Rogue Agent Page 7

  “Well, he won’t know about tonight.” Spencer placed a kiss on her forehead. “Will you flip for a deal?”

  Trix closed her eyes and pushed down the feeling of repulsion and self-disgust. She needed a fix and Spencer was the only one who could provide it. She stood up and took his hand, leading him to the couch against the wall. “Take a seat, Mr. Hack. You’re going to have the night of your life.”

  ***

  Trix arrived home after midnight, partially dressed and drunk as a sailor. She opened the door to find Seth in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. She’d forgotten he was staying over tonight.

  “Hello, beautiful. Did your shift run late at the club?”

  She slammed the door behind her and walked over to him, planting a wet kiss on his lips. “It was a sloppy night.”

  Seth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can tell. Why is your blouse buttoned up like that?” He then shook his head. “Are you lucid enough for dinner?” He pointed to a bowl of fries. “It’s not much, and greasy food helps with hangovers.”

  “I’m not hungover.”

  He smirked and dished out some food for her. “Oh, honey, you will be.”

  They moved to the dining room with the fries and a bottle of wine. Trix enjoyed her dinner while Seth stared at her across the table.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, shoving a steaming fry into her mouth. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

  “Have you taken much thought about our last conversation?”

  “Seth, please, I don’t want to argue again.”

  “You told me you’re quitting Clandestine. Is that true?”

  The sexual escapades with Spencer came to mind and she swallowed the lump in her throat, sickened by her betrayal. She knew deep down she could never quit, never live a proper life, even for Seth. “Yes, I’m working very hard at it. I don’t want to let you down.”

  “I know you won’t, baby. My financial offer still stands, okay.”

  “So, does that mean you’re severing my supply?”

  Seth slammed a fist onto the table, startling her. “Trix, I love you, but you’re going to kill yourself if you keep doing this. I told you I wasn’t going to supply you if you promise me you’ll stop. You told me you were. Are you lying to me?”

  “No.”

  He reached across the table and took her face in his hands, studying her intently, his eyes wide and dark. “Did you use at the club tonight?”

  “No, I only drank spirits and beer.” Trix shook herself free and grabbed the bottle of wine. “You have to learn to trust me, Seth.”

  The thunderstorm died in his eyes. “I do, honey, and I’m sorry. I’ve been on edge lately and I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

  Trix welcomed the change of subject. “You rarely stay over now so your new job must keep you busy.”

  He smiled and took a generous sip of his wine. “New clients. New boss. What’s most attractive about this job is the pay. I’ve started putting money away into our deposit box. We can buy a house and move out of the city one day.”

  “Have you checked the deposit box lately?”

  “No, why?”

  “No reason.” She hoped he didn’t hear the tremble in her voice. “I was going to put some in this week.” She thought about all the money owed to Spencer and the multiple baggies of Clandestine in her bedside table. If she sold those, maybe she’d have a chance to run away with her life. “Still wanting to move to Bolu?”

  “We can get a little cottage by the river. I can fish and you can tend to a vegetable garden out the back. Our kids can run around with the dog.”

  “Kids?”

  Seth reached over and squeezed her hand. “I want to marry you one day, Trix. I know we don’t speak much about it. Is that what you want too?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll have to quit the club and I’m not ready for that yet. Our patrons don’t like the thought of a happily married stripper. It reminds them too much of home.”

  Seth laughed. “I’m not talking about getting married tomorrow. One day, okay?”

  She finished the rest of her wine and motioned to the TV behind them. “Do you want to watch a movie before going to bed?”

  Seth collected their dishes and entered the kitchen. “I had something else in mind.”

  The thought of making love to him after being violated by Spencer sickened her. “I’ve been poked and prodded all night at the club,” she said. “Can we skip sex and just cuddle?”

  He stared at her for a moment and she knew he was suspicious. She’d never turned down sex. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally said, “All right. Pick a movie and I’ll join you on the couch.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Seth joined Joca for a meeting in Spencer’s office to watch footage of Terra Bloom rallying outside a NYPD precinct. Pickets of the deceased Peter South’s face dotted the accompanying crowd as a sea of television crews loomed in.

  “Peter was a good friend of mine!” Terra screamed at the cameras. “I believe he was murdered and the NYPD isn’t doing anything about it. They think he committed suicide, but I know Peter wouldn’t do such a thing. I’m calling out to members of the public to come forward with any information they have regarding Peter’s death at a Dallas train station. You may have inadvertently taken a photo of his killer. Together we can bring justice for Peter.”

  Spencer switched off the television and turned to his men. “Now you see why I called you both in urgently. We have a situation.”

  “How long has she been at the precinct?” Joca asked. “I didn’t hear anything about it on the way over.”

  “A source called me the moment Bloom showed up on their doorstep two hours ago,” Spencer said. “They’re going to charge her for being a public nuisance and protesting without a permit. She’s just being a fucking hassle.”

  “South’s death was a clean kill. Does she have anything on us?” Seth asked.

  Spencer shrugged. “You tell me, boy. Joca told me you went against regulations and eliminated the target on your own terms. If Terra or the police find anything that incriminates you, this promotion and your life is over.”

