Page 45 of Nicole's Shelter

“I’m telling you to dig until you find it.” If they didn’t dig up the evidence, his efforts to plant it were wasted, he thought.

“Right.”

“Have they recovered a computer yet?”

“As you saw, sir, none of the electronics were salvageable in the apartment.” He checked his notes. “Her work computer was seized by another agency and the phone found at the airport trash bin was no use.”

Another agency? Clifton briefly wondered if the woman might have been handled for him if he’d let matters ride. Seemed her talent for making enemies hadn’t diminished. Letting someone else take care of her might have been cleaner, but to make the move he’d been after, to put the finishing touch on his personal master plan, he needed to know she was out of the way—permanently.

No more tiptoeing around and calling in favors. No more tasking interns to search for her under the guise of testing new facial recognition programs. No more lingering stress of when a federal prosecutor might grow a pair and finally come after him.

Done with the report, he crossed the street to his government-issued black SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat. He pulled out the phone and checked messages.

The first, that she’d been located on one of the back roads, had him praising the efficiency of working with money-motivated people. The second promised immediate, lethal action. He checked the time, smiling at the thought that she was probably dead by now.

His arrangement with the leader of the West Coast Dragons had been the smartest deal he’d ever made. Executing Chan, a relatively innocent bystander, hadn’t been as traumatic as he’d anticipated, aside from the particularly annoying witness. Overall, the agreement had been mutually beneficial—once the hierarchy had been established and understood by all parties. And in tight spots, he’d learned the biggest perk was having assets in the field to handle sticky situations like this.

Now the Dragons wanted to control a drug pipeline on the eastern seaboard. He’d been assisting by rounding up the competition based on leads from confidential informants—otherwise known as the Dragons themselves. Now they were going to eliminate his witness. Sometimes life was too perfect.

The burner cell rang again. “Go,” he answered, eager for verification that he could move on to the next stage of his life.

“Trouble,” said a wet, breathy voice.

The man was obviously wounded, but they were all replaceable. “Is she dead?”

“Unknown.” A roar of gunfire blotted out whatever the kid was trying to say. “…fighting back.”

“Location.” Clifton slammed the car into gear and started making his way to the interstate. “Location!” he repeated, but the caller had either passed out or died. He hoped they managed to kill the woman in the process of dying in whatever conflict they’d created.

“Better be dead,” Clifton muttered, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “Better damn well be dead.”

The one thing he hadn’t counted on, the thing that could ruin his plans faster than the witness to the Chan execution, was a gang banger willing to trade information for less jail time. The vow of silence and gang-family code of honor crap was all well and good until it was a man’s own neck in the noose. Clifton had turned enough ‘loyal’ criminals to know it happened regularly.

He tuned the scanner to the local police frequency and listened for an alert or emergency where he expected the biker team had launched the attack. If he got there first, he had to believe in an outside chance of containment.

His mind clicked through his options and he breathed easier as each mile he traveled without hearing an official dispatch kept those options open. He changed lanes, slowing down for the exit when the scanner blared to life and broke his tenuous control.

Clifton swore as the voice declared three motorcyclists in custody, multiple firearms, one burned out car, and one witness—male.

He slammed his fist into the steering wheel and proceeded to the next exit. His only choice now was to circle around and check out the scene once the police had cleared out. With any luck, he would find something to prevent this fiasco from landing on him.

* * *

It was a dreadful test of Rick’s willpower to watch the road and keep to the speed limit when he wanted to get Nicole to the doctor immediately.

They’d tucked her into the cab on her side, buckling her into place. When she twitched or moaned, he counted it a good sign. Smoothing her hair back from her face, he rambled nonsense just to fill the silence.

For once, he was eager for Eva’s voice to cut into his thoughts, but she didn’t call. When a fire truck roared by, followed soon after by an ambulance, he hoped Bart’s story held up long enough for them to get out of the area.

“That team of bikers was arrogant,” he said, wishing for feedback and insight Nicole was in no position to share. “And trained enough to adapt.” That was the piece that worried him. The triplets, to use Bart’s term, weren’t quite as stupid as they’d seemed. Sure, they didn’t know he’d make a stand, but they dealt with it. “Why didn’t they call for backup?”

Not that he’d wanted more of a challenge as he’d run out of ammunition, but still. Whoever sent the triplets must have had access to the traffic cameras that caught him leaving the interstate. It kept coming back to one conclusion: the agent determined to silence Nicole was well-connected or settled in a powerful position.

More likely both.

The navigation cued him as they neared Richmond and Nicole stirred. “Rick?”

Her voice, thready and weak, made him want to strangle Clifton and his biker crew. “Right here.” He patted her shoulder.

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