Page 68 of Damned
It took a minute before a man’s voice came back with, “Smith here. What now?”
“Webber ran into a little trouble, if you know what I mean.”
“Why the fuck do I care?” Smith had to be Harvey Lantz.What a bastard.
“Just letting you know. Also lost the signal from that pinger, but I’m pretty sure I know why. Banks must’ve found it. She’s no dummy. Got a shittin’ stone wall up ahead. I think that’s where she went.”
“You think she’s smart enough to climb out of there?”
“No, but the guy with her is. Don’t worry. I’ll finish him off and have her collared and on her knees by the time you arrive with your friends. I don’t think the little girl’s with Banks, though. I would’ve heard the kid bellyaching by now. What’s your ETA?”
Collared? What the fuck?!
“I’m not coming. Got another problem I need to work out, but the rag-heads should be close to your location by now. Go back to the river and wait for them. They’re coming to you by boat. Should be there within the hour. Will you have her by then?”
“Shit, I haven’t even seen her yet,” Vick hissed. “I’m not sure she’s even alive. This could all be a trap set by the guy she’s with. And this stone wall won’t be easy to climb. I’ve got no climbing gear, and now you want me to babysit your fuckin’ loser friends?” He kicked the dead body at his feet. “Christ, Lantz!”
“How hard can it be?” Lantz screamed back. “You’re always bragging you’re a fuckin’ SEAL! You promised you’d have her by now. Kill the bastard who’s with her and grab Banks. Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”
“You shouldn’t have involved her in the first place!” Vick bellowed back. “Brianna’s a good kid. She doesn’t even know what she’s done.”
“Well, I do, so fuckin’ deal with it!” Lantz was growing nastier by the minute. “None of this story’ll work if she gets away. She’s got to go back with Berfendetoday. They both have to be there when everything goes down.”
Kruze watched Vick look up at the sky, then drop his chin to his chest. At last he ran a gloved hand over his head and growled, “Understood. You’re the boss. I’ll connect with your friends. Will be in touch when the job’s done. Over and—”
“Don’t back out on me now, you fuckin’ asswipe! I can still ruin you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Lantz!” Vick shot back. “I’ve got enough dirt on you to take you down with me.”
“Which is why Banks has to go back with Berfendetoday! She can hurt both of us. I’ve already set up an off-shore account. The second she’s gone you’ll get your money.”
“Got it. I’ll make sure she’s in Turkey when the strike hits tomorrow.”
Strike? Blackmail? Murder?These guys were dirty as fuck. Just as Vick ended contact with Lantz and stuffed his phone back into his vest, Kruze stepped in behind him and pressed the business end of his pistol into the back of Vick’s neck.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said as he reached over Vick’s shoulder and jerked the radio off his collar. Kruze slid it into his pants pocket. “Drop your pistol and set the rifle on the ground. Slowly. Don’t try anything or you’ll be eating dirt like your friend.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Raising his hand, Kruze pistol-whipped him. Vick went down like a rock. Working fast, Kruze dragged him to a tree a ways from Webber’s body. He removed Vick’s vest, the small pack from his belt, and searched his pockets.Oh, look, nylon cord and a son of a bitchin’ studded, black-leather dog collar.Holy shit!Kruze’s blood boiled at Vick’s cruel intentions for a woman as delicate and fragile as Bree.
By the time he came to, Vick’s arms were stretched around the tree behind him, and the dog collar was buckled on his neck. Studs were a good look on him, and the collar made for a damned tight fit. Not like Kruze cared. He crouched several feet in front of Vick, holding the opposite end of the nylon rope now wound into a noose around Vick’s neck. His weapons, including the pocket pistol from the holster beneath his pant leg, his extra magazines, knife, and wallet were lined up beside Kruze. Kruze left Vick’s wallet open and face up. Sometimes, an asshole needed visual confirmation of just how defenseless he was.
“Shit, give me some slack, I can’t breathe,” Vick hissed, struggling against his awkward position.
“I don’t care if you suffocate. Just talk.” Kruze tightened the loop around his knuckles, removing any slack between him and his prisoner.
“I’ve got… nothing to say,” Vick wheezed.
“You’re wasting my time. Why are you hunting Banks?”
“You’re… you’re him. The bastard with her.”
Kruze jerked the rope, a half-smile twisting his mouth while Vick sputtered. “I prefer son of a bitch, not bastard.”
Vick had no way of knowing Kruze was referencing the nickname Chance had given Senator Sullivan’s collection of black ops teams. Instead of the politically correct—and boring—Strike Back ForceSullivan had originally come up with, the senator from Texas now ran theSOBs, short for his elite army of spec ops sons of bitches from every federal service, including the FBI’s SWAT and Homeland Security. But then, Vick probably didn’t care much about acronyms right then.
Kruze loosened the rope. “You were a SEAL. You know how this works.”
