Occupational Hazards Ch. 06

I kept my eyes trained on one group of seated passengers waiting to board the next plane. On the single person that looked out of place as he stood stoically amongst them. I counted to ten to control all of my thoughts, compartmentalizing them into one focused initiative: to find out what had brought us back home so urgently.

Lieutenant Johnson stepped away from the seat he had occupied, looking very much like Secret Service in a business suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of him. The only thing missing was the earpiece. He nodded slightly as our gazes met, but his mouth remained a hard line.

"Sir," I nodded back when we stopped before him. "I understood Davenport—"

"The Director is waiting for us in the lounge." He glanced at Nikki, who I could tell was shaking by her hand still clutched in mine. "Follow me."

"Yes, Sir." I took a deep breath as he started down the vast hallway. I squeezed Nikki's hand reassuringly, but I wasn't sure if it was more for me to know I wasn't in this alone. She huddled as close as possible while we walked.

Soon enough, we approached the VIP lounge. I had been here on multiple occasions when I'd waited for a flight. But never had it been empty as it was now. Void of even airline staff. The only soul was Director Davenport. He rose from his chair as Johnson stopped inside the room.

Reluctantly, I released Nikki and the handle of my suitcase. I shook his proffered hand then straightened my back and clasped my hands behind me. "Sir."

Davenport nodded his head, and I heard Nikki's squeal of surprise when Johnson guided her out of the room. But not out of the lounge, since I didn't hear the swish-hiss of the automatic door opening and closing. "Ben, sit. Please."

I took the chair across from him though he remained standing.

"We executed a search warrant based on a report that Ms. Talmadge had gone missing and Mr. Michaels was the last person to have seen her when he picked her up from the emergency room. Your intuition was right. We found a couple of surprises in the basement. Besides the laundry room being set up like a torture chamber. I won't get into that."

My mind started envisioning the horrors that Nikki had gone through down there. Down where no one could hear her. I felt my stomach turn over. The director's sudden pacing, which was out of character, did not help.

"He'd built himself a top-of-the-line man cave with his profits. Entertainment center, bar, leather furniture, a pool table. What was most interesting was a locked door built into the foundation but disguised to look like a closet. There were shelves installed around it all along that back wall to make it blend in. Once we'd breached the door, we found almost a whole other house under the backyard. It had the complete setup for packaging drugs. Tables with scales, baggies, various food products for cutting, you name it. Even traces of cocaine. Not to mention a safe where we found almost a million in cash. We had everything we needed to take down Hunter Michaels."

When he was silent for a long minute, I dared to say, "But?"

The director finally stood still, his back to me as he stared out the window that overlooked the runways. I could see a plane take off in the distance as well as one taxiing to a gate after landing. He didn't speak, and I wondered if he'd heard me. But just as I opened my mouth, he continued.

"We couldn't find Michaels. We received a tip that a deal was going down, so we switched tactics and got the team ready. Our hope was Michaels would come out of hiding for the meet since he was one of the ringleaders. We arrested all of his associates, but he didn't show."

Relief washed over me. "Okay, so Michaels is on the run. That just means we do what we do best, Sir. We put our heads together and take down our man."

"There's more." His shoulders raised and lowered slowly, as if he'd sighed, though I hadn't heard a deep exhale. Without turning to me, he said, "It's Patrick."

My hands gripped the armrest of my seat. I tried to swallow but failed, making my voice a raspy whisper. "Sir?"

"He got caught in the crossfire when we ambushed the meet. He's in critical condition. He was touch-and-go at first, but the doctors think he'll pull through."

I doubled over, putting my head between my knees, breathing hard. All I could picture was my friend—my coworker—laughing with those girls on the couch at Twisted Cocktails. Asking me to refill his drink. I heard his voice in my head from our last phone call just a couple of days ago now. Our last words, when I told him