Chapter 9 #3
“I always make plenty.” She buttered the bread, adding herbs and garlic, then tucked the tray under the broiler. The lasagna went into the microwave. “Travis, aren’t you off work a little early?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to miss any of the fun.” He took his cup from the machine, motioned to Ben to use it, and frowned at Anne. “Did you forget you’d planned a team exercise tonight?”
She froze. “That’s on…oh, damn. I lost track. A friend needed a rush move today. That’s where Ben and I were earlier.”
“Yeah, Mom wondered why you weren’t at Sunday dinner.” Travis looked at her over his cup. “Is your buddy all moved, or do you need more help?”
And that was why she loved her brothers. Hardasses, but with good hearts. “We got her all set up.”
Ben was watching her, his gaze intent. “If you have work planned, sounds as if I need to get moving along.”
Travis looked him over slowly, eyes speculative. “You ever shot a firearm?”
“A time or two.” Ben’s voice was…odd. Anne studied him, trying to read his body language. Assurance was there, but he’d tensed as well. His face had gone unreadable, eyes shuttered. But, as a soldier, he would have not only used weapons but also killed.
“Military?” Travis always had to push. When Ben nodded, he frowned. “You’ve been out for a while to get your hair that long.”
Ben grinned and relaxed. “’Bout five years now. You?”
“Only two. Marines.”
“Army.” Ben dumped an appalling amount of sugar into his cup and took a sip. “Do you want company tonight…Anne?” He would have used Mistress if they’d been alone.
To her, that hesitation meant he wanted her to make the decision if he should attend the team exercise. Should he?
The man wasn’t a pushover. Although other fugitive recovery agents occasionally brought along friends or girlfriends, Anne hadn’t ever taken her slaves.
The other team members were overly testosteroned males.
Takedowns could get a bit violent, and ex-military or not, security guard or not, Ben was as easygoing a man as she’d ever met. He might not enjoy the scenarios.
Then again, he was an adult. And a fighter. Rather than a housecat, he was more like a Siberian tiger, big and heavy—and deadly.
She’d invite him and then he could decide whether he could cut the mustard.
She smiled at him. “Most of us recovery agents are used to working alone, but recently I set up a team. The exercises improve how we work together. People take turns playing the fugitive, and we practice doing takedowns. It sometimes gets rough.”
A smile spread over his craggy face. “Sounds like fun.”
Men. Always eager for a little gratuitous violence. Then again, she enjoyed the games too. She nodded at her brother. “Your spare eye gear should fit Ben. Bring it along, please.”
“Will do.” Travis gave Ben a pleased look before smirking at her. “Glad you finally have someone worthy of his nuts.”
Jerk. Rather than rewarding him with an insult, she mused, “I think I’ll top the lasagna off with mushrooms for a good flavor.”
“No,” Travis said hurriedly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
She gave Travis a look, and he almost whined. “Seriously, sis.” He turned. “Ben, you don’t want fungi on your lasagna, do you?”
Ben’s golden eyes gleamed with laughter. “Ma’am, although mushrooms are low on my favorite list, I’ll happily eat whatever you prepare.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgment of his well-played card—letting her know his preferences while reaffirming he’d not question her choice.
To frighten Travis, she picked up the mushrooms and heard her brother moan.
But, in recognition of Ben’s deference, she only added them to her portion of the lasagna.
His rough chuckle was her reward.
The sun was setting as Ben waited in a small, ramshackle mobile home on a heavily wooded property near Curlew Creek. Another mobile home and a shed stood in a line next to the house. Outside, his “family members” were putting up plastic fencing.
Anne had explained that each exercise was designed to simulate typical takedown scenarios, usually with the fugitive holed up with family, possibly with more relatives or friends next door. The potted plants, yard equipment, and fencing were moved around to keep the crew from becoming complacent.
It brought back fond memories of Ranger combat scenarios.
In this case, Ben was roleplaying the enemy—the fugitive. Anne even snapped his picture with her phone to use to brief her agents. She’d told him to look mean since it was supposed to be his arrest photo.
He’d been laughing when she took it.
With his fake family, Ben sat down at the dining table as ordered. He wore no special costume, just jeans, a T-shirt, and eye-safety glasses.
Supposedly, he was a drug dealer, out on bail, staying with his brother, two children, and two women. Two more relatives waited in the building next door to start a fight if they got a chance. Ben’s only goal was to escape. His family would attempt to hinder the bail agents from capturing him.
