Chapter 14 #2
I’m so busy scouting the area that I fail to notice my attacker until they move out of the bushes to my right and tackle me to the ground.
The person is covered from head to toe in black and has one hell of a right hook.
My stomach takes the brunt of the force, and I almost retch, but my training kicks in.
I ignore the pain and hook one leg around their middle, rolling on top of them.
Using my forearm, I crush their trachea while my other hand twists the wrist holding a knife. The person yelps and drops it.
Both of our breaths are heavy, though the exchange was over in a blink. Our chests move in sync, but since my arm is on their throat, their breathing is shallow.
“Can't breathe,” they rasp. The voice sounds feminine.
I ease up, releasing her throat but keeping her subdued.
“Who sent you?” she asks, and this time I hear the fear—and paranoia.
“I came of my own volition.” It’s not a lie. “I’m looking for information about the company you used to work for.”
Something flashes across her face, but I can’t quite tell what it is. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I sigh, easing up even more. I’ve learned two things from this brief meeting: One, she’s terrified, and two, she doesn’t know how to protect herself and relies on her tech to keep her safe.
This means she’s not really a threat to me, and the only thing I can do is try to earn her trust so she will give me what I need.
I can also provide her something she wants.
Safety.
I decide to be truthful. “I work for the CIA, and I’m looking for information on your former boss. I have reason to believe he was involved in illegal activity.”
She scoffs. “A lot of illegal activity.”
I raise my brows.
She lets out a slow breath. “I have no reason to trust you, but you got past my security with ease, and there’s no chance in hell I’m taking you out physically. So, I’m inclined to believe you.”
With that declaration, I choose to trust her, too.
Climbing off her, I stand, offering my hand.
She eyes it warily but takes it, and I pull her to stand.
She’s shorter than me, but not by much, and her brown hair tumbles from the black beanie she’s wearing.
Her irises are a stunning shade of blue, and the lines on her face would indicate she’s around my age, maybe a few years older.
She eyes me as if she’s assessing me the way I am scrutinizing her.
“Come,” she finally says, waving a hand and turning her back to me.
The ultimate test of trust in my line of work.
I follow. She takes me up the old wooden steps, skipping the third one, and I find out a moment later why: The step creaks so loudly, echoing through the trees, that the crickets silence their chirps for a moment.
“That step has saved me more times than my security system.”
I chuckle. “I don’t doubt it.”
She opens the screen door, then the inner wooden one, and ushers me into the small space. The living room to the right is full of computers and tech equipment, all beeping away. To the left, the kitchen is covered in dirty dishes. It looks like weeks' worth.
She doesn’t stop in either room and instead leads me down a small hallway that ends with two identical doors. She opens the one on the left, and I find myself in a small library. There’s a couch under the window, and this room appears to be the cleanest.
She motions to the sofa, and I sit down, watching her. The slump of her shoulders gives away her exhaustion.
“Don’t sleep much?” I ask as she sits in a small chair opposite me.
She shakes her head. “Not since they tried to kill me.”
I arch a brow.
“That’s what they did to anyone who knew too much,” she continues. “I was his assistant. Though I acted dumb, I heard his conversations, and I kept track of the people who disappeared.”
“What happened to them?”
She looks at me as though I’m not too bright. “They killed them.”
“How’d they cover their tracks?”
She shrugs. “Most cases were declared suicides, but some were linked to serial killers. They’d use the same strategies to kill their victims.”
I clench my jaw, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You’re CIA. This must not be surprising.”
I shake my head. “No, not surprising. I’m trying to put together many different puzzle pieces at the moment. You heard the CEO is dead, right?”
She nods. “But they still know I know.”
I sit forward, placing my arms on my knees, softening my voice. “Who knows?”
It’s like trying to calm a wounded animal. She’s about to shut down or bolt. It’s in the gleam of her eyes.
She shakes her head, dropping it into her hands. “I don’t know. Whoever he was working with. Whoever controlled the drugs and human trafficking.”
“What was his role in all of it?”
She raises her head, blue bloodshot eyes meeting mine. “He traded and sold people and drugs. They profit-shared. He kept the authorities away using money and influence, which allowed their operation to rake in billions.”
None of this is surprising, but somehow, I didn’t expect the scope of it.
“And you’re afraid whoever he worked with is still after you?”
She nods. This time, moisture fills her eyes.
I reach out a hand and place it over her clammy one. “We’re going to find them, and in the meantime, I’m going to put you up in a safehouse with the CIA.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?” She almost chokes on her words, the relief evident.
“How long have you been here?”
“A year.”
She’s been living in seclusion and fear for a year? Fuck. How many others got out and are living the same life? I’m terrified to ask.
I pat her hand. “You ok to come with me now? Or would you like me to send someone tomorrow so you can get your affairs in order?”
She looks around the room, and as she does, I notice how skinny she is.
I change my mind.
“I think you should come with me.” I’m firm, but my voice remains quiet.
Her eyes find mine again, and there’s a bone-deep relief that takes over. She nods as I lead her out of the prison she’s been living in.
She squeezes my hand until we reach my car, and I open the passenger door and let her slide in before shutting it. Walking to the driver's side, I shoot off a text to Ella.
Nova: I need a safehouse for a witness.
Ella: Witness for Owen?
Nova: Witness for the crimes of the CEO of the third company.
Text bubbles pop up then disappear. Because I don’t want to scare the woman, I get in the car and put my phone away.
“Ready?” I ask.
The woman nods but doesn’t look at me. Instead, she stares out the window into the dark forest. How much does she know, and how badly has it ruined her life?
I can’t help the deep-seated rage that I often feel when I learn of the crimes of my targets, how they can get away with so many things and destroy so many lives and get away unscathed. Even worse, walk away with more power. More money.
It’s nothing like the way I feel with Owen, and that has me both terrified and conflicted.