  “I’m a professional, boss,” Seth replied, exchanging glances with Joca. He knew the man couldn’t be trusted. “Terra won’t find anything that will incriminate this agency.”

  Spencer lit a cigar and puffed on it until smoke polluted the air. “That’s why I’m signing off on her death warrant. She’s your next target, Seth. I want her eliminated!”

  “With all due respect, sir, isn’t that a little risky?” Joca interjected. “She’s protesting for her dead friend, someone we killed, and she shows up dead the next week? That will really set a fire under the NYPD’s ass.”

  “Bloom knows too much,” Spencer replied smoothly. He opened a drawer, withdrew a file, and tossed a pile of surveillance photos of Jack Winchester across the desk.

  Seth picked them up immediately. “What does Jack have to do with this?”

  “I had Jack followed last week for reasons unrelated to this case, and who else shows up? Terra fucking Bloom.”

  Joca took a seat opposite Spencer and pinched one of the photographs from Seth’s fingers. “Why was she in New York before Peter South’s murder?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” Spencer said. “I had one of my surveillance men follow Jack around. He was seen entering Crest Bar on W 45th Street. Terra made contact with him as soon as he entered the establishment. She used an alias, Casey Dutch. The broad is getting too suspicious for my liking.”

  Seth inhaled sharply and gritted his teeth. He was getting sick and tired of the back alley deals Spencer was making against his own men. Jack wasn’t an innocent party and his frequent drug use was clouding his judgment. “Does Jack know about being followed?”

  “Yeah, I told him. I took him off rotation and he’s on leave until further notice.”

  “Why not give him an office job?” Set
h pleaded. “Stick him with Dawson until all this blows over.”

  Spencer’s eyes went dark. “I can’t have him associated with this company, Seth. If the police caught wind of him working here all of us would be thrown in jail. Hell, we’d probably be convicted of first degree murder.”

  “Do you monitor all of us?”

  Joca cleared his throat and went to leave the room. Spencer stabbed out his cigar and lifted his hand in the air, stopping him. “No, Ryan, you stay here. I want you to hear this.”

  He sat back down.

  “Seth, I built this agency from the ground up when I was twenty-one years old. My first kill was a man who ran a red light and murdered my daughter. From then on, I vowed to rid the streets of criminals and wrongdoers. I’ve made enemies along the way and powerful allies. Our agency is underground for a reason. Can you imagine the public scrutiny and ridicule if our existence was ever known? I hire ex-cons, former Marines, politicians, and even stay-at-home dads for an opportunity to cleanse society. Workers have come and gone and there have been moments where this company’s integrity was compromised. I cannot risk losing this agency, Seth. Everything you do is monitored. I can tell you down to the second when you took your last dump, when you screwed Trix in an alley, or when you shot up last. Don’t take it personal. I do it for all my workers—including you, Joca. Do not trust anyone. You’ll live longer that way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  The hair on the back of Seth’s neck vibrated. It all made sense now. The chip embedded in his wrist wasn’t a check-in device, it was a monitoring tool. After all these years, Spencer had recorded every single movement he made around the city and the globe. He knew Spencer liked to keep track of his workers—that’s what the daily check-in was for—but to be tracked when he was off duty made him feel ill.

  “I only have one question. When do we take down Terra Bloom?”

  “Go home, Seth,” his boss instructed. “Joca will be initiating the target. He’ll provide you with the details of Miss Bloom’s location once he’s apprehended her.”

  “When will that be, sir?”

  “Be patient.” Spencer stepped out behind his desk and squeezed Seth’s shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. “Once the woman is dead I want a full report on my desk the next morning. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Terra opened her second bottle of wine for the night and switched on the television. Her protest at the NYPD precinct replayed on the news and every time they mentioned Peter’s name she took a sip. By the time the program was over, she was very drunk.

  Terra knew in her heart Peter was murdered. Something wasn’t right with the way he died. He showed no signs of depression; in fact he often told her how much he enjoyed his life, job, and their friendship. He wouldn’t kill himself.

  She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip, replaying events of the last few weeks in her head. Peter called after her father’s death giving her the lead to Jack Winchester. As soon as she confronted Jack, Peter was pushed in front of a high speed train. Was it a coincidence? She didn’t believe so.

  Her night with Jack Winchester came to mind and she took another sip of wine. It wasn’t her proudest moment but he was still her only lead. Some men gotta die. His slurred words circled her head like a mantra. What did Jack mean by that? Was the mafia or a hit man involved?

  Her father was murdered and found in an ammo factory in Oklahoma. He was supposed to be in New York. Jack mentioned in his drunken stupor David wasn’t who she thought she was.

  Terra switched off the television and laughed at the notion. There was no way her dad was a criminal, nor was there any evidence to support it. Though they disagreed on many things, it was highly unlikely he was anything but an accountant.

  Taking a larger gulp of wine, she studied the multiple animal posters on the wall, the “Best Animal Advocate” award from PETA, the pile of Human magazine covers she graced, and the honorary Oscar for her work on the film Dead on the Plains. Her father had disowned her when she began rallying for animal and human rights after visiting Africa when she was fifteen years old. He’d told her protesting against consumerism and big business wasn’t what normal people did.

