Читать книгу Rules In Blackmail - Nichole Severn - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The guns, extra ammunition, food, tracks, everything was gone. Looked like Jane’s mysterious stalker had tracked her back here after all. The phone rang once in his ear before Elliot Dunham, his private investigator, picked up.

“Go for Dunham,” Elliot said.

Sullivan checked his watch. “How far out are you?”

“Five minutes.”

“Make it three. The bastard knows we’re here.”

“See you in two.” The revving of a car engine echoed in the background before the line disconnected. As an operative on the Blackhawk Security team, Elliot would understand to come in hot—armed and ready for a fight. Sullivan had swiped the private investigator off the Iraqi streets right after Sullivan’s discharge from the SEALs. The man had a knack for finding and recovering classified documents, digging into a person’s life, discovering those secrets his target didn’t want the world to know about. Like a pit bull with his favorite chew toy, Elliot never gave up and never surrendered. Most likely a side effect of his con artist days; each case a long con. With a genius-level IQ, he dug deep, he got personal. At least until the job was done. Then he disappeared to start fresh. It hadn’t been difficult to recruit him either. Only a few phone calls that could put Elliot back into an Iraqi jail cell.

His next call was to Anchorage PD to report the tow truck that’d nearly rammed them into the Gulf of Alaska. A minute later, Sullivan tossed the phone onto the counter and rubbed at his face.

“Is Elliot bringing supplies?” Jane stared up at him, arms wrapped around her small midsection. Her shoulders hunched inward as though she felt the weight of someone watching her. Which Sullivan bet was familiar by now.

The same weight pressed in on him, too, but they only had to wait a few more minutes. Then they could get through her case files and find out who exactly had turned Jane into a target. After that, they’d come up with a plan. “I make every member of my team carry extra guns, ammo and food in case of emergency.”

“Do you think whoever is after me is out there, right now, watching us?” Jane’s voice trembled. She was scared. And rightfully so.

Whoever had taken their bags had wiped any evidence of their existence from the snow. There weren’t a whole lot of men who possessed that kind of skill, Sullivan being one of the few. His father had ensured his sons knew how to hunt their prey properly, before the old man had turned into the sick psychopath he became known for. But right now, in this moment, Sullivan wasn’t the hunter. He felt like the prey.

A soft ringing reached his ears, and Jane extracted her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Frowning, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

He couldn’t hear the response from this distance and, while eavesdropping on his client’s phone calls was technically part of the job, Sullivan wouldn’t crowd her. I needed you. Those three small words had been circling his brain since they’d left her mouth.

“Who is this?” The color drained from Jane’s features.

Sullivan’s instincts prickled at the alarm in her voice. He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to meet his gaze, then reached for her phone. He hit the speaker button, holding the phone between them. “Who the hell is this?”

“He can’t protect you, Jane,” the voice whispered across the line. Her name on the bastard’s lips tightened the muscles down Sullivan’s spine. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

Memorizing the number on the screen, Sullivan gripped the phone tighter. He couldn’t peg an accent due to the whispering, no dialect to pinpoint where her stalker originated from. “Come within three hundred feet of her and I will tear you apart. You tried to kill her once. Won’t happen again. Understand?” His voice dropped low—deadly—as he studied the fear skating across Jane’s features. “Don’t call this number again.”

He moved to hang up the call.

“Always the protector...Sullivan.” Laughter trickled through the phone.

Sullivan’s thumb froze over the end button. A shiver spread across his shoulders. The line went dead, only static and crackling from the fireplace filling the silence.

In a split second, one of the burner phones he kept on hand was at his ear, ringing through to Blackhawk Security’s head of network security. The line picked up. “Elizabeth, trace this number.” He recited the number he’d memorized from the call. “I want a location as soon as possible. Send it straight to the number I’m calling you from.”

“You got it, boss,” the former NSA analyst said.

He hung up. Sullivan’s gaze lifted from the phone as Jane backed away. The terror etched into her expression urged him toward her. Without hesitation, he reached for her. “Jane...”

Eyes wide, mouth slack, she shut down her expression, and Sullivan dropped his hand. “He’s here. He’s watching me. He knows you’re with me.”

That had always been a possibility. Stalkers liked to keep tabs on their targets. The bastard had most likely been the one responsible for taking their gear, too. She’d known the risks going into this, but Sullivan wouldn’t remind her of them now. In this moment, he needed her head on straight. Focused. “You hired me because I’m good at my job. He’s never going to get close to you. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” Her chin notched higher. Jane shifted her weight onto her toes as though she intended to kiss him, and right then, all too easily, Sullivan imagined how it’d feel to claim that perfect mouth of hers. Would she taste as good as she smelled? Damn it. Why couldn’t he keep himself in check around her?

