Chapter 9 #2
They went into action, moving like a well-oiled machine. To watch them, one would never know they were down two members—Slade and the woman they called Shadow. But Rafe was here, as was Lena. Together, their combined experience offered priceless knowledge and skills.
As instructed, the highly trained operatives began to spread out in various directions. Within minutes, Rafe found himself in the second-floor hallway with Apollo and the mouthwatering spy.
He stood to the left of Lionel James’ apartment door while Apollo continued to stand at the door’s right. Both men stood with their backs pressed firmly against the peeling wall as they held their pistols within their steady fists.
Lena’s attention slid to Rafe’s. She waited until he gave her a confirming nod. She lifted a hand to knock, but as her knuckles struck the paint-chipped door, the wooden barrier inched forward without any real force.
They shared a look before turning to visually inspect the metal latch. It was only then that Rafe noticed what appeared to be a few slight scratches. When he pointed them out to Lena, her fingers adjusted the grip she had on her Glock 19.
“We’ve got visible signs of a break-in,” Lena relayed to the others through the tiny mics in their ears. “Making entry now.”
His pulse quickened with adrenaline as he dipped his chin once more. Lena used her left hand to push the door open more fully while holding her weapon up with an outstretched arm. And just as they had a few times back in Syria, she dropped low while Rafe covered from up high.
We still make one hell of a team.
The thought had barely made its way through his alerted mind when every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Blood.
Rafe caught the coppery scent before they were fully through the door. He raised one hand, and everyone stopped. Lena stood as tall as her petite frame allowed while she visually swept the room.
“This isn’t good,” she murmured low, her beautiful face scrunching as the unpleasant smell grew stronger.
The apartment was eerily quiet as they made their way inside. At first glance, the place looked like any other cheap rental in this part of Charlotte. Stained carpet. Dingy wallpaper. A sagging recliner facing a crookedly mounted flatscreen.
But as they passed the jutting portion of wall to their right, the plaid couch—and Lionel “Bulldog” James’ body—came into full view.
Son of a—
He was dead. Dark, dried blood surrounded a small hole in the center of his forehead. From the body’s position, Rafe could only assume the man had been looking in the eyes of his killer the moment he died.
He lifted a fist and silently ordered Lena and Apollo to search the rest of the rooms. It didn’t take long to clear the two-bedroom space. A short moment later, the three reconvened in the area separating the living room from the apartment’s tiny kitchen.
“We’re all clear,” Rafe relayed to the others as they kept watch from their assigned posts. “But someone already beat us to the punch.”
“Bulldog’s dead?” Falcon’s voice was the first to come through.
“Affirmative,” he immediately confirmed. “Hold your positions. We’re going to look around for anything useful, and then we’re out.” His hand fell to his side as he turned to Apollo and Lena. “Search thoroughly but with care.”
The pair split off to begin their search, donning disposable gloves as they walked.
Alone again, Rafe’s attention immediately returned to Lionel James. He took in the macabre scene with his highly trained gaze.
The deceased man had been sitting on the couch when he was shot. The positioning of the body and the blood splatter on the cushion and wall behind him all but proved as much. Rafe glanced right, to the end table pressed against the couch’s curved arm.
A black remote sat seemingly undisturbed. The TV was dark, and because the killer would have little reason to touch it on his or her way out, Rafe assumed it had been off at the time of the shooting.
If you weren’t watching TV, what were you doing?
He lowered his gaze to the small, oval coffee table that had clearly seen better days. On one end were a slightly crumpled fast-food bag and a disposable cup with a lid and straw. A small stack of mail had been haphazardly tossed in the center.
A few inches from the mail were a set of keys. Beside those, a small delivery box had been opened and left empty. The one thing Rafe didn’t see—
Where is his phone?
He went over to the body. Wearing his own gloves, he began looking through Bulldog’s pockets. Rafe found the man’s wallet, lip balm, and an old receipt. And still, no phone.
It has to be here somewhere.
He’d barely begun checking the rest of the living room when Lena and Apollo reappeared from the narrow hall.
“We finished searching the back rooms,” Lena announced, holstering the pistol at her hip. “Nothing useful that we could see.”
“You didn’t find a phone?”
They both shook their heads.
Apollo glanced toward the other room from over his shoulder. “You check the kitchen?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ve got it.” Lena spun on her heels and began marching that way.
Rafe and Apollo watched silently as the woman went to work digging through drawers and cabinets. Lena even went so far as to check the microwave, refrigerator, and oven.
“Maybe the killer took it,” Apollo muttered low.
Lena opened a tin canister with the word “Coffee” embossed on the front in shiny black letters. Rafe watched and waited as she reached a hand inside. Her eyes flew to Rafe’s a beat later.
“Bingo.” She pulled a plastic baggie from the canister. A black phone was secured inside. “Looks like a burner.”
As if right on cue, the device lit up with a ding. Lena’s eyes shot to his before she pulled open the bag. She grabbed the phone and looked at the screen.
“It’s a text, but the phone is locked, and the preview only shows an unsaved number.”
“Let me see it.” Rafe held out a hand.
With the device in his hand, he returned to the body on the couch and angled the screen toward Lionel James’ still face. Even in death, the phone’s facial recognition yielded, the screen flickering to life as it unlocked.
He opened the text that had come through less than a minute ago, his breath catching at the base of his throat.
“Rafe?” Lena slowly made her way toward him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He held the phone out for her and Apollo to see. “It’s not a text.”
It was a picture of him and Lena taken moments before they’d entered the building. He was looking down at her. She was staring up at him. If not for their protective vests, they could have easily been mistaken for two lovers amid casual conversation.
Son of a—
“What the hell?” Apollo growled.
Concern filled Lena’s stunning gaze as it rose back up to his. “They could still be out there right now.”
The words had no more left her kissable lips when a bullet struck one of the living room windows. Glass cracked loudly as the projectile pierced the apartment’s stale air before slamming into the wall near the hallway’s entrance.
“Get down!” Rafe shouted.
All three dropped to the floor, using their hands to cover their heads. When a second shot never came, he spared a glance toward the splintered glass.
The shot had gone through the window to the left of the couch, which was several feet from where they’d been standing. It hadn’t come anywhere near where he or the other two had been standing.
A warning, perhaps?
Lena looked to Rafe from where she still lay. “Guess they already sent Miller’s replacement.”
“Or he was here all along,” Apollo mused.
It wasn’t a bad theory. Putting eyes on Miller to ensure he got the job done would certainly be a smart move. But why waste time with taunting pictures and wild shots?
He’s playing with us.
Rafe brought a hand to his ear. “Someone just shot one of the windows from the building’s east side. Anyone have eyes on the shooter?”
Falcon’s deep curse filled the nestled mic. “Looking now. Anyone hit?”
“Negative.”
A few tense seconds later, the team’s lead sniper came back with, “That’s a negative on the shooter. Colt and I will check out the building across the street.”
“Don’t bother.” Rafe slowly pushed himself back up to his feet.
“Rafe, wait—” Lena began.
He bent forward and offered her his hand. “Whoever it was, they’re already gone,” he assumed. “They could have taken the three of us out through the room’s southernmost window within seconds, if they’d wanted.”
“Why waste the ammo?” Coulter’s voice came through the mic next.
Rafe helped Lena up to her feet. “It was a warning, same as the picture. They want us to know they’re watching, and you and I are the targets.”
“Guess they missed the memo that we already figured that part out.”
“They’re screwing with you,” Apollo added with unconcealed contempt.
“Yes.” Rafe nodded. “They are.”
The murderous prick may have started the deadly game of cat and mouse. But what they didn’t know—
I always win.