Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (23 page)

Buzzzzzzz
.

Victor curled his lips at the warning tone. The steel door to the visitation room behind him clicked loudly before it swung open. A draft of air rushed in, but he couldn’t call it fresh. Bleach, fear, sweat, and desperation wouldn’t exactly make Febreze’s top-ten list of bestselling fragrances.

Heavy boots shuffled, then paused at the entrance.

He hit Send on the text message he had already painstakingly prepared on the older-model phone, then tucked the cell phone into the hidden pocket inside his jumpsuit.

He couldn’t see his lurking visitors since he had been positioned to face the opposite direction, but he could just imagine Cappy and the Senator surveying the small cement room that had no windows, mirrors, or recording equipment.

That last revelation was mighty telling. Should be an interesting chat.

Victor lifted his head and stared at the solid wall in front of him with his one good eye, since the other was still swollen shut. He clasped his hands together, and the chain from his handcuffs scratched along the bar welded down the center of the table. Tethered like a damn dog.

Yeah, but this dog bites.
Time to set the tone. In a low, theatrical voice Victor quoted a piece of the old Mary Howitt poem. “‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly; ‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.’”

A sense of irritation preceded the two men as they crossed the threshold, and Victor forced his face into a blank expression instead of letting out the laugh he really wanted to utter.
Ah, stupid little flies. Don’t you know how that poem ends?

“Orange looks good on you,” Cappy boomed in a jovial voice while strolling behind Victor’s stool, which was bolted to the cement floor.

Victor clenched his hands tighter, the nerves along his spine twitching. He hated having the son of a bitch at his back. His left shoulder, which now hung a little lower, twinged at the tight position, and the bruises on his knuckles protested. Goddamn security guard. The memory of the medics strapping Gay Napoleon to a gurney and rushing him to the trauma ward almost cracked Victor’s blank facade.

Senator Bob Harris all but vibrated as he stopped just on the other side of the table.

“Well, well, well,” Victor drawled. “If it isn’t our esteemed Senator and his faithful lapdog.”

The Senator opened his mouth but Cappy cleared his throat and shot him a pointed look. Bob Harris scowled and jammed his hands into his pants pockets. After a few breaths, the vibrating aura disappeared behind a cold mask.

Very interesting. Victor pinged his gaze between the two. Did he sense dissention in the partnership? How could he use that to his advantage?

“Just wondering,” Cappy stated in an easy voice, though his eyes didn’t share any warmth, “is my new license plate ready for pickup? It should be easy to spot. It says ‘I’M FREE U R NOT.’ You finished with that one yet?”

Smug bastard. This boy needed to be brought down a peg and Victor had just the thing. “You think you’re so cocky, standing there under the protection of the
good
senator when you really should be sharing a cell with me.”

Cappy crooked an eyebrow. “You get free mental checkups while you’re enjoying your stay?”

Victor leaned forward, the chain on his cuffs rattling with the motion. “You denying you have blood on your hands too?”

Cappy stilled and his face closed off. “We’re nothing alike.”

You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Let’s include the Senator, shall we?
“We’re more alike than you’d care to admit.” Victor motioned his finger back and forth between them. “My predecessor, Sam, kept some interesting notes in a separate file. Guess the old CIA spook wasn’t as trusting as he liked everyone to believe.” Victor paused to draw the suspense out. “I know we’ve both sent men to their deaths.”

The Senator shifted, his gaze pinging between Victor and Cappy. It was hard with only one eye, but Victor monitored the politician while holding his former operative’s attention.

“
You
killed for money and power,” Cappy retorted in a low voice.

Gotcha.
“
You
murdered five men for vengeance,” Victor shot back. “Which would you classify is worse?”

Cappy jolted. His mask slipped, showing alarm before he got it under control. “I never pulled the trigger.”

“Yet, you’re responsible just the same.” So satisfying knocking the self-righteous ones down a peg. Chains rattled as Victor adjusted his feet to relieve the ache in his back from the welts. “By the way, I never pulled the trigger either.”

The Senator stepped forward. “Still pleading innocent?”

Victor tilted his chin up and smiled. “Until proven guilty. Isn’t that one of my fundamental rights?”

