Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The next afternoon . . .
“Sorry it took so long for me to get back with you.” Derek West’s face appeared on the mounted flatscreen. “What I assumed would be an easy pick of intel on your assassin and the trail leading from him turned out to be anything but.”
“Meaning?” Rafe crossed his arms at his chest.
He and his team listened intently to the R.I.S.C. operative from inside the custom space he dubbed the team’s personal situation room.
In his experience, “war rooms” were often temporary. Thrown together for a specific task or mission. This room, however, had recently been remodeled with all future missions in mind.
Especially the ones that were personal.
It was spacious and equipped with everything they had at their main office and more. Conference table and chairs. Hi-def screen. Multiple state-of-the-art computers and a satellite phone. They could do their jobs from here as well as anywhere, but with the added comforts of home.
Rafe and his team could also defend themselves and his home should the need arise. Lining the wall on the side of the room opposite the line of computers were three very large, virtually impenetrable safes.
The first two held weapons of all shapes and sizes. Guns, knives, military-grade smoke grenades, to name a few. They even had a handful of frags—fragmentation explosive devices—thrown in for good measure.
And for their personal protection, there was safe number three. Behind its thick, steel door were enough tactical vests, gloves, helmets, and goggles to cover Rafe and his team.
“Meanin”—West’s Texas drawl was clear as he continued explaining why his deep dive on their dead hitman took two days—“once I started lookin’, the rabbit hole I fell into turned into a bottomless pit.”
“Please tell me you at least hit a few branches along the way,” Lena pleaded as she stood a few feet away.
“All the way down, darlin’.” West winked.
Though he didn’t dare show it, Rafe suddenly felt like a jealous teenager watching some other guy hit on his girl. Only Lena wasn’t his. Maybe someday but that remained to be seen. Add in the fact that Derek West was reportedly a very happily married man, and—
Dammit, Owens. Focus!
“What did you find?” He forced the absurd thoughts from his head.
“A whole truckload of stuff.”
Rafe met West’s stare. “How about we start with a name? I assume you have one?”
“Sure do.” The other man glanced to the side, to what Rafe assumed was another monitor. “Your hired gun’s name is . . . sorry, was Timothy Miller.”
From his seat, Bones huffed out a low breath.
“Oddly normal for such a cold-blooded killer.
“Well”—West scoffed—“Your boy was anything but normal. Former Delta sniper discharged medically a few years ago after a pressure-plate IED sent a bunch of shrapnel into his back. Military docs got most of it out, minus two slivers close to his spine.”
“They left them in there?” Falcon looked to Bones as the medical expert of the group.
Bones shrugged. “If they were too close to his actual spinal cord, then yeah. They wouldn’t risk paralyzing the guy trying to remove it.”
“But leaving it in meant immediate removal from service.” Slade’s dark eyes met Rafe’s. “Could explain why he started working for the other side.”
Rafe dipped his head in agreement. “What else do you know about Mr. Miller?”
“A whole lot.” West’s tone was optimistic. “But before we get into that, I figured you’d want to hear about someone else.” When no one objected, the R.I.S..C. operative revealed, “I found his friend. The guy driving the car the day Alice was shot.”
“Name,” Rafe growled.
“Lionel James. But he’s known on the streets as Bulldog.”
One of Lena’s brows arched high in disbelief. “Bulldog? Seriously?”
“Nice, right?” West chuckled. “Anyway, Bulldog is a local, mid-level punk. His rap sheet shows priors for burglary, B and E, possession of a controlled substance with the intent to distribute, assault . . .” One shoulder rose and fell. “You know, the usual.”
Falcon lifted two fingers as if signaling his intention to be the next speaker. “Why would a professional like Miller work with someone like that?”
“Miller didn’t need a mastermind,” Lena pointed out bluntly. “He just needed a driver.”
Rafe nodded. “She’s right. Local boys come cheap, and they know the roads.”
West’s playful stare met the room as his mouth lifted into a knowing smirk. “Any takers on the kind of car Bulldog drives?”
“One that matches the description of our drive-by?” Coulter guessed.
The man on the screen smiled wide. “A perfect match, actually.”
“Well, there you go.” Apollo looked to Rafe. “We need to find this guy and make him tell us everything he knows.”
All eyes turned to Coulter when the former CIA officer gave a quick clap of his hands. “Now, that’s my kind of field trip.”
Lena raised a partially lifted palm. “Easy, Morgan. We’re going there to talk.”
