I kept my eyes trained on one group of seated passengers waiting to board the next plane. On the single person that looked out of place as he stood stoically amongst them. I counted to ten to control all of my thoughts, compartmentalizing them into one focused initiative: to find out what had brought us back home so urgently.
Lieutenant Johnson stepped away from the seat he had occupied, looking very much like Secret Service in a business suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of him. The only thing missing was the earpiece. He nodded slightly as our gazes met, but his mouth remained a hard line.
"Sir," I nodded back when we stopped before him. "I understood Davenport—"
"The Director is waiting for us in the lounge." He glanced at Nikki, who I could tell was shaking by her hand still clutched in mine. "Follow me."
"Yes, Sir." I took a deep breath as he started down the vast hallway. I squeezed Nikki's hand reassuringly, but I wasn't sure if it was more for me to know I wasn't in this alone. She huddled as close as possible while we walked.
Soon enough, we approached the VIP lounge. I had been here on multiple occasions when I'd waited for a flight. But never had it been empty as it was now. Void of even airline staff. The only soul was Director Davenport. He rose from his chair as Johnson stopped inside the room.
Reluctantly, I released Nikki and the handle of my suitcase. I shook his proffered hand then straightened my back and clasped my hands behind me. "Sir."
Davenport nodded his head, and I heard Nikki's squeal of surprise when Johnson guided her out of the room. But not out of the lounge, since I didn't hear the swish-hiss of the automatic door opening and closing. "Ben, sit. Please."
I took the chair across from him though he remained standing.
"We executed a search warrant based on a report that Ms. Talmadge had gone missing and Mr. Michaels was the last person to have seen her when he picked her up from the emergency room. Your intuition was right. We found a couple of surprises in the basement. Besides the laundry room being set up like a torture chamber. I won't get into that."
My mind started envisioning the horrors that Nikki had gone through down there. Down where no one could hear her. I felt my stomach turn over. The director's sudden pacing, which was out of character, did not help.
"He'd built himself a top-of-the-line man cave with his profits. Entertainment center, bar, leather furniture, a pool table. What was most interesting was a locked door built into the foundation but disguised to look like a closet. There were shelves installed around it all along that back wall to make it blend in. Once we'd breached the door, we found almost a whole other house under the backyard. It had the complete setup for packaging drugs. Tables with scales, baggies, various food products for cutting, you name it. Even traces of cocaine. Not to mention a safe where we found almost a million in cash. We had everything we needed to take down Hunter Michaels."
When he was silent for a long minute, I dared to say, "But?"
The director finally stood still, his back to me as he stared out the window that overlooked the runways. I could see a plane take off in the distance as well as one taxiing to a gate after landing. He didn't speak, and I wondered if he'd heard me. But just as I opened my mouth, he continued.
"We couldn't find Michaels. We received a tip that a deal was going down, so we switched tactics and got the team ready. Our hope was Michaels would come out of hiding for the meet since he was one of the ringleaders. We arrested all of his associates, but he didn't show."
Relief washed over me. "Okay, so Michaels is on the run. That just means we do what we do best, Sir. We put our heads together and take down our man."
"There's more." His shoulders raised and lowered slowly, as if he'd sighed, though I hadn't heard a deep exhale. Without turning to me, he said, "It's Patrick."
My hands gripped the armrest of my seat. I tried to swallow but failed, making my voice a raspy whisper. "Sir?"
"He got caught in the crossfire when we ambushed the meet. He's in critical condition. He was touch-and-go at first, but the doctors think he'll pull through."
I doubled over, putting my head between my knees, breathing hard. All I could picture was my friend—my coworker—laughing with those girls on the couch at Twisted Cocktails. Asking me to refill his drink. I heard his voice in my head from our last phone call just a couple of days ago now. Our last words, when I told him to be safe and he told me he always was.
We all knew there were risks with this job. We'd seen it happen before, but our losses were rare. And those that we had lost, I had not had a personal relationship with any of them. But Patrick was my wingman. He had been by my side ever since I joined Omega. A Beta since his first day, he said it was his life's dream job since he'd wanted to join the military but couldn't due to some medical anomaly. Something the Council was willing to overlook, apparently.
