” Tracker answered. “And one of the questions I initially asked upon taking the job. I’m known to be the nosy sort.” A mocking smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze remained stone cold. “The answer I received was that the contract was a vendetta, not a personal strike.”
“Fuck!” Natches hissed, his voice low, vibrating with menace. “Our old enemies perhaps?”
The homeland terrorist group had been silent for years.
“My sources say no.” Once again, Tracker answered the question. “I’ll be honest, gentlemen, I’ve spent more time trying to track who, what, and why on this contract than I’ve spent on any other. There are no answers, though I have managed to cross out every Mackay enemy I could identify.”
“What about my enemies?” Timothy asked.
“That one I can’t answer,” Tracker informed him. “You have far too many, Timothy, and even more than even I can identify.”
“It’s not Timothy,” Natches stated.
“Then who?” The question came from Rowdy, who was sitting at Timothy’s right, every line of his body tense and filled with fury.
“I don’t know.” A quick shake of his head was the only indication of Natches’s confusion. “But it’s not Timothy. There’s something familiar to this program, though; I just can’t identify what. It’s as though I’ve seen it somewhere else, heard of it, or something.” He tapped one particular page. “Lyrica’s phone went off-line here.” He pointed to the included graph as he turned to Graham. “Is that where you had her pull the battery?”
Graham checked the graph then.
“That was it.” He confirmed the time. “I kept the call brief, just long enough for my GPS to pinpoint her, before I had her disconnect and pull the battery from the phone.”
Natches frowned again, shaking his head. “That shouldn’t have worked.” He sighed. “Not with the program I’m thinking of.”
“Good luck tracing it,” Tracker retorted. “My second in command has been working on it nonstop for the past three months since we were given the contract, and even her sources haven’t been able to identify it or its creator.”
“Angel?” Graham asked him, remembering the tiny bundle of dynamite that had fought viciously with the mercenary. “She’s still putting up with you?”
Tracker flicked him an irritated glance. “Stay the hell away from her, Graham. Angel’s no flavor and I won’t have her become one.”
What the fuck? He blinked back at Tracker as the Mackays and their friends glared over at him.
“The ‘flavor’ comments are starting to piss me off,” he told them all. “And I never had any intention of inviting Angel into my bed. That woman knows her way around a knife far too well.”