Cappy motioned toward Victor’s injuries. “Looks like you’re just as popular in here as you are out there. Can’t you play nicely anywhere?”

Weak
. Cappy had definitely been put in his place. Now to have some fun.

Victor shrugged his uninjured shoulder for effect. “Ah, you know, boys will be boys. I like to make friends everywhere I go.”

Cappy snorted. “Then you exploit them.”

Victor narrowed his gaze onto the Senator. “Interesting that should come up.”

Bob Harris stiffened, his face paling underneath his angry veneer.

“You know”—Victor tried to hide the wince from the pain shooting through his kidneys at sitting up so long—“I miss the freedom of picking up a phone and just calling someone. Reaching out and touching a loved one.” He focused on the Senator. “I bet you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“You son of a bitch,” the politician seethed.

“Senator?” Cappy asked, his attention now divided.

Victor swung his gaze to his former operative. “And it’s such a handy device for reacquainting with those you lose track of. The warm feeling you get when a person you never expected resurfaces in your life just makes you tingly.”

Cue Cappy’s unsettled face. “What are you implying?”

“Not a damn thing,” Victor returned, opening his palms as if to protest his innocence.
HA!
Cappy hadn’t even figured out another revelation was coming. Griffin trumped Michelle by a mile. “Just chatting about the surprise when a person you never thought you’d see again suddenly shows up.”

“Can the attempted mind-fuck,” Cappy snapped. “I don’t swing that way.”

Victor snorted. “No shit. You’re basically a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal with a penchant for killing and, Bob, you’re too busy chasing boys to pay attention to anything else.” All Victor’s humor fled and he jabbed his finger against the table. “I know who’s behind my current address change. You tell my nephew, family should’ve come first and I look forward to the reunion with him.”

“Do I look like a telegram?” Cappy retorted, his mouth tight. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and make a shiv in arts and crafts, then stab yourself with it.” He traced a thumb across his kidney. “Aiming right here will do the trick.”

“And miss the fun and games I’ve got lined up? Hardly.”

The Senator slammed his hands against the other side of the steel table and leaned close. “You think your little run-in with the guard has earned you any respect or leniency? Try again, asshole. I arranged this little private meeting at the drop of the hat. Think they allow this shit for just anybody? No. The DoD and the warden are watching your every move and are very amiable when it comes to making you suffer. With one word I can make your life in here a living hell. No one will show you mercy no matter how many times you beg, and you’ll never know when the next attack is coming.”

Michelle allowed the coveralls to fall from her fingers into a heap on the couch. She peered out the little window—careful to stay back far enough not to be seen—but the only thing of interest was the edge of the right wing. The plane had been towed inside of a hangar and the pilots had long ago debarked after completing their shut down.

She pulled the bobby pins from her hair and sighed in relief when her locks dropped to her shoulders. According to her watch, the sun would be setting soon.
How long did Jeremy and the Senator plan to stay at the prison?

Sonya skirted by the leather chairs, her long black hair barely shifting as she moved down the aisle with so much grace. Michelle inwardly sighed; she’d never have the ability to pull that maneuver off if someone paid her a million bucks. This woman was such a mystery. Unbelievable good looks coupled with a sense of self-confidence made her stand out in a crowd . . . Then there was the scar. Michelle wanted to ask about it so bad but knew from experience the question would be unwelcome.

Sonya gripped a black smartphone in her petite hands. (Her perfect body did not make Michelle jealous one bit. Nope. Not at all.) She slid to a stop beside Michelle and held the phone in front of her. “Go ahead, Talon, I’ve got you on speaker.”

Grunt.
“False alarm on the raid for us. The police infiltrated a residence near Sixty-Nine’s home-away-from-home, the PussyFoot Motel.”

Michelle cringed as a spark of annoyance flooded her brain.

Sonya breathed out and asked, “So what’s happening now?”

“We’ve set up Ted in cottage two and decided to remain over here.”

“Established a man lair, have you?” Michelle couldn’t resist poking back.

“Lair?”
Talon repeated dryly.
“Sixty-Nine, don’t tell me you like to read about vampires or werewolves or whatever such nonsense.”

