Razor's Edge (30 page)

“How do you know that?”

“I hacked into the MLS system. The bank's selling it, and the info sheet says real estate agents can show it whenever they like since no one lives there. It's got a nice big outbuilding with an oversized door. Unless it's full of crap, the MCC will fit.”

“Thanks, Mira. You're the best.”

“You can thank me by getting Clay to call me. He's been . . . under the weather. I'm worried about him.”

“I'll have him call as soon as I see him. Cross my heart.” Mira gave her the directions, which Roxanne entered into her phone's GPS. “Give this to Reid. Tell him to go here and we can hide.”

Tanner gave her a skeptical look but did as she asked. A few minutes later, they were safely hidden inside a run-down outbuilding, sharing space with a rusted truck with no front axle.

Reid turned off the engine. The silence was nearly overwhelming.

Roxanne was so tired. The blow to her head and shot to her body armor had made her sore, but they'd done more than that. She felt demoralized and worn out. Jake was still out there, and their only lead was an unconscious man who'd tried to kill them.

That didn't bode well for Jake's safety.

She was his only hope, and it was time to buck up and come through. He deserved no less, no matter how tired she was. At least she was breathing free air.

Roxanne stood slowly, conscious of Tanner's concern. He held her arms, ready to catch her if she passed out. Which she refused to do. There was too much work left for her to take a concussion break.

“Let me pass,” she said.

“I think this is a bad idea. You're not at the top of your game, and this guy's going to see it. You can't interrogate from a position of power.”

“Then I'll interrogate him another way.”

“How?”

“I don't know. I'll appeal to his compassion. Jake's my family. This guy probably has a family, too, and will get where I'm coming from.”

“It won't work.”

“You don't know that until I try.”

“This is a bad idea, Razor. We may get only one shot at him. If you screw it up, you'll never forgive yourself.”

“He's right,” said Reid, who'd come back to join them. “Do you have any experience with this kind of thing?”

“Questioning people? Not if I've done my job. Their fingers in the cookie jar tend to speak loudly enough.”

“Chances are this could get ugly,” said Tanner.

“I don't care. Jake is my family. I'm doing this.”

Tanner and his brother shared some silent guy-speak over her head. Then he sighed. “Okay, but I'm going on record that this is a bad idea.”

“Noted,” she snapped. “Now let me pass.”

She moved toward the front of the MCC and could now see the man they'd taken captive. He was young—maybe midtwenties. He had a lean face and a body straining with muscles under his camouflaged uniform. His hands were cuffed behind his back with plastic ties, and he was duct-taped to the seat at his ankles and around his torso. Another strip of duct tape covered his mouth.

Roxanne gave the three men a hard stare. “Back off. I'm doing this.”

Gage stepped back, leaning his hip and shoulder against the wall. Tanner and Reid crossed their arms over their chests and took on identical, protective poses.

She stepped up to the man who looked like a soldier and ripped the tape from his mouth. His eyes popped open, and he let out a snarl of pain. A cut on his lip reopened and bled over his mouth.

“What's your name?”

He glared at her and said nothing.

“No one's coming for you, and we're not letting you go. Either you play ball, or things are going to get unpleasant. Now tell me, who do you work for?”

He scrunched up his mouth and spat blood at her. She jumped back, dodging the spray. Before she'd landed, Tanner had lunged forward and backhanded the man across the face.

She glared at him for the interference, but the sudden movement had made her dizzy, and she was sure her look lacked the heat she'd intended.

Roxanne ripped a small strip of duct tape from the roll and taped his wound shut so he'd have no more ammunition. “Do that again, and you'll be bleeding from more places than just your mouth.”

“You won't do shit to me,” he said. “You can barely stand.”

She was not going to give either Tanner or this man the satisfaction of being right. She wasn't weak. She would be as strong as she needed to be for as long as she needed to be to see Jake home.

“You're right,” she said, settling the heel of her boot against his balls. “I could lose my balance at any moment, so you'd better talk fast.”

He paled for a moment, then gathered himself again and looked away from her as if dismissing her.

Roxanne put some pressure on his crotch—just enough to get his attention. “Jake Staite. Where is he?”

“You'll never find him.”

“So you do know where he is.”

“Dead,” spat the young man. “We used him for target practice when we found out he'd broken the rules and spilled his guts. You should have heard him scream. He was such a fucking pussy. He died a traitor and a coward.”

His words crashed over Roxanne, chilling her. She started to shake as the images he'd put into her head bloomed to life. It didn't matter that he was lying. The thoughts were in her now, tearing down her little-remaining strength and crushing her hope.

“That's enough,” said Tanner. “If he's going to lie, we should just kill him now.”

“I'm not done with him yet,” said Roxanne. Despite her resolve to be a stone-cold bitch, her voice wavered. She was cracking. She had to get out of here before it was too late.

“I'll do it,” said Gage, his voice low and quiet. His gaze was fixed on the prisoner, unblinking and unwavering.

“Do what?” asked Reid. “Kill him?”

“Get answers. Leave. I need to be alone with him.” Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Roxanne's spine.

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” said Tanner.

Reid shook his head. “No. He's right. We'll give Gage a shot. If he can't get answers out of the dick, then we'll kill him.”

Roxanne let them usher her out of the MCC. She was shaking so hard, she could barely get down the stairs. All she could think about was Jake and what he must have gone through. Even if he was still alive—which she had to believe—he had to deal with heartless bastards like the man inside. And because she'd been so swept up in her own life, with the move and with starting over, out from under her parents' shadow, she hadn't even seen his cry for help.

Weeks had passed in which she could have been looking for him. He was out there, hoping she'd save him, and she'd been picking out paint and furniture.