  “We shouldn’t take these companies for granted,” he’d told her. “Without them, you wouldn’t have the clothes on your back or food in your belly.”

  His answer had surprised and angered her. It was the same night she stormed out of the apartment and never looked back. How could she live under the same roof with a bigot, a man who despised everything she worked for, stood for?

  After all these years, was her father hiding something from her? Was he really the man she knew and loved?

  Terra picked up the bottle to pour another glass and found it was empty. With a frown, she left the couch and entered the kitchen for her third bottle of Shiraz. As she poured, a loud thump sounded from her bedroom down the hall. Terra froze and quietly put down the bottle, picking up a large kitchen knife from the drawer.

  She lived alone in a quaint two-bedroom house outside of the city. She’d bought it because it was a quiet neighborhood with minimal crime. She’d never had any break-ins or thefts over the six years despite being a public figure.

  Armed with the knife, Terra made her way down the hall tentatively, hoping it was Smokey, the neighbor’s cat who often dropped in unannounced.

  “Smokey, come on out,” she cajoled. “You’ve broken into my house three times this week. I’ll take you back home.”

  She opened her bedroom door and stepped into the dimly lit room, searching for the cat. “Puss, puss. Where are you?”

  A rock of dread dropped in Terra’s gut at the sight of her open window. The fly screen lay bent and broken on the carpet. The cat definitely didn’t have the strength to do that. She raced to the bedside table for her cell phone and began dialing 911.

  A pair of strong arms wrapped around her neck from behind, squeezing her throat like a vise. She felt a muscular body pressed against her, hot breath on her ear. She sucked in a ball of air and clawed at her attacker’s arms with all her strength. Her fingers slipped off a leather hide jacket and panic raced through her. Her eyes searched the room for a weapon, any sort of weapon. The kitchen knife might've dropped underneath the bed, but she spotted a pair of nail scissors rested against her vanity dresser leg.

  Piqued by her attempted screams, her attacker strengthened his grip until the air left Terra’s lungs. With every nerve synapse her chest heaved, and before she knew it, her survival instincts kicked in. She reached back, grabbed the area between her attacker’s legs and squeezed hard. She heard a sharp intake of breath and her assailant backed off immediately.

  “You stupid bitch.”

  Terra fell to the floor, gagging for air, and scrambled for the scissors. The man forced his foot into her back, anchoring her to the floor. In the corner of her eye, she saw him withdraw a length of rope from his pocket. “Time for a ride, princess.”

  Fearing she would be raped, Terra squirmed free from under his boot and rolled onto her back. Her attacker loomed over her, dressed in a black suit. He appeared surprised she was fighting back. His lips were opened slightly, his pale eyebrows raised. He hadn’t bothered to hide his face.

  “Who are you?” she rasped.

  “I’m nobody.” The man’s boot came down hard on Terra’s temple, sending white hot pain through her skull. She collapsed to the floor, a wave of darkness washing over her.

  She woke hours later in a damp, dark room. Her throat ached from the assault and her head throbbed with the strength of twenty jackhammers. She sat up, wincing when stars danced in front of her eyes, and looked into the darkness.

  From the dim light under the door, she could see a mattress in the corner of the room, a bucket and a wooden chair. A chill settled in the air, coming from a broken window above her head.

  Terra climbed to her feet tentatively and ran her pa
lms over cold concrete walls. Was she in a cell? She glanced back at the door. No. It was made of timber, not steel bars, so where was she?

  She patted her pockets looking for her cell phone and realized the attacker must have taken it, along with her wallet.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  Terra walked to the door and fingered the cracking wood. Despite its age, it was made of solid mahogany and probably too thick to be heard on the other side, but she screamed out anyway. “Help! Someone help me. I’m stuck in here.”

  Silence. Then she heard footsteps ascend down a hallway.

  “Hello? Please help me.”

  A shadow appeared underneath the door. Terra backed away and dashed to the mattress, unsure what or who may welcome her on the other side. “Who’s there?”

  A set of keys unlocked the door and it swung open. A figure stood motionless in the doorway, holding a briefcase in one hand.

  “What am I doing here?” Terra pleaded. “Who are you?”

  The figure stepped into the room and a light automatically switched on. She gasped. It was the same man who’d attacked her at home. His thinning blond hair shone under the yellow light like a halo.

  “You!” Terra cried. “Why won’t you say anything?” She lunged at the man with balled fists, screaming. He reacted with cat-like reflexes, grabbing her wrists in both hands, mollifying her instantly.

  “Good, now I have your attention.” A slow grin spread across his face. “We have something planned for you, Miss Bloom.”

  Terra squirmed in his grasp and the man only tightened his grip. “What do you want?”

  He reached over and pulled the chair closer toward them. “Sit.” He shoved Terra into the chair and produced two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket. He chained her wrists and ankles to the chair’s arms and legs. “Now stay.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Fear paralyzed Terra. Her heart rocked against her rib cage so violently she could hardly breathe.

  The man opened his briefcase and withdrew a stainless steel apparatus and matching 300 millimeter needle. Terra froze. Why did she think she was going to get away from this alive?