Page 13 of Merciless Protector

That conversation would play over and over in my mind days later as I absorbed my current situation.

As required, I’d completed my training and been cleared for work. I’d been assigned to the Chicago area, which surprised me. Most times, new agents were assigned somewhere other than their home state, though they considered your choice of area. Here had been mine. On my very first day on the job, I’d sought out the special agent in charge. I’d laid out my idea on how to get Ruin.

Of course, my boss pointed out that it was too personal to me. I’d been ready for that question and explained all the ways it had to be me.

Ruin was careful. He wouldn’t trust a stranger. To put someone in my place to do the same thing would take months for that person to earn enough trust to possibly be put in Ruin’s orbit. I, on the other hand, already had that level of trust.

It would be easy for me to play up that I missed Ruin. You know, Stockholm syndrome. Ruin was enough of a narcissist to believe it. I could also come off as a junkie. I had been given drugs to keep me compliant at times during my captivity.

My boss was sold, but he put a team of senior agents in to put the op together. Things didn’t happen overnight. It would be several weeks of careful planning and every contingency put in place before today arrived.

Though it wouldn’t take me months to find him, it was going to take days or even a couple of weeks. I didn’t know where Ruin was. The plan was for me to go to strip clubs and toss out Ruin’s name to see if anyone bit.

It had been four days since my conversation with my dad when we hit pay dirt. I’d gone into a club on the south side of Chicago known to be frequented by criminals who would end up on the most wanted list. I’d made my pitch while looking stoned and sloppy drunk, asking for a score. When they predictably claimed they didn’t sell that, I’d dropped Ruin’s moniker.

“Ruin, huh,” the older barmaid asked, with a gravelly voice as if she was a chain smoker.

“Yeah, you know him?” I slurred.

“The question is, how do you know him?”

I feigned being unsteady on my feet and gave a loopy grin. “I was one of his favorite pets.”

“Is that so? What did he call you then?”

This is how I knew I’d found an in. Only someone who knew Ruin would know he named his pets. “He’d say bring me my panther,” I whispered conspiratorially.

She nodded. “Why don’t we talk in the back?”

“Sure, let me text my mom first that I’ll be home late.” I was playing up that I was maybe as young as I looked.

I pulled out the FBI-issued phone and found Mom in my contacts. This wasn’t my actual phone and the contact Mom had nothing to do with my actual mother. Though a thread of texts had been created, it was all fictitious.

The barmaid came around. “Does she know where you are?”

I typed, I’ll be home late, which was the signal to the FBI I had made contact and said, “Of course not,” making sure to sound like a silly drunk girl.

I hit send just as the older woman took my arm, helping me, and led me to the back of the club. Clumsily, I dropped the phone on purpose. I knew they would never let me keep it. The phone was for evidence gathering. Likely, the phone would be destroyed when they realized they couldn’t access it. Face ID was not turned on. And I would fake being too incapacitated to unlock it. The SIM card would likely be removed. However, the phone had an embedded tracking chip inside, protected from the likely event the phone was smashed or stomped on.

So what was its purpose? The older woman who picked it up wasn’t wearing gloves. She likely didn’t see the threat. Now her fingerprints would be there, and maybe a trace of DNA. It would place her with me if needed in a future court case.

I held my hand out, but she shook her head. “I’ll keep it for you, honey,” she said sweetly. We ended up in a small, cramped office. She sat me on a worn couch that lined the wall. “I’ll be right back.”

The door closed behind her. I guessed the door had two-way locking, and I was now locked inside. Since I wasn’t sure if there were cameras there, I stayed where I was, leaving it up to the team that had positioned themselves near every exit to keep me safe.

When the door opened again, the woman wore a grandmotherly expression that should have inspired trust. “You’re in luck. Ruin remembers you. We’re going to take you to him.”

She opened the door a little wider, and one of the bouncers from outside stepped into the room. He came over and scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

“Thank you,” I said, looking at him as if I was forever grateful.

He only bobbed his head with a faint smirk on his lips.

Part of the reason for feigning drunkenness was to make me appear as little of a threat as possible. A side benefit was that they would hopefully not drug me. They would have no idea what I’d already taken, and if Ruin wanted me, they wouldn’t risk giving me something that I could end up OD’ing on.

I was wrong. After going down a level and into the garage, we ended up at the rear of a car. The bouncer put me on my feet and opened the trunk. Before I could ask any questions, one beefy arm banded across my chest, leaving my arms tucked at my sides as his other hand covered my nose and mouth.

Struggling, I inhaled the sickly sweet smell and guessed it was chloroform. Unlike the movies would like you to believe, inhaling the chemical doesn’t render you unconscious in seconds. It takes minutes, like five.

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