Target 84 (7 page)

Chapter Ten

ATF Agent Bentley James

“We're looking for redemption. It was hidden in the landscape of loss and love and fire and rain. Never would have come this way. Looking for redemption.”
-
JARS OF CLAY – “REDEMPTION”

The local police department is a joke. The building is outdated and the cops inside appear to be as well. They are huddled around one desk throwing money into an empty coffee can as I enter the room.

“Good morning, detectives, taking donation for the policeman's ball?” I quip, not caring who I insult.

“We don't have balls,” a young-looking detective answers, confused.

“I actually have no response to that,” I volley back. The young man’s eyes widen as he understands the punch line of my retort. It is priceless. A few other men groan and punch him in the arm for his slip-up. No doubt he’ll be hearing about it for months to come.

“Agent James, yeah?” A bald-headed man greets, stepping in front of the young man who still looks embarrassed.

“That’s me.”

“Chief Harvey.” He grips my hand too tightly and shakes it. “Come into my office so we can discuss details.” He ushers me down a long row of desks until we enter his glass-door room he calls an office. Shutting the door behind us, he half lowers the crooked, cheap blinds to give the illusion of privacy.

“How many men can you commit to a protection detail?” I ask, sitting uncomfortably in a chair left over from 1971.

“We have two new cops that would be happy to get some experience logged.”

“You can't win a war without a few strategic losses, no matter how regrettable they may be, but I’ll be damned if those losses will be on our end. I need more than two men. We’ve got Clara Napoli to cover during home hours and Pepper Philips. Two locations, two important people to keep safe.”

“I can put a man on each. This going overnights as well?”

“If they aren’t at work, you have eyes on them,” I state.

“Understood. You’ve got to realize we’re a small department. I don’t have more than two men to stick to these women. Especially for all-nighters.”

“They watch after business hours. They sleep when the women are at work. This isn’t rocket science.”

“Listen, I’ll do the best I can but my resources aren’t the same as yours,” he argues.

“I’ll call my director, see if the county can send a sheriff or two to pitch in too.”

“Appreciate that,” he says. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that should do it. We’ll let you know when the protection detail lifts.” I set the file containing Pepper and Clara’s contact information as well as mine and Clint’s on his desk and leave.

I delayed my trip back to headquarters by a day for this. I shouldn’t be here. She’s not to be in my life outside of work and I’m not to be involved in hers. That’s the way Witness Protection works. It’s the way the ATF works. It’s the way my boss has informed me to operate. I’m intruding. I know that, but I needed to witness a happy moment in her life. I need to be sure she’s content and well.

So, here I am in Blacksburg, Virginia, when I should be in the office working the logistics of the case. I haven’t had contact with Pepper in weeks, not since that first meeting when I had to inform her of what was going down. All other communications, which haven’t been much, my boss Clint has executed.

Pepper. God. She’s gorgeous and...
happy.
Extremely happy. Her eyes shine with it. She exudes peacefulness. It’s incredibly gratifying to witness. Not that I’m invited to this event. The thick oak tree hides me well from wandering eyes. Her long, jet-black hair is half pinned up and blows gently in the wind. Pepper moves through the grass towards her soon-to-be husband gracefully.

Sawyer
. He’s standing tall today. As he should, I guess. Somehow he managed to break through every single one of Pepper’s walls and help her heal herself. No easy feat. There’s Allie at the altar, waiting with Sawyer. You can see the absolute love she has for Pepper shining in her eyes. Clara, the one marrying them, is an attractive, sprite woman with long, brown hair and a stunning smile. Good. A quiet, restful life is exactly what Pepper deserves. I snap a quick picture to send to Aster and Brock, knowing they will be overjoyed to see her on her wedding day. To see her smiling a
real, authentic smile.

The sun is bright, making this just about a damn near perfect day. Looks to be about twenty-five or so guests. All eyes are stuck on Pepper. Her dress follows every curve of her body. A flash of blonde disrupts my view for a moment. My eyes dart to the offender.
Well, well, well.
I really should have kept a better eye on Pepper. She clearly has good taste in friends. I see legs that stretch on for days move up to a slender waist, medium but perky breasts, and a milky, flawless complexion. It’s the face that does it, though. I notice my pulse increase just watching her. My mind wants to wander. Fantasize.