Sonya rolled her eyes.

Michelle lifted her chin in defiance even though he couldn’t see it. “And what if I said yes?”

He snorted.
“You’re just as bad as Romeo. He reads all that crap and especially loves it when they’re in romances.”

Sonya frowned, her grip on the phone tightening. “Talon.” Her tone carried a warning.

“Romeo?” Michelle pounced.
Why would Sonya react to SCK mentioning the name?
“Who’s Romeo? Did he get the nickname because he likes romances?”

“He got the nickname because he’s a tramp,”
Talon stated bluntly.
“I gotta go. Southern IQ is back from the grocery store. I’m going to recon the perimeter.”
He hung up.

Michelle frowned but before she could ask about the strange turn in conversation, Sandra waltzed out of the bedroom.

“What’d I miss?” Sandra asked, fluffing her sweater over her jeans. “I swear, my bladder seems to be about the size of a walnut today.”

“Talon called. The raid wasn’t about Michelle,” Sonya answered. “Police picked up someone on the other side of town and the men have set up in the second cottage.”

Sandra snorted and plopped into the corner of the long leather couch. “Well, that’s a relief, but if Ted manages to get ahold of an Xbox or PlayStation then we can forget about hearing from Grady for the rest of the night.” The exquisite woman squirmed then reached behind her and pulled out a holster with a gun.

Michelle jolted.

“I swear,” Sandra continued, pulling the handgun out of the holder and tossing the leather piece onto the end table beside her.

Michelle blinked at the incongruity of seeing the black, deadly weapon resting so comfortably in Autumn Barbie’s hand.

“You’d think a grown man who owned an entertainment center with a full arcade would be tired of playing video games”—Sandra prattled on like her fiddling with the gun was no big deal—“but no, he disappears into the basement and fires up one of those units and plays with people online.” She rested the handgun on her thigh then shuddered for effect, grinning as she formed air quotes. “For research purposes. I can’t tell you how many times he’s told me how he needs to test the games to see if he thinks they’d be popular at Gradwick.”

Sonya’s musical laugh filled the cabin. She took off her suit coat and Michelle started again at seeing a leather gun harness resting like an accessory over the woman’s tank top with a delicate lace overlay. Man, she was beautiful, dainty, confident, and lethal . . . No wonder Special Agent Raymond Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes off Sonya and hovered so closely all the time.

After draping her coat across the back of one of the leather chairs around the table, Sonya settled into the other corner of the couch, saying, “Men never grow up.”

Sandra’s eyes twinkled. “True, but when they reach a certain age, their bodies develop into a self-contained entertainment center, equipped with all kinds of tools that provide fun for hours.”

Laughter barked out of Michelle to mingle with Sonya’s. A gleam formed in the agent’s eye as she seemed to be imagining just such a man.
Raymond, perhaps?
A vision of Cappy shot through Michelle’s mind. His bare chest scintillated in the sunlight as his muscles rippled with each move he made before he wrapped her in his arms by the pool.

“So true, right?” Sandra’s content sigh ripped Michelle from her thoughts.

A warm yet nervous feeling replaced the angry edge she had gotten from the Senator’s line of questions. It had been so long since she had really hung out with anyone, let alone other women . . . since high school in fact. Seemed as if the boy topic remained the same.

She gingerly sat on the middle cushion, testing the waters to see if her joining them was welcome—after all, they were here to either prove or exonerate her innocence of murder. Sonya’s eyes lightened and she seemed pleased Michelle had chosen the spot.

Michelle relaxed against the back and stretched her leg, hoping to alleviate her stiff knee. Sandra had cleaned the wound and reapplied a bandage shortly after Jeremy and the Senator had left. She hadn’t wanted to let Jeremy know the injury had reopened since he had already had to rescue her from another episode. Pride demanded that she stopped coming across like the damsel in distress even though her body seemed to try so hard to fit that impression.

Cappy shifted, now beyond ready to walk out of the prison and never return. What a colossal waste of time. He’d known Victor would enjoy his moment in the limelight, stringing them along, but he’d hoped for more than just a few innuendos. Bragging and boasting about his maneuverings would’ve been annoying as fuck but much more helpful than playing games.