If he was dead, it was her fault for not having acted faster.

Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back. Crying would only make her head hurt worse, making her more useless.

“That prick was lying to you,” said Tanner. His eyes were blazing with anger, but his hands were gentle on her arms, giving her comfort and anchoring her.

“I know. I also know I shouldn't have let it upset me so much.”

Reid's voice was low so it couldn't be overheard behind the closed door of the MCC. “We're not going to kill him. You know that, right? I just said it to scare him.”

“Of course we're not going to kill him. For all we know, he's a victim the same way Jake is.”

“That man who attacked you at the storage facility,” said Tanner, “he was fucked in the head, not playing with a full deck. This guy seemed lucid.”

“It doesn't matter,” she told him. “We'll make him help us, and then we'll turn him over to the authorities.”

“Which ones?” asked Reid. “The police? The feds?”

She turned around, taking herself out of Tanner's grasp. While she missed his touch, she needed to prove to herself she could stand on her own two feet. What she'd been through tonight wasn't going to keep her from finding Jake. “If what Jake said in his journal was true, then the military needs to be involved. They need to know what's happening to their soldiers.”

“Do we even know for sure what that is?”

“No, but Jake will know. And when we find where they're holding him, I'm sure we'll also find all kinds of incriminating evidence.”

They fell silent. Tanner paced like a caged animal. Reid stayed by the door, watching for signs that they'd been found. Roxanne watched the door, hoping Gage would walk through and tell her he'd learned where Jake was.

As close as she was, all she could hear was the low rumble of Gage's voice broken up by a whole lot of silence.

If this didn't work, she was out of ideas.

 

 

Clay had no idea where he was. It was dark. He was outside, sitting on the ground, but he couldn't remember how he got here.

Confusion fogged his brain, and he looked around, desperate for some sign of where he was.

He felt the familiar weight of his rifle in his hands and looked down. Sticky, dark splotches coated his fingers.

A man lay unmoving at his feet. Clay scrambled to his side, rolling him onto his back. He was a stranger—one whose pants were shiny with fresh blood.

Clay felt for a pulse. There was none. He was still warm, though. He hadn't been dead long.

A wind slid over the ground, cooling the blood on his hands. He could smell cattle nearby.

His head was pounding, and his stomach twisted with nausea. It took a force of will, but he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the area.

A Jeep sat with the passenger door open. One of its tires was blown, and a strand of barbed wire was tangled around one wheel. The engine was running, but the headlights were off. The dome light shone on the interior, showing another man slumped dead over the steering wheel. His body armor hadn't done him any good against a headshot. Blood and pulpy bits of bone and brain splattered the side window. The bulletproof glass had withstood the blow, but it had only kept the round from busting out through the window.

Clay's stomach rebelled and he had to gulp down deep breaths to keep from puking on his boots.

As he looked away, he caught sight of another vehicle ten yards down the gravel road. Its headlights were on. He couldn't see if anyone was inside.

He raised his rifle and slowly approached from the side. As he got close, he saw a man's hand sprawled on the ground. The rest of his body was hidden by the SUV.

He tried to speak—to tell the man to put his other hand where Clay could see it—but his throat was tight and dry, and no words came out.

An image shattered against the inside of his skull, nearly driving him to his knees with the pain. He gritted his teeth and gripped his weapon tight, waiting for it to pass. He could do nothing else. The agony was overwhelming. With every beat of his heart, he saw a fragmented flash. First, a man fired at him. The muzzle flash of Clay's rifle spewed out like fire. A man appeared. He was bald, with a nose too big for his face. On his right sleeve was a patch sporting a red saber and words he couldn't read. Then Clay had a knife in his hands, and that knife was covered in blood.

Another throbbing pulse of pain hit him, and all the images vanished, as if they'd never been there.

Clay dragged in a deep breath, struggling to get enough oxygen. A wave of dizziness careened into him, and he locked his knees to keep from crumpling to the ground.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, his vision returned and the man was still lying in the same spot. Only now Clay knew what the rest of him would look like. He'd be shaved bald. His nose would be too big for his face, and he'd be wearing a patch with a red saber on it on his right sleeve.

Slowly, Clay moved forward, compelled to see if he was right even as he prayed he was wrong. He'd never seen that man's face before—only just now in his head.

He cleared the bumper of the SUV and looked down. The man stared up at the sky with unblinking, blue eyes. He was bald. His nose was too big for his face. He wore that saber patch. His throat had been split open to his spine.

Clay had done it. He didn't remember doing it, but that changed nothing. He'd killed these men, and he couldn't remember a thing. Which left only one question.

How many other men did he not remember killing?

“N
one of our men are reporting in,” said General Bower. “We must assume that means they've been eliminated.”

Dr. Stynger's bright red lips pursed in annoyance. “All of this fuss for one man? I thought you were supposed to vet our recruits to avoid this type of problem.”

“I did. Jake Staite has no living family. No girlfriend. How was I to know that this woman would move heaven and earth to find him? Or that she would have the resources to be effective?”

Her pale green gaze caught his and held. “You were supposed to know because it's your job to know.”

Nelson swallowed, trying to hide his apprehension. She was starting to look at him differently—the way she looked at her subjects. He had to sleep sometime, and he didn't want her getting any ideas. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

She cocked her head to the side. Her neck was so skinny. It wouldn't take any effort at all to break it. Maybe that was the best choice—kill her before she could hurt him. But then what would he do? She was his meal ticket. A few more years doing this job, and he could have the retirement he should have had from the US military—the one they'd robbed him of because of one little mistake. One single dead soldier and his career was over. They hadn't cared that it was an accident.