Chapter Sixteen #2
“I’m going to have a full law enforcement contingency and QM International behind me. We will catch him.”
“How was your conversation with Whitaker?”
“At the hospital to see him now.”
“I need your contact at the police department.”
“Sergeant Frank Walker.”
“I’ll handle the rest. QM in?”
“Yes. Do you need to hear directly from the boss?”
“Please.”
She handed the phone to Quaid. “He wants confirmation.”
Quaid took the phone, letting her stick close so she could hear with her good ear. “Ryker. Daniels here. We’re in.”
“We have strict rules of engagement on these manhunts.”
“We have rules of conduct, too.”
“Let Williams guide you.”
“Acceptable.”
“Fine. Let me talk to her again.”
Quaid handed off the phone. “He’s all yours,” he whispered sotto voce.
“Sir.” With approval imminent, her stomach turned over like a plane rolling in turbulent air. At fifteen, she’d never imagined this as the end of the nightmare.
“Keep me posted. No gaps, no winging it.”
“Copy. Fully my intention, sir. I want this by the book.”
“Get him then.” He disconnected.
She gripped her phone. “Not sure how it’s blending together, but it’s in motion. We’ll need somebody to coordinate all this.”
With no hesitation, Quaid gave her a name. “Mackey.”
Alanna studied him. “Any reason? I mean, I agree. But why?”
“There isn’t anybody who doesn’t respect Mac within minutes of meeting him, and he has the background to manage multiple moving pieces. That’s all I can say.”
“Classified, huh?”
“So high up there ain’t oxygen.”
“Works for me.” She grinned. “You tell him.”
Quaid snorted. “Let’s go talk to Whit.” Trailed by Tanner and Welker, they made their way to another challenge.
&&&&&&&&&&
Alanna was getting her eardrum checked with Cait and the emergency room attending.
Whit was having an MRI and would be in his room in thirty minutes.
Quaid loitered in the hall, eyes on the cubicle she was in.
He fingered his phone, planning how to tell Mac he’d volunteered him to be in the midst of a manhunt.
His friend might rub his hands together in glee or…
color the air blue with swear-words in multiple languages. The man was unpredictable.
He hit speed dial.
Mackey answered. “What else blew up?”
Quaid laughed. “Nothing. I volunteered you for something you’re either going to love or kill me for.”
“And that would be?”
“Alanna got approval from Ryker for an area-wide manhunt. We’re going to need somebody to coordinate all the agencies. That’s you, my friend.”
“Motherfucker,” he drawled slowly.
“We need somebody who’ll keep these people on point and keep the information flowing.”
“Who is the contact?”
“Ryker. Can our Operations handle this?”
“Yes.”
That was Mac. To the point. He knew all their people – who they were at work and home, pushed to get the best out of them, and stood behind them during the shit stuff.
“I’ll pull Kerry to help. We need to hire another computer person.”
“Agreed. Navy apparently talked to Ryker after Harry called. You should include him if you need someone.”
“Already on the list. Anything else?”
“Frank. Pull him in, too. He’s been involved from the parking lot attempt. I don’t want any other agencies shoving us out. It’s our case.”
“Understood. Out.”
Quaid disconnected and dialed Niles. “Sir, what do you need?”
“We’re about to start something.”
“Manhunt. I heard.”
“Alanna wants clothes and her weapons from her apartment in LA. Are you comfortable with handling the pickup?”
“Of course. I assume I’ll need keys and instructions.”
“Are you still at QM?”
“Yes, arranged lunch. Dinner is being catered. I’ve arranged deliveries for all meals tomorrow to get the crew through one more day. I’ll be returning home tonight.”
“Us, too. Alanna can talk with you at home.”
“May I ask pointblank what your intentions are with Miss Alanna?”
“That sounded protective.” Niles had never questioned him about his ‘dates’ in their entire association.
“You don’t bring women home. That you brought her to the house speaks.”
He didn’t disagree. “Niles, we’re working this through in slow stages. For the moment, we’re together. Do what you can to help her.”
“Understood. You should keep her.”
“Trying.”
“Don’t try. That should be a given.” He disconnected without his usual signoff.
Niles words lingered. Was it a given? He’d been acting like it – live it and worry about the rest later. Oh boy, he wasn’t going to assume any such thing.
The curtain pulled back and Cait came out with the ER doctor. She waved the other man off and came to Quaid’s side.
“She okay?” She was so tough, and she never complained. He wouldn’t know she was hurting unless she told him.
