I resist as they bind my legs together and drag me into the office. The taller of the men squeezes my injured shoulder to subdue me. Fuck! It hurts like a sonofabitch, but I continue to struggle, because once I’m in that room, there’s nowhere for me to go, and my chances only get worse.
One shuts the door, and the other two shove me onto the conference table. I wriggle to free myself, as they secure me with straps to the table. But they’re quick and well-trained and I’m screwed. These are not run-of-the-mill burglars. Mercenaries or soldiers is my best guess.
They grunt and mutter a few words to each other in English, nothing that gives their purpose away. They’re Amadis, I suspect, but it’s a mistake to jump to conclusions too quickly.
I don’t shout for help. It’s a sure sign of weakness. Besides, they wouldn’t have reached my office unless they took down the security guard first. There’s no one to help.
I’ve been trained for this moment. I’m not sure it makes it any easier, but at least I’m not shitting myself—yet.
They make no effort to conceal their faces, and they don’t blindfold me—because they don’t plan on me being alive to identify them.
“Where is your whore?”
They have to be Amadis. They’re talking about Delilah. No one else would ask for her in that way.
“I don’t understand.” I respond in a colloquial dialect often used by the Amadi people, to see if I’m correct. The recognition on their faces is my answer, but one of them is stupid enough to respond.
“Delilah Porter. Where is she?”
A boost of adrenaline floods in, and my heart races at her name. But I need to stay in control. “She’s a bitch,” I say with some distaste. “We had a fight on the way back from Amidane. She took off and I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s at home.”
With any luck, she and Trippi are tucked away in rural Mississippi.
“She is not at home.”
The gun comes down hard on my face, and within seconds my left eye is so swollen I can’t see out of it. I need to get word to her. To Trippi.
“Where is she?” the shorter of the three screams into my face.
The pain in my shoulder is lessening. I’m coasting on adrenaline. “If you release me, I’ll help you find her.”
The gun comes down on my right cheek in response, and the pain is excruciating.
“Where is the whore?”
“Let me call her.” I know that neither Delilah or Trippi can be tracked by their cell phones. It’s a safety precaution. There is no immediate response from my captors, but I see their eyes dart about in an unspoken language.
While I wait, I hear baseball guy tussling with the zippers on a bag behind me, but I can’t see what he’s doing. “You’ll never find her without my help,” I say calmly, even though I’m holding back panic.
“If you do not tell us where she is, we will kill you.”
You’re going to kill me anyway. They haven’t entirely shut down my offer to call her. But I’m not hopeful.
While I try to think of some way to warn Delilah, my brothers’ faces appear inside my head. We’re playing pool, not far from where I am right now.
I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out about my covert life like this. I hate that you have to plan another funeral.
We’re still playing pool when Delilah’s beautiful face comes into focus. You’ll be okay, I assure her. Good thing I re-deeded the beach house when I did. She’ll be okay.
I say my good-byes to them, because there’s no way out for me. But I can save Delilah. The best option to get her a message is my death. When Foxy discovers my body tomorrow, or when she finds me missing, she’ll suspect the Amadis, and she’ll contact the rest of the team immediately to warn them.
It’s the only option. I watch the attackers carefully. At least I’ll die knowing that I protected her with my last breath. Unlike so many others, I didn’t fail her. As I lie here, I find great solace in that thought.
I feel the internal shift the instructors described during EAD training. The moment when you stop fighting the inevitable, and make peace with something bigger than you.
I don’t believe in God. But like other sinners at the hour of death, I pray for a quick end. If it doesn’t come that way, I’ll dig deep for the mental toughness to resist, like I’ve been trained to do. I might not have lived a virtuous life, but I will go out with honor.
“Doctor,” the lanky man calls in his native language. “It’s time.”
The quieter of the trio approaches. He stands back from the table in his baseball cap, holding a mallet and chisel.
Sweat is spilling out of every pore. I’m drenched. The human stench is humbling.
The shorter of the three waves a pair of needle nose pliers in front of my face. “You will tell us.”
I reach into my cavernous soul for courage, but it’s empty. Instead, I find it in the memories of Delilah, flashing before my eyes.
“I’m not telling you a fucking thing,” I growl.
47
Delilah
I lean over and slap Trippi’s arm playfully. “You were right. We needed to stop to sleep.”
“I’m always right,” he says, pulling up to Wildflower. I gaze out the window at my future. In the moonlight, it doesn’t seem so scary, anymore.
I’m eager to see Gray. To talk to him. To negotiate. To compromise. I love him, and I’m through denying myself. I’m not my mother.
I glance at Trippi. “Do you want to take my phone, since yours is dead?”
“Whose fault is it that my charger is in the town car?”
I snicker, and hold out my phone.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’m all set. I’m going straight home.”
“Suit yourself.” I grab my bag from the backseat. “Thanks for making the trip with me.”
“Thanks for not making me hang out in Digger’s Hollow, waiting for a sign.”
After shutting the car door, I slap my hand against the chassis, gesturing for him to go, but he waits for me to get to the door. Gray never asked for my key back when I left Wildflower. I’m sure he assumed I turned it in to Smith. I didn’t. And I hope it still works, because I’d love to surprise him.
The grin on my face explodes when the key turns. Voila! I push open the door, and wave Trippi off. He pulls a quick U-turn and he’s gone.
When I reach down for my bag, I notice that no one is in the guard house at the far side of the building. That’s really strange.
I walk over to the edge of the portico, and my eye lands on a puddle at the perimeter of the parking lot. Something is dripping off the curb near the arborvitae. It hasn’t rained for weeks.
The prickle of awareness creeps in slowly, as I draw my weapon and go around to the gate, hugging the tall bushes as I move. When I snake back around through the brush, TJ, the security guard who mans the parking lot gate, is on the ground between the fence and the bushes. He has a hole in his head, but I touch his neck, searching for even a faint pulse.
He’s still warm, but he’s dead. Fuck.
Gray. Gray! The panic rises, but I squelch it as I place the call. Gray doesn’t pick up. My hands are trembling as I call Smith. I scan the area, looking for threats while waiting for him to answer.