Three knocks on the door ripped him back. The thick wood swung inward, and Sullivan shoved Jane behind him. Her fingers clenched the back of his shirt as he unholstered the Glock at his side. The man hunting Jane most likely wouldn’t knock, but maybe there were polite stalkers out there in the world.

“And here I thought I’d get to shoot someone when I got here.” Elliot Dunham’s wide grin shifted the dark stubble across his jawline. The lines at the edges of his stormy gray eyes deepened. The private investigator holstered his own weapon underneath a thick cargo jacket and kicked the door closed behind him. “Good news for everyone. The perimeter is clear, and I won’t get blood on my new shirt.”

“We wouldn’t want that. I’d have to hear about it all night.” Sullivan couldn’t help but smile as he clapped Elliot on the back. “Did you bring the files?”

“Got them in the truck along with extra munitions and snacks. But I have to be honest, I ate all the nuts on the way here. This place is in the middle of nowhere.” Swiveling his head around Sullivan, Elliot caught sight of their new client. Jane. The con-man-turned-investigator sidestepped his boss, something close to intrigue smoothing out his features. “And you must be Jane. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jane asked. “That’s your opening line?”

“Oh, I like her.” Elliot’s smile made another appearance.

Sullivan clamped a hand on his investigator’s shoulder. Elliot had absolutely no interest in their new client, but something inside had tightened at the thought of another man coming anywhere near her with that look on his face. What did he care? He’d taken her on as a client, however forced. He didn’t have any kind of claim on her. “How about you do your job and get me those files from the truck?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Elliot half saluted Jane, then spun back toward the front door and disappeared.

A tri-chimed message tone brought the burner phone back into his hand. Sullivan read Elizabeth’s message, then dropped the phone onto the hardwood and stomped on it. The screen cracked under his boots, pieces of plastic skating across the floor. “My team couldn’t trace the number. We weren’t on the line long enough to get a location.”

“And you felt the need to take it out on your phone?” she asked.

“Can’t be too careful.” In reality, he’d been thinking ahead. If this case went south and the man hunting Jane expanded his crosshairs, Sullivan wouldn’t leave any evidence behind that could lead to his team.

“So that’s your private investigator.” Not a question. Jane’s arm brushed his as she passed him heading into the living room. A shot of awareness trailed up Sullivan’s arm. He slapped a hand over the oversensitized skin, but she didn’t notice. Head in the game. Standing in front of the fire, her bruises and cuts illuminated by the brilliant orange flames, Jane still held her head high. There was a target on her back, but she hadn’t fallen apart. She didn’t trust him with her emotions. Didn’t seem to trust anyone.

“Elliot is the best private investigator in the country.” He closed in on her one step at a time, giving in to the urge to have her nearby in case her stalker took a shot through the front windows. He’d already tried to kill her once. No telling what he’d do next. At least for now. “Used to be a con man. Elliot can read people. He has the resources to dig into their lives and a genius-level IQ to see three steps ahead. He’ll find whoever’s targeting you.”

“What if he can’t?” Turning toward him, Jane gave him an exhausted smile. Her shoulders sagged as though she’d collapse into a puddle on the floor. “I’ve been through those files a dozen times. I know them better than anyone, and I couldn’t pick out any potential suspects.” She massaged her temples with her fingers. “I just want my life back.”

“Look at me.” Sullivan closed the small space between them. He pushed every ounce of sincerity into his expression, his gaze, his voice, but didn’t move to touch her this time. “I don’t give my word lightly. You might’ve blackmailed me into it, but I promised to protect you, and I will.” The small muscles in his jaw tightened. “We will figure this out.”

She nodded. “I believe you.”

“Good.” Four hours ago, he’d tried kicking her out of his office. But now... They were in this together. He’d saved her life. She’d saved his. And he wouldn’t let some nutjob with a sick obsession get close to her again. No matter how much he blamed her for Marrok’s death. “You’re dead on your feet. Why don’t you go lie down in the bedroom? I’ll wake you if we find a lead.”

Jane nodded, her eyes brighter than a few moments ago. “I’ll also expect that meal you promised when I come out.”

A laugh rumbled through his chest as Sullivan watched her disappear into the bedroom. Flashes of those long legs peeking out from under his blanket skittered across his mind, and his gut warmed. He stared after her a few seconds longer, but the weight of being watched pressed between his shoulder blades. His neck heated. Damn. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see you’re going to break your own rule if you’re not careful.” Elliot dropped the box of Jane’s case files and laptop onto the built-in desk and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, now you look like you want to kill me.”