Bright, golden hair that hangs just past her shoulders frames a symmetrical face. Her hand rests over her brow, blocking the sun, so I can’t make out her eye color, but it wouldn't matter if they matched her red dress. She’s every man’s wet dream. She’s delicious and intoxicating to look at. Sexual attraction is a euphoric and feral affliction. It can drive balanced people to extreme, unbalanced behavior. The blonde bombshell is definitely one of those women.

I wonder if she’s here with the attractive guy to her right. Dominic, on her left, looks like he sweats money but he has turned out to be a dream to work with. A real stand-up, genuine guy. My eyes go back to the man on her right, but no, he’s staring at the woman across the aisle with a puppy dog look in his eye.
Fool
. I doubt the blonde would stand for that if she caught it. She seems like a demanding, strong woman at the very least. More than likely she’s a cold-hearted bitch in reality, though--a fantasy on the eyes but torture on the soul.

I redirect my gaze back to the bride and groom. His large hands hold Pepper’s small, soft ones. They swallow them up in their grasp. She doesn’t seem to mind in the least, though. His face gives everything away, just as hers does.

A pang of guilt flashes through me. Aster, her cousin, and Brock, our friend, should be here. They should be able to witness what I’ve let myself be privy to. I shake the notion from my head. She chose this fresh start. She chose Witness Protection. Pepper is happy. They are in love with each other. I long for someone to see me the way Sawyer and Pepper see each other.

I wait until Clara, with the newly neon orange streak in her hair, announces them married and watch them seal the promise with a kiss before I slink off without being seen.
Congratulations, Pepper.
I truly wish you the best.
I start up the truck and peel out of my parking space. The tires burn, leaving the smell of asphalt lingering in the air. I have a long drive and a grueling week of installations at the construction site ahead of me. Everything seems to be coming together seamlessly.

Torren and Dominic have struck an agreeable arrangement and work has started on renovations. Returning my attention to the road ahead of me, I try not to think about what happens if this case blows up in our faces. Rolling down the window, I suck in some warm spring air. Once the air conditioning kicks in and I can breathe easier, I let my head loll back against the headrest. Life would be so much easier if I didn’t have rules to follow. If I could just walk up to Torren casually, raise my gun, and expel a bullet from the chamber.

“On your own admission, you raised up the knife, and you brought it down, ending another man’s life.” DAVID GILMOUR – “MURDER”

TARGET 83.

A text. I scroll through the message on my screen.

Father Alonso Maretti. Last known location Richmond, VA.

Finally. I’ve been struggling to keep myself busy as of late. I’ve finished the three books Pepper loaned me from her Kindle this week. I’d quite enjoyed reading about Stella. She was flawed yet perfect and noble, her balls bigger than most men's. And George. How I long to find a man like him for myself. Fiction is a guilty pleasure. I get lost in the worlds of others. It somehow makes my life less...pathetic. It was nice to have the time to sit and read but I’m grateful for an assignment. Sitting at my computer, I pull up Google and type in the Father’s name. That's the beauty of the Internet. Twenty-four-seven access to everything from twerking puppies to criminal records. My eyes scan the various links until I find what I’m looking for.

An address.

I obey orders: kill when I’m told to kill. I am a machine. No remorse. I open the travel website I use and book a flight to Richmond ten days from now. I can hardly stand the excitement brewing at my core. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’m going to be late for my morning workout with Pepper. I’ve been lost in hours of research on my new target. I scramble to the bedroom for my gym clothes, tripping over Stray as I go. “Damn cat!” I yell at the rusty-colored devil. He’s grown to be a blessing and a curse. I’m not as alone here. He is affectionate and lovey. He is also a little asshole that walks all over my face at night and claws at my couch. Tugging on my sports bra, shorts, and tank, I grab my purse as I fly out the door.

“Figured you were a no-show,” Pepper greets me.

“Never,” I say, feigning insult. Her wrists are taped and her mouth guard is in.

“Hurry up, slacker,” she challenges. I let Jim, the owner of this fine establishment, wrap my wrists before crawling into the ring with her.

“Hoot said you were a real ass after the reception,” Pepper chatters. I know her methods. She’s trying to distract me while also digging for personal life information.

“He knows the drill.” Jab. Upper cut. Leg sweep. I dodge all and dance around her.

“He really likes you, Greta,” she huffs.