You denying you have blood on your hands too?
Cappy still couldn’t cycle through the shock that Sam would betray their pact and write the events of Colombia down, or that Victor had accessed it. Bastards, both of them.

How much had Sam written about Michelle? And why would he ever diary something so tragic? Sam and a few chosen operatives from SBG had been at the compound and helped with the raid. The co-founder of SBG had also witnessed what happened to Cappy’s unit. Not that Cappy remembered at first. The bomb’s blast threw him hard and he had suffered from amnesia during the first few weeks of recovery. By the time he regained his memory, the Army had already declared him dead and awarded his family with his medal. Sam then convinced Cappy to stay dead to keep his family safe from retaliation, and he had. Though why Sam was so convinced it was possible, the man had never clued Cappy in.

But none of that explained why Michelle had been brought into this. She had
nothing
to do with SBG.

Something else is going on here and I think it may have to do with how you met her.
Talon’s words from earlier haunted his mind. Goddamn it. It appeared more and more like that was the case.

The Senator slammed his hands against the other side of the steel table and leaned close. “You think your little run-in with the guard has earned you any respect or leniency? Try again, asshole. I arranged this little private meeting at the drop of the hat. Think they allow this shit for just anybody? No. The DoD and the warden are watching your every move and are very amiable when it comes to making you suffer. With one word I can make your life in here a living hell. No one will show you mercy no matter how many times you beg, and you’ll never know when the next attack is coming.”

Chains rattled and Cappy soaked in Victor’s banged up image. The former CEO’s left shoulder hung a little lower than the right and the short-sleeved jumpsuit did nothing to hide the bruises on his arms.
Ah, a beautiful sight.

“You threatening me, Bob?” Victor asked through puffy split lips while raising an eyebrow from his one good-ish eye. “You sure you want to go down that road?”

“Promising,” Senator Harris retorted. “Not threatening. Your ass will be kicked, ripped, and shredded constantly.”

“A man standing in quicksand shouldn’t bluster so much. He’ll get swallowed whole in a blink.”

Bob’s face reddened and Cappy stepped forward to catch the politician if he had a mind to jump over the table.

“Face it, Senator, running SBG is a messy business. You
need
me. I know what it takes to ensure the clandestine side stays hidden, the contracted missions are completed, and the Board of Directors stay out of my business.”

“Bullshit,” the Senator snarled. “I think you’re all in league with one another and I’ll take every one of those namby-pambies down once I gather the proof.”

Victor’s chin notched up. “I’m a patriot. When I bleed, it’s red, white, and blue. Everything I did was to keep this country safe and ensure SweetBriar Group’s reputation remained unsullied and our sacred position as the government’s go-to Black-Ops contractor didn’t falter.”

Unbelievable. Was he for real? An image of Grady’s bullet-riddled house floated into Cappy’s mind. “Murdering employees and blackmailing powerful figures is just a typical day at the office?”

“Call it checks and balances or collateral damage.” Victor lasered his gaze on Cappy. “It’s unfortunate, but there’re always casualties of war . . . And make no mistake, we are definitely at war with lowlife pieces of shit who think they can undermine us with their drugs and their slavery or attack us outright.”

Cappy was actually stunned stupid. Did the man really think that asinine speech justified his actions?

Victor leaned forward, halving the space between him and the Senator. “With your extracurricular activities already a strike against you, you can’t afford to get your hands dirtier while maintaining a public office. Stop this absurd tantrum you’re throwing and have me released. Your quality of life will improve drastically.”

The Senator choked and his eyes narrowed. His finger trembled as he pointed it at Victor. “
Quality of life?
Now who’s threatening whom? One of your bastards has me on speed dial.”

Cappy jolted, the waving red flags from earlier flared to life.

“I
know
you had a hand in Colin’s death,” the politician continued. “Release you? Fuck that. I want you to rot in hell.”

“It’s true, people are loyal to me.
Some
more than others.” Victor shot Cappy a look.

“Yeah, fuck you too.” Cappy crossed his arms to hold himself back from wringing the former CEO’s neck. “I’m not one of your lackeys anymore.”