“Well, it could be better, but we’re making progress.”
Alanna walked through the curtain and came to his side.
Cait patted her arm. “Let me go put in the order. We’ll get those meds and have them ready when you come back from talking to Whit. Don’t tire him.”
“I need a few answers. We won’t be long.” She sought him with her eyes.
He gave a short, encouraging nod. “Let’s go.”
Cait gave them a thumbs up. “Find me when you’re done.”
“If we can.” He walked Alanna to the elevator.
“I like her.”
Quaid gazed back at Cait. “I like her, too. And not because she personally held my guts together in Afghanistan. She’s good people.”
They had the elevator to themselves. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him.”
“Now or never. Question him like the profiler you are. This isn’t about when you were fifteen. It’s about him. His past could help us.”
“He doesn’t sound good. She’s worried about this staph infection.”
“We’ll have to hope the medication gives him a fighting chance.”
Off the elevator, they noted Whit’s room immediately. Patina and a man she didn’t know were minding the door.
“Boss. Ms. Williams. He’s back from tests.” Patina pushed open the door.
“Thanks, guys.” She took several steps and stopped.
Quaid stepped in behind her and didn’t resist putting a hand on her shoulder.
Whit looked awful. His color was gray, nasal cannulas delivered oxygen through his nose, an IV dripped fluids, and a monitor beeped in a slow rhythm.
His eyes were closed. Assessing, Quaid noted the number of bandages.
Multiple stab wounds had gone untreated.
No wonder he had an infection. He wasn’t blaming Open Door.
They’d done what Whit would let them. He couldn’t even be irritated with the man.
He didn’t live his life, have his trauma, or understand the choices he’d had to make.
Alanna stepped forward, and he let his hand drop.
&&&&&&&&&&
Alanna stood lost in the first moment she’d met Whit.
He’d been dressed in old, but clean clothes – jeans and a gray plaid shirt with a weapon bulge, a full backpack, a long beard mixed with gray, and piercing blue eyes.
He’d advised her to stick with him and moved her away from a bad situation with no fuss.
From then on, he’d frequently sought her out until she gave in and stayed with him.
Without him, she wouldn’t have finished school.
But Quaid was right. Her questions couldn’t be mired in those dark, desperate days after Mercer assaulted her.
They should be based on the scope of all she knew.
She was different. Whit was different. And Mercer was off his rocker.
Quaid stood at her back, and the temptation was strong to lean on him. Dig deep, girl.
She stepped to his bed and studied the lines of his face, bruises that were taking too long to fade, and hair grayed with age. His eyes popped open. The blue-piercing, intelligent gaze was there, honed by maturity and still fierce.
She rejected her first question – why?
“You shouldn’t be here.” His raspy whisper rattled in his chest. “Too dangerous.”
“FBI agent. Danger is my profession. As I told you yesterday, he’s hunting me, too, and I’m going to use every asset I have to take him out.”
“He likes control. But he doesn’t operate in the states.”
She pulled a chair closer. “Not true. He’s tried for you, tried for me, tried for Quaid.” She pointed at the door. “And he’s killed here before.”
“That was a long time ago.” He coughed, groaned in pain, and turned away.
She didn’t want to discuss her methodology or go deeper into facts they already had.
She needed Iraq. “I’ve studied his service record.
Yours, too. Plus, I have access to a Skiff full of information on his assassinations over the last fifteen years.
Military personnel. World leaders. But you know something else, don’t you? Tell me. It might help me find him.”
“Not talking about that.”
“But it’s living in your memories. Popping out at you when you least want it to. What happened in Iraq 2005?”
Whit’s mouth dropped open, then snapped closed, and his lips firmed. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” How to convince him? Maybe she had to talk about methodology.
“I don’t think Esme was his first kill. His serial-killing habits started before his military service. I think you guessed or can prove it.” Whit turned away.
“Yes, I’m calling it what it was. Serial-killing. We’re searching those records, but you had a conflict with him from the very beginning of your service, and again in Iraq in 2005, you made a report that has been partially redacted. What was it?”
He closed his eyes. “He yammered all the time. How the man maintained operational security, I don’t know.
Maybe he didn’t. He talked all the time, about guns, about missions, about food, and about local gossip.
He had what he called his sweet honey. I figured she was a local prostitute, and I warned him about messing with the locals.
We were the same rank, so I had no leverage against his behavior. And Iraq then…” His voice trailed off.
A tingle spiraled to her gut. “Was bad. Go on.”