“Oh, I know.” With an exaggerated look of innocence, he let a corner of his mouth lift high. “Talking’s what I do best.”
“Must suck to be Alex.” Falcon mocked, referring to Alexandria Webb, his brother’s soon-to-be wife.
But Coulter hurriedly assured him, “She doesn’t complain to me.”
“Probably can’t, what with all the talking going on.”
The two brothers flashed each other the bird, sending a hum of deep chuckles around the table.
To West, Rafe brought the original conversation back into play by asking, “Anything else we should know about Lionel James, aka Bulldog, before we pay him a visit?”
The seasoned surfer-looking operative gave a slight shake of his blond head. “Just watch your backs. He might be mid-level, but don’t forget, he was in bed with a professional hitman.”
“Not to mention, whoever hired him and Miller.” Lena glanced Rafe’s way.
From the screen on the wall, West sat back in his chair while spinning an ink pen between his fingers. “Well, while y’all go round up Bulldog, I’ll keep doing my thing from here.”
“Follow the money.” Lena took charge. “The brains of this whole thing is still out there, and we need to find them. The working theory is it’s Kozlova, but we can’t keep assuming. We need tangible proof that he’s our guy.”
The former SEAL gave a slight dip of his chin. “Yes, ma’am. Consider me on it.”
“Thanks, Derek.” Rafe turned to face the screen. “I’ll be in contact once we’ve had the chance to question the driver.”
“Talk to you then.” West lifted his free hand in a sloppy salute.
A second later, the screen went black.
“Let’s roll, boys.” Bones shot to his feet. To Lena, he added a chagrined tip of his head, “And lady. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Bones.” Lena began moving toward the door with a smirk. “I’m used to it. Trust me.”
Rafe followed her and the others out of the situation room. Minutes later, the group of five was piling into the team’s SUV.
The drive to Lionel James’ neighborhood took a little over twenty minutes. When they turned onto his street, he pulled up next to the curb, parking half a block away.
First step—observe. There were too many unknowns to bull their way in without first ensuring there were no noticeable threats.
The neighborhood they were in looked like any other low-income stretch of land. Cracked and buckled sidewalks. Weed-filled yards lined by a long stretch of interlocking, chain-link fence.
Rafe pulled away from the trash-lined gutter, letting the wheels of the SUV creep closer to their target’s dwelling.
As he did, a spot happened to open right out front, as if derived by divine intervention.
Once they were parked for the second time in as many minutes, he took another moment to fully assess the area.
The place looked as though it had been built in a hurry and forgotten about not long after. Stained brick. Cracked windows. A sagging green awning hung over the entrance.
One security camera pointed toward the sidewalk, its plastic housing split smack dab down the middle. The other was missing altogether. Nothing but a couple of frayed wires that appeared somewhat alarming.
“Lovely,” Lena murmured beside him.
Rafe’s attention shifted as the intriguing woman leaned forward in her seat for a better view. “Not the way I’d describe it.”
“What can I say?” She studied the building with a highly trained eye. “I’m trying to find something positive.”
He looked back at the brick structure with a quipped, “That’ll take quite some time.”
“Yeah, I’m not that patient.” Her shoulder-length hair brushed her jaw as she sat back and looked his way.
Lena had survived years in the CIA, hostile extractions, and bad men with highly lethal and expensive weapons. She was also the only person in the vehicle who could make him feel both calmer and more concerned at the same time.
I need to make sure she’s safe.
The only way to do that was to put an end to the threat. And for that to happen, they needed actionable intel.
Enter Lionel James.
“Let’s move.” Rafe opened his door. “Like we discussed on the way here, we go in quiet. The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better.” When they gathered together on the sidewalk next to the car, he met each of their stares.
“Falcon will cover the rear. Apollo’s with me through the south-side entrance.
Bones, you’ll keep eyes on the main floor lobby from the inside while Colt watches things from here. ”
“What about Price?” Coulter turned his head to look directly at Lena.
“Who, me?” She grinned. “Looks like I’m going in through the front door.”
That reminds me—
“You get to the apartment, you wait for Apollo and me to make entrance.”
“Yes, sir.” Lena met his gaze with a slight shimmer of humor.
Lord, help me with this one.
He was seconds away from initiating a breach and question, and in that moment, all Rafe could think was how he wanted to lose himself in her eyes. A moment later, Rafe blinked his way back to being mission-ready before signaling for the others to go.