No way was he going to talk about this with his private investigator. Or anybody. Ever. “What did you find when you went through the files?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities within the army after you said the guy erased his tracks after taking off with your supplies. That takes a lot of skill, and not many of the people she has regular contact with have any kind of training like that.” Elliot shoved the lid off the box and extracted three manila file folders. “Your girl took some damn fine notes on the cases she worked. Made my job easier.”

His girl? Not even close. But Sullivan didn’t correct his investigator. He took the files from Elliot and scanned over the extensive notes inside. Must’ve been Jane’s handwriting. Precise, to the point. Nothing fancy. But the purple and pink Post-its stuck through the files surprised him. Just as her red toenail polish had. He scanned over the first file. “Staff Sergeant Marrok Warren.”

Something sour swept across his tongue.

“Now, that guy is a piece of work. There’s only one problem.” Elliot leveraged his weight against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Jane prosecuted him for sexual assault of three female enlisted soldiers, but—”

“He’s dead.” There it was. Stamped across Jane’s case file in big red letters. Deceased. Sullivan’s ears rang. He discarded the file back into the box, his body strung as tight as a tension spring. His brother might’ve had the skills to pull off blindsiding them in the SUV and taking their supplies without leaving behind a trace, but it wasn’t possible. Marrok Warren was dead. Sullivan had buried him ten months ago almost to the day.

“That would be the problem. I tied him to Jane’s case because of the guy’s father.” Elliot pulled a bag of peanuts from his jacket pocket. “Ever heard of the Anchorage Lumberjack? Killed twelve victims, all with an ax. With Staff Sergeant Warren dead, could be a close family member coming after Jane now, maybe one of those psychopathic groupies I’m always hearing about. Wonder what they’re like...”

Sullivan crumpled the files in his hand, the tendons in his neck straining. He locked his attention on Elliot, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “Who else do you have?”

“We’ve got her commanding officer.” His private investigator nodded toward the second file in Sullivan’s hand, ignoring the obvious tension that’d filled the room. “Major Patrick Barnes is Jane’s CO. He’d know her daily schedule, her routine, and have access to all of her files. He would know her whereabouts while on tour, and he’s the one who grants permission for her to go on leave.”

“It’s not Major Barnes,” a familiar voice said.

Twisting around, Sullivan locked on to Jane, the grip around his rib cage lightening at the sight of her. As long as she was in his sights, she was safe. He tossed the files onto the desk. “You should be resting.”

“Couldn’t wind down. Besides, this is my case. I should be helping.” Jane shoved off from against the doorjamb and sauntered forward. Reaching for Major Barnes’s file, she scanned through the pages, her proximity setting Sullivan’s nerve endings on high alert. She tossed the file on top of Marrok Warren’s and crossed her arms over her chest. “I owe Barnes my life. He tackled me to the ground after an IED exploded in the parking lot outside my office in Afghanistan two months ago. He wouldn’t have done that just to turn around and come after me himself. And he has no motive.”

“All right. Then we take a tour of your life outside the army. The only other name that stands out to me is Christopher Menas.” Elliot handed the file to Jane, but shifted his gaze to Sullivan before settling back against the desk. Hesitant? “He’s won a few hunting awards, but that’s about all I know aside from his criminal record. I can’t find any employment records, no college degree, no military record, nothing that says he’s changed his name, or a death certificate attached to this guy. Menas simply dropped off the grid after skipping bail, but you two had a complicated past and that’s why I’m pinning him as a suspect.”

“I can’t believe this.” She stared at the name on the edge of the folder, her eyes panicked and wide. She slipped her index finger between the yellow card stock but didn’t move to open the file. “I haven’t thought about Christopher in years.”

“Jane?” Warning bells rang in Sullivan’s head as he closed in on her. “What are you thinking?”

Tearing her attention from the folder, Jane lifted her gaze to his. “It’s him. He’s the one doing this to me.”

* * *

CHRISTOPHER MENAS.

Flashes of his face, of those cold brown eyes and dark skin, lit up the back of her eyelids. Jane bolted upright off the bed, out of breath, surrounded by pure darkness. She’d been in love—outright smitten—with the quarterback of the University of Washington Huskies football team. And it’d all been a lie.

She couldn’t see anything with the bedroom door shut, but her instincts screamed she wasn’t alone. The silhouette of a man shifted in her peripheral vision. She slipped her hand under her pillow, curling her fingers around the gun Sullivan had lent her when she’d gone to bed.