I couldn't imagine that Patrick was down for the count. Yeah, he annoyed the shit out of me most of the time, but I needed him on my team. It wasn't my team without him.
"We need you, Ben. Peters has been running Alpha in your absence, but I want you on this. I need you on this. He will step down to Beta for the time being. To take over Patrick's spot."
I felt myself nodding. Then my heart wrenched. My throat felt raw. "What about Nikki?"
"We're getting her to a safe house. The plan is to put her into WitSec once Michaels is in custody. She's a star witness based on fingerprints we found on the doorknob inside that hidden room. All other prints had been wiped clean. Since none of the other men are talking—"
I shook my head. "She's not complicit!"
The director stood over me now. "I want to believe that, Ben. I do."
I jumped up, hands fisted at my sides. "No! If her prints are in that room, he forced her in there. Take a damn look at the scars on her body! He's beaten her into submission. You said you saw the laundry room."
"She can make a conviction stick." Davenport put his hand on my shoulder, but I yanked out of his reach.
"Nikki is a victim. She shouldn't be forced into this." I meant them to be said in anger, but the force behind my words was gone.
I knew my boss was right. But it didn't stop me from acknowledging that what bothered me most was I would never see Nikki again if she got into WitSec. Her gut feeling back on the island had been spot on. What more could I do, though?
"We need her, Ben. And we need you."
###
Two days later, we were no closer to locating Hunter Michaels. Since the meet and botched capture of our man-at-large, a team had been sitting in the same house where this had all started for me. Doing surveillance on the drug factory disguised as a humble abode. And of course, there was no activity.
Had Hunter known law enforcement discovered his workshop? Is that why he'd gone into hiding? Why he'd avoided the meet?
Surely, he wasn't stupid enough to go back home. I'd told Davenport it was a waste of time and resources. He'd agreed, but other Council members higher up had wanted to watch the house just in case.
I was back in my loft, staring out over the city. Thinking of where I'd been four days ago, looking at the same sky. When my only care in the world was Nikki's wellbeing.
I could still remember the feeling of holding her as she cried on my shoulder at the airport. Her hands clawing at my arms. Begging—sometimes with indiscernible words—for me to tell her how I was involved in all of this. Sobbing harder when I came clean.
Lieutenant Johnson had provided her with an overview of what had gone down with her boyfriend and the gang. That we needed her testimony to put him away. He'd failed to admit we didn't actually have Michaels in custody yet.
They had given us a few minutes to say our goodbyes. I'd waited for her to blame me...to tell me she felt betrayed. But she never did. And the only words I could think of were, "I'm sorry," but they seemed pathetic given the situation. So neither of us had spoken. We'd just held each other, silently mourning the mandatory separation.
We had kissed softly before we were transported to two vehicles going in different directions.
I had been with Director Davenport, and I'd demanded our first stop be to see Patrick. He had started to argue about the importance of the mission until I snapped at him that Michaels could wait another thirty minutes. Maybe it had been my tone, or maybe he'd had remorse for what had happened to Nikki, but the director had backed off and told the driver to head to the hospital.
The breeze was chilly out on my balcony, and my hands were growing numb as I gripped the railing. But I knew whatever discomfort I felt didn't even compare to what Patrick was going through. He was still hooked up to so many tubes and wires. The doctor had put him into an induced coma to stop the swelling on his brain after the bullets had been removed from his arm, leg, and the left side of his skull. Now it was just a matter of waiting for signs of improvement.
I threw a promise out into the ether. I would stop Hunter Michaels, no matter the cost. If not for Nikki then for Patrick.
Director Davenport had called earlier, asking me to come in first thing in the morning. He wanted to discuss our next plan of action. I knew without asking what he wanted me to do. He hoped that Nikki would talk to me...give us some ideas about where Hunter may be hiding. I hated to do that to her. I really did. But he was right...again. She was our best bet at ending this.
The night was still mine, though. I didn't have to sell my soul until the sun rose. And what better place to sulk than at my old stomping grounds?
The club hadn't changed a bit. For a typical Monday night, I had the VIP section to myself once more. Both Bruce and Marti attended to me like a long, lost son. Yet while the bourbon flowed freely, it had lost its appeal.
