Page 95 of Don't Let Go

“Good evening, Colonel St. James—we need to have a word.” Then I planted the pressure injector to his neck and fired it. The paralysis of just waking kept him from responding immediately and by the time he thought to fight, he was already going slack from the paralytic.

“You’re going to be uncomfortable for a while, but I assure you, it’s nowhere near as unfortunate as the treatment you have approved for others.” I withdrew a step and pulled off the backpack before tapping the comm. “You there, luv?”

“Talk to me,” she invited. Three magical words I craved more than my next breath. Because those three words meant she was still safe and still watching my back. It also meantsheanswered. “Well, talk to us.”

“I’m on property. I’ve located the owner.” I hadn’t bothered to remove my mask. Being loomed over by a masked man with an accent couldn’t be comfortable for the retired officer. “You need a retinal scan and his left thumb print, correct?”

His pupils tried to swell as the television lights flickered then retreated again. The paralytic was doing its job.

“Yes.” The unguarded answer held just a single hint of a question. She knew what I was implying. However, to be clear for both of us, I asked the question more directly.

“Any message you want me to leave with him?” No judgment existed within the question. Patch’s ethics and morals had been what drove her to leave their operation in the first place.

It had been what compelled her to take critical information. She’d excised herself from her own life, then rebuilt a new one. As much as I regretted her suffering, it was hard to not be grateful she was in my life.

If not for this bastard and the others like him, I might never have known her. That would be a bloody shame.

Section Five, the MadOg project was the brainchild of powerful and influential men. They left the day to day execution in the hands of actual mad dogs and sadists. Everyone answered to someone, in this case, St. James was at the top of the pecking order.

His information network had made him billions more than most people realized. It had also cost many people their lives.

It had cost my Fallon.

It had cost her dearly.

So I waited for her decision.

“Never again,” she said quietly. “They don’t get to do this again. Scorched earth.”

“Yes,” McQuade exhaled the word like a triumph. It had been his argument all along that we were better off killing them. Dead men couldn’t hunt us down.

Huntherdown.

“Gloves off, Sugar Bear?”

“Make sure we have what we need first,” she cautioned. “I know you may want in and out, but we need to make sure we have it locked and loaded.”

“Done,” McQuade said. “Also, I’m here. Going silent running for fifteen, twenty max. Standby for transmission. Even if you had the lead, I bet I get mine before you get yours,mate.” Then he beeped off.

McQuade was a prick, but he was growing on me. “I’ll take care of it. Talk soon.” Then I went back to silent running. What came next, she didn’t need to hear. “Colonel St. James… the next hour or two are going to be very uncomfortable for you. I’d ask you if you were ready to talk, but you can’t. You also have absolutely nothing to say that I want to hear.”

I collected his thumb print by removing the thumb and storing it in a safe box. The pain helped to flush fresh motion into his eyes and I took full retinal scans of both. The flexing of the pupil was vital to accuracy.

When Patch let me know she had it, I nodded to myself. Business secured, I pulled out a knife and studied the colonel.

“You owe a friend of mine at least a pound of flesh, but I plan on charging interest…”

Even with the paralytic in his system, he did manage to scream after I carved out the first pound.

It was good practice, I had a call to pay on the man formerly known as Marty Cartwright when I was done here.

Chapter

Thirty-Two

MCQUADE

“Gloves off, Sugar Bear?”

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