AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You left me,” she whispered again. “What am I supposed to do, Nathan? Tell me.” Her breathing hitched as her stomach cramped with the pain of loss. “Tell me, what am I supposed to do now?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Noah pulled the Harley into the hidden bay that housed the individual vehicles of the Elite Ops Unit, turned off the ignition and pulled in a hard, deep breath. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d wanted to stomp straight up the hill to that house and spend the night sparring with the wife who made him hotter than a fire in winter and mesmerized him now, more than she had six years ago. He shook his head. Getting to know her again, seeing all the things she had hidden from him when they were married, only reinforced the fear that he had made the mistake of his life when he believed Sabella couldn’t handle the horror of what had happened to him.
They were waiting on him, and he was late. Late because he’d stomped around that damned apartment, swearing he could feel Sabella. Sworn, he would have sworn it on a stack of Bibles that he heard her whisper his name. But it wouldn’t have been the first time. It had happened too often over the past years.
Nineteen brutal months of hell with Fuentes. He swore at times that his Sabella was with him. Wiping his brow, her eyes confused, her voice agonized as she begged him to let her help him. Then he would touch her, and he would see his own hands, bloodied from his attempts to escape or the guards he tried to kill. And she would cry. In those ragged nightmares she always cried.
He tightened his jaw at the memory of that as he stepped into the briefing room and closed the door behind him.
“ ’Bout time.” Jordan stood from his chair and darkened the glass with a flip of a switch as Noah took his chair. “We have intel on the names we’ve pulled in over the past week of suspected BCM members.”
Jordan wasted his time asking why he was late.
“We have Mike Conrad, manager of the town’s largest bank, also the bank that we’ve managed to identify as possibly a central location for the laundering of large funds to support the BCM.”
Mike was on the LCD screen hanging on the wall.
“I knew him,” Noah said quietly. “Mike would fit the paramilitary profile. Even when I lived here, Mike was very vocal about immigration laws and the nation’s inability to pass the right ones, or to enforce the ones they have. He was a proponent of stricter laws and militias to enforce them.”
“And the two of you were friends?” Micah asked curiously.
Noah shrugged. “We grew up together. I didn’t have to agree with him to like the man he was at the time. That was over six years ago. Evidently, he found a way to follow his vision.”
“They all do, mate,” John Vincent grunted, his rugged features concerned as they flipped open the files Tehya was passing out.
“As you read, you’ll see that two of the mechanics working at the Malone Garage, Timmy Dorian and Vince Steppton, are both suspected lower-level members of this militia.” Their pictures came on screen. “We’ve been tracking them,” Jordan continued. “They make frequent trips to Gaylen Patrick’s ranch as well as Mike Conrad’s home outside of town. We’ve also been tracking Conrad and his contacts.” Several pictures came up; one of them was Duncan Sykes.
“I tried to hack Conrad’s computer the other night.” Tehya stepped in at Jordan’s nod. “Spectacular work,” she said, sighing. “Someone has attached a very advanced system to his connection. Sykes has the ability and the knowledge for such security. When I couldn’t get in without tripping his security I tried Patrick’s. We have the same setup there. We need someone on-site to upload the program I’ve written that will let me bypass the security entirely.”
“I can get that done.” Noah nodded. “I helped Mike build his house. He made an addition to the plans he bought that no one but the two of us knew about. A small escape tunnel and entrance into his study. He wouldn’t have changed it after my ‘death.’ He’d feel more secure than ever.”
“Good.” Jordan nodded before breathing out wearily. “We have a report of another hunt that took place in the past week as well. Border Patrol found the bodies last night.”
Those bodies were on the monitor now. A young man and woman, blank eyes, expressions twisted into lines of horror as they stared sightlessly from ravaged faces.
“A young Mexican family. Illegals slipping across the border, we believe.” The picture of the young couple was horrifying. The young woman had obviously been raped, tortured. Her husband had been sliced open in so many places he looked like a patchwork quilt. “The baby that the relatives claim the family had with them is missing. We have no pictures. Three months old, a birthmark on its left hip. That’s all we know.”
“We have reports these murders are taking place during illegal hunts,” Jordan stated. “Several couples, legal and illegal, that have gone missing between Dallas, Houston, and the surrounding area have turned up here, in Big Bend National Park, showing signs of flight, and of having fought their attackers. As you’ll recall from our last meeting, the Federal agents that were killed received a tip of a hunt taking place the night they disappeared.”
“Border Patrol involved?” Micah Sloane, the former Mossad agent, asked Jordan, his black eyes cool, calm. The Israeli was one of the deadliest men of the group. The training maneuvers he had taught the rest of them had only added to the strength of the unit overall.
“Not that we can substantiate. Various bodies have been found over the past two years by Border Patrol, Park Patrol, ranchers, hikers, and a few cowboys. Never in the same area twice. They spread them out,” Jordan informed him. “Do we have anything new to add?” He looked around at the others.
“I begin mechanics duties tomorrow.” Nikolai grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “It would seem Rory Malone has finally managed to get his coowner to agree to a trial period of work.”
Noah snorted at that. Rory had fought Sabella tooth and nail for it. That boy was more stubborn than Noah had suspected.
“I’ve stayed pretty much to the shadows,” Micah informed them. “There’s a lot of rumor. I put that in my report. A lot of talk, but nothing conclusive yet.”
“No shit, mate,” the Australian quipped. John Vincent could be a sarcastic bastard. “Those bars and hangouts I’ve made my way through are a waste of my friggin’ time. Nothing but a bunch of too curious little girls and too drunk cowboys. From what I’ve seen of the few I suspect myself, they meet, then leave to discuss whatever they have going.”
“Watch the accent and the attitude, John,” Jordan told him coolly. “Micah, stay in the shadows, see if you can’t follow some of those walking conversations. We need to determine who our main points of interest are and who
are just lower-level glory soldiers.”
“Those hunts are professional,” Nikolai said. “Those aren’t glory soldiers. My guess would be those soldiers may know of them, but they aren’t high enough for involvement.”
