Racine lifted an apple from the seat next to him and contentedly munched it as he carefully drove toward Alton. Once on the main Interstate, I-70, he set the cruise to three miles below the speed limit and allowed himself to think of Anthony Gant. He still couldn't believe the bastard was dead. He wondered how Gant’s brother, Jack, was reacting. That was a dangerous man, not that Anthony hadn’t been a hard-ass too. And Racine really couldn't believe that A. Gant had shared so much of his undercover life with another human being, much less a woman. Pussy. Racine shook his head. Too many men were ruled by it.
Racine wondered what had been in Gant's head. He had run into the other man several times on operations prior to Mogadishu and the two had come close to exchanging bullets more than once due to tactical disagreements.
It was a good thing the stupid fuck was dead. Racine would have killed him for free. As it was he could amuse himself with Gant's alter ego, Neeley. That thought was exciting enough to force him to push it away and focus on the Masterson's. After John he planned on going straight to Manchester and doing the bitch. The only catch was Nero's order to bring Mrs. Masterson in alive. Not only would that make it more difficult, but it zeroed out the possibility of immediate job satisfaction. And there was Senator Collins to consider. Fucking politician could fuck up anything.
Racine wasn't tired at all, even though he'd been up now for over twenty-four hours. The flight had been enjoyable due to the extra attention of a pretty young stewardess named LeAnn. Racine didn't even wonder any more about the women who found him intriguing. All his life he'd only generated two responses in the fairer sex. Utter revulsion or a base sexual heat with the preponderance toward the former. He had long ago decided it was something in them and had very little to do with him. He simply ignored most women and the few that fell to him blindly, he usually took.
On the plane he had played it slow and easy with the girl but he had suspected it would take little effort to do her right there in the toilet. He regretted the expedient nature of this business prevented him from getting her phone number. His name for this op, even though it was an alias, was on the passenger roster. Someone could remember him and the last thing he needed was more crap from Nero. Thinking of the lost opportunity with the stewardess as he left the plane made him relish the idea of killing the old blind fart in the damn office of his. Bashing his brains out with that stupid phone or his voice wand. Or maybe just blocking off the hole in his throat.
Racine checked his watch as he drove by Masterson's dumpy motel. Racine parked his car at the end of the building, as far away from the office as possible. He put a fresh pair of gloves on, and then got out of the car.
He moved quietly through the darkness, avoiding the few lights. There was a light on in room 27 but he didn't care. He held his heavy Desert Eagle against the side of his leg and pressed against the cheap door. He didn't have to jam any of the locks and before the door was fully open, he knew why.
Masterson was gone. Racine locked the door with gloved fingers and spent a couple of minutes on a thorough search of the room and bathroom. There were clothes in the closet. A passport for John Masterson was inside a shoulder bag hanging on the bathroom door. That meant John was still in town. Racine smiled. He'd come back for John. There was someone else who could occupy his time this early morning. He left the room and headed for his car.
Neeley held the silenced pistol in her right hand, muzzle pointing across her lap at John Masterson's right leg as he drove her truck. She didn't expect any trouble from him, but it paid to be safe. John was grasping at the possibility of making a deal with Nero like a drowning man at a life preserver. He obviously assumed that Neeley had some way of contacting this man whose name she had just heard today.
"How did you know Gant?" Neeley asked.
"I was in the army," John said. "I met Gant on a mission."
"What kind of mission?"
John nervously laughed. "Lady, if Gant didn't tell you, then I sure as shit ain't telling you. Watch the tape." His eyes shifted over. "You'd better have it. You don't want to play games with Nero."
"I know where it is," Neeley said. "Gant said you had the 'what'. Is that 'what' in the briefcase?"
John nodded. "Yeah. But it’s a lot less powerful without the videotape. That's why I was scared knowing Gant was going to die. I didn't trust that he'd send someone here. I was afraid the tape would be gone with him."
Neeley had been watching the road. She wished John would stop playing "I've got a secret" but she knew Gant had played it also. Whatever they were covering up had to be both very powerful and dangerous. She would get to the bottom of this when they got to the house and Hannah.
“If Gant called you, how come you didn’t run right away?”
John’s eyes shifted and Neeley knew whatever he was about to say was going to be a lie. “There were things I had to do first.”
"Turn here," Neeley ordered, while wondering what he was keeping back from her.
"The house is—" John began, but Neeley cut him off.
"We're not exactly going to walk in the front door," Neeley said. "That's not the smart way to do things."
CHAPTER 11
Hannah had tossed and turned for hours with an occasional dozing off, but she was too angry to sleep. It would be light in a couple of hours and if she could just sleep now it would be enough.
She had just punched the feather pillow into a more pleasing shape when the shrill ringing of the phone ended all pretense of sleep. The voice on the other end was more of a shock than the timing of the calclass="underline" John.
"Hannah, it's me. I have to see you right now. It's important. I'll come through the back. Just let me in the patio doors, OK?"
Hannah stared at the phone in disbelief, trying to think of something to say, but the phone had already gone dead. Hannah quickly pushed back her covers and shivered in the cool air. After belting her robe, she moved to the security alarm pad by the bedroom door. She punched in the code so she wouldn't set off the hall sensor.
By the time she got to the den, she could see John's form filling the partitions of the French door. She noticed a couple of things as she opened the locks: John's eyes were wide and frightened looking and there was someone behind him.
John seemed to propel himself through the doorway even as Hannah had the knob in her hand. He pushed her back until her legs hit an Ottoman and she dropped into a seated position. John kept going and rolled onto the carpet, his hands behind him.
In the dimly lit gloom from the outside security lights, Hannah noticed something around his neck and wondered what it was. At that moment her eyes left John and she saw that the other person had followed John into the room.
The woman kicked the door shut and walked out of the shadows until she was standing in front of Hannah. Hannah looked down and saw what she had in her hand: a wicked looking gun with a bulky barrel.
"John, what is going on?" Hannah demanded, feeling strangely calm in spite of the strange circumstances of his return.
The woman leaned forward. "My name's Neeley and yours is Hannah Masterson and I suggest you shut up and do what I tell you if you want to live."
Neeley then motioned to her two prisoners to move over to the couch. Hannah now noticed that John's hands were tied behind his back. There was a rope around his neck and Neeley had used that to move John through the woods.
When Hannah and John were seated on the couch, Neeley turned off the light and then sat on the edge of the coffee table, gun still pointed.