Although the training was deadly serious, the team and the part-timers like Travis approached the exercise in an atmosphere of fun. Or most of them did.
Travis had mentioned there was some friction in the group. A couple of men resented having a woman in charge; one wanted her position. Ben had noticed Anne’s cousin Robert never lost an opportunity to make a derogatory comment.
A knock sounded on the door. A brawny, blond agent named Mitchell pushed his chair back and rose. “Who the hell is that?” Totally into his role as Ben’s brother, he walked to the door grumbling loudly, “Try to get a good meal, and some asshole shows up and—”
He opened the door. “What?”
With game weaponry loaded in his belt, Travis stood in the door. “I apologize for bothering you at this late hour, sir, but I’m with The Brothers Bail Bonds. I’m sorry to report that your brother didn’t show up in court today and…”
That was Ben’s cue to get the hell out. He’d already assessed his possible escape routes and the surroundings. With limited choices, he’d decided to exit through the back bedroom window. Hopefully, the portable fence and potted shrubberies would partially shield him from view.
He assumed the team leader would’ve stationed people at all potential exits. Caution would be needed.
He didn’t spot anyone as he slid out the glassless window. Landing as softly as possible, he bent his knees to present a smaller silhouette. The sun was just below the horizon, and the encroaching forest shadowed the area.
As he moved across the patchy lawn, he caught sight of someone coming around the side of the house to his right. Another person on the left blocked his chosen route. He broke into a run, automatically zigzagging, although Anne had said firearms were only used in case of life-threatening danger.
He headed toward the opening in the fence, veered at the last minute, and shouldered past the man who attempted to block him. Using a tree for an assist, he jumped the fence.
Someone yelled, “East side!”
A body hit him from the left in an unsuccessful tackle. While they grappled, Anne slammed into him from the rear, and he tripped over the other guy.
As he landed on his front, someone dropped onto his legs.
Still struggling, he felt a sharp sting on his back. Shit. He played dead.
“What the hell?” The man on his legs rolled off. “Hey, buddy, you okay? He just went limp, Anne.”
She knelt. “Ben, are you all right?”
“Am I allowed to be alive now?”
“What do you mean?” Her hand was on his cheek, smelling of her floral bath soap.
“Someone shot me in the back. Aren’t I supposed to die if that happens?”
In the dim light, he saw her perfectly curved brows draw together. “No one shot you.”
“Yeah, someone did. At a guess, the shooter was fairly close.”
Anne glanced at the two men who’d grappled with him.
Neither had weapons drawn.
Ben sat up as two more trotted over from the back of the house. Aaron and Robert.
“Which one of you shot him?” Anne snapped at them.
From the front of the house came more team members.
“I’m not carrying. Not enough pistols to go around,” Aaron said with a slow Texas drawl. He turned his head and spit.
Everyone looked at Robert.
Anne’s cousin stiffened and glared at Anne. “Fuck, I didn’t shoot him. Your guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
What an asshole. “I’ve played Airsoft before and know how a pellet hit feels.” Ben pulled off his threadbare T-shirt and turned toward the flashlight Travis was holding. “See for yourself—mid-back, right of the spine.”
Anne touched the stinging spot. “That’s a hit and a lethal one. Now we have a man dead in a non-life-threatening situation. The relatives were witnesses that he was unarmed and on the ground when shot.” She fixed Robert with an aggravated gaze. “Lawsuit material. You know better, Robert.”
The bastard looked her up and down and simply walked away.
Anne didn’t react visibly, but Ben could feel her irritation—and dammit, there wasn’t a thing he could do to help.
Aaron leaned down, offered Ben a hand, and yanked him to his feet. “Shit, man, you weigh a ton. Can’t believe you can move so fast.”
“Had practice.” Since they had the best long-range spotting equipment, snipers did a whole lot of scouting. And sometimes a whole lot of retreating if a situation turned sour.
Anne walked over, carrying two bottled waters. She studied him as he pulled his T-shirt back on. “Any injuries, my tiger?” she asked softly.
Tiger. He could live with that, especially with the my tucked in front of it. “Nope. I’m good.” He took a bottle and chugged it down. “You letting the twit get away with the disobedience?”
She pushed back her hair. “With anyone else, he’d be off my crew so quickly, his head would spin. But Robert is the son of one of the owners. Although I told them he’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, I was forced to let him onto the team. He’s quite good at manipulating his father.”
“That sucks.”
“It does. His incompetence and grandstanding are liable to get someone killed.”