Victor’s mouth thinned and he turned to the Senator. “If you haven’t noticed.” He rattled his handcuffs, the metal clanging against the pole and steel table. “I’ve been locked up. How could I kill your son?”

“One of your Assassin Squad members did the wet work on
your
order,” Cappy responded. A flash of the YouTube video scrolled in his head, causing his blood pressure to spike. “And set Michelle up for it.”

“My, my.” Victor moved back, his pompous expression belying his
I-don’t-know-what-you-mean-I’m-innocent
tone. “That’s some theory.”

You can’t kill him. You can’t kill him.
“What I can’t figure out,” Cappy forced out through his tight lips, “is why you’d target her in the first place.”

“So sure it’s me and not your girlfriend who killed such a fine upstanding pillar of society? Wasn’t it caught on tape or something?”

Cappy wanted to drive his fist right through the smug bastard’s face.

“Conveniently so,” Senator Harris retorted, surprising Cappy. On the plane the politician sounded ready to hang her for the crime.

Victor shifted and his face grimaced as if in pain. He lifted his left shoulder and . . . wait a minute.

Cappy slit his eyes and scrutinized how the fabric seemed to be weighted . . . Son of a bitch!

He knocked the Senator out of the way and lunged across the table.

“Hey. What—” Victor tried to dodge but his handcuffs didn’t have enough length to allow him to go very far.

“What the fuck is that,” Cappy yelled, scrabbling to reach inside the jumpsuit. Goddamn it. “HOLD STILL.” When had the asshole turned into a contortionist?

“Get off me.” Victor shifted and twisted, pulling against the shackles.

The Senator ran behind Victor and gripped the former CEO’s shoulders.

“FUCK!” Victor yelled, his face going white.

Cappy burrowed inside the jumpsuit and latched onto a chunk of hard plastic. With a quick yank, he pulled it out and jumped back.

Dumbfounded, Cappy stared at the cell phone now resting in his hands. There weren’t enough curse words in the English language to convey the rage bubbling inside. He flipped the cover open and pulled up the last activity. His brain overloaded with too many possibilities as he stared at a text message displayed on the screen, sent around the same time they entered the room. “What the hell does
‘Green light. Now.’
mean?”

“You son of a bitch,” the Senator roared, slamming his fist against Victor’s jaw. “Did you send your twisted fuck after my wife?”

Oh shit. What the hell else was going on?

Cappy rounded the table and wound a meaty arm around Bob’s waist, dragging him away. The Senator fought against the grip but Cappy muscled him to the other side of the table.

“What are you talking about?” Cappy grunted, still exerting his force to hold Bob back.

Victor spat a wad of blood on the floor and wiped his chin with his fingers. “You keeping secrets from your lapdog?”

Son of a bitch. He
knew
the politician had been holding back. One way to cut to the chase. Cappy pressed the Telephone icon and the sound of ringing silenced the room.

“A little busy right now,”
a male voice barked through the tinny speaker.

Every nerve in Cappy’s body fired.

“I told you I’d call when I’m done.”

Cappy’s hand shook and he couldn’t figure out why. Where did he know that voice?

“Done?” The Senator vibrated. “Done
what
?”

Silence.

“You the little bastard who’s been calling me with the altered voice?”

The connection severed.

The Senator pulled out of Cappy’s loosened grip and charged the table, leaning across the steel expanse. “What did you do? Who was that?”

“Someone’s been calling you?” Cappy asked at the same time, trying to make this new information fit.

“Yes,” Senator Harris hissed, then pointed. “One of his—what did you call them? Assassin Squad members.”

Victor lifted his chin.

“About what and for how long?” Cappy’s rage spilled into his voice and he had trouble not letting it loose on the stupid politician. Why the hell would the man hold something like that back?

“Started last week,” Bob answered, not taking his eyes off Victor. “Demanding I resume the blackmail payments, or else.”

“Goddamn it,” Cappy roared. “You’re just telling me this now?”

The Senator’s eyes hardened and he visibly swallowed. “It didn’t concern you before.”

Cappy stiffened as the Senator’s words from earlier sunk in. His stomach bottomed out. “Fuck. Senator, where is your wife now?”