“I’m aware. Cutting ties tonight.” I swing and miss. “Our time’s up.”

Swinging my leg upward, I catch her in the chest. She stumbles back three steps and glares at me.

“Whatever.” Pepper charges. Left. Right. Left. Her knee connects with my side. Her hands tug my neck downward into her midsection. Crap. I twist right, angling my face towards hers and wrap my hands around the back of her neck, flipping her. She lands with a harsh exhale.

“Easy, beast,” she pants. “Technically I probably shouldn’t be in the ring for a while.” I stop immediately. I am completely confused.

“What?” I ask, bewildered.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asks.

If she only knew. I nod my head.

“I just found out, like, last night...I’m pregnant!” Her smile blinds me. What the hell is she doing sparring with me? Anger explodes in my chest.

“Pepper! You are a grade-A idiot!” I yell. Her smile disappears. “Get the fuck up and out of this ring. NOW.” I tug her to a standing position and escort her out of the ring.

“Jesus, Greta,” she says cuttingly.

“What if that chest kick had been a stomach kick?” I bark at her. She looks visibly shaken now. I’m vibrating with irritation. I kill people, but children are innocent, pure. They should never be put in harm’s way.

“I can still work out. I just...I guess I wasn’t really thinking,” she mutters. I feel bad for making her face fall. I feel bad for taking away her exciting news. I toss my arm over her shoulder in a gesture of tenderness.

“No more sparring. We can still train on the bags and dummies together, yeah?” I offer.

Her warm, generous smile affirms my offer. My brain races with what this could mean for her. For our friendship. I’ve never been around infants, I struggle with Allie and she’s of an age where I should be able to relate somewhat too. A fierce, protective feeling washes over me. A feeling of allegiance, perhaps. I would and will do anything to protect Pepper and what she loves. I will just adapt. I will have to learn. You can be successful and have enemies or you can be unsuccessful and have friends. I’ve been fed that adage for years but in this moment, I choose friends. I choose hope. Hope: the word alone sends my mind reeling backward to another time.

“The ‘rule of three’ comes from the military. In any dire situation, you cannot survive for more than three minutes without air, shelter, water, or three weeks without food.” I’ve noticed that in this class, only numbers twenty and up attend. It’s been driving me nuts lately. Why aren’t the other students here like most of our other classes? “There’s one last part to the rule of three. Do you know what it is?” His eyes scan the room excitedly. The air around us buzzes with tense silence. “Three seconds without hope.” There are no gasps or sharp intakes of breath. No one makes any noise at all.

It’s immediately understood that all of our schooling until now has been for a purpose. The way we’ve learned,
what
we’ve learned. We are now moving on to practice, again. I scan the room and faces of my classmates as a twinge of apprehension moves through me.

We’re different ages, genders, races. Depriving us of our parents led to us being isolated and--throw in the threat of our hostile environment--we’re now all pitted against each other. We are the newest numbers in the school. It dawns on me that the others have cold, unyielding eyes. They’ve already made it through
this
class.

Dread pits in my gut, low and hot. Mac can barely contain the sick excitement in his voice. “In extreme life-or-death situations, we find that around nine percent are able to perceive a situation correctly, to react quickly and effectively, and to make the necessary adaptations to survive. These are the individuals who, time and time again, prove their worth. Their ability to serve and do it well. The ones who graduate.”

An image of a small child with Pepper’s coloring and Sawyer’s eyes flashes through my mind. Pepper would never let anything or anyone tear her child away from her. This baby will never experience what I went through. I can help make sure of that. For a moment, I feel as though I have a purpose in this life.

“All right, pregnancy Nazi, how ‘bout we actually work out. You take bag, I want dummy first.” Pepper’s voice brings me out of my funk.

I smile at her. Genuinely smile. A warm feeling blooms in my chest. She cocks her head and looks at me as if I have three heads but says nothing and moves to the dummy to begin her workout.

“So last night, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah but...I’m pretty sure I was actually preggo during the wedding. The timeline all adds up.”

“You harlot.” I laugh.

“I know! I’m so naughty,” she says and giggles through her punches.

“What ever will the neighbors think?”

“Screw the neighbors! I’m having a gorgeous-Sawyer baby!” she beams. I can’t help but lose focus and stop my routine. I burst out laughing. She always has a silver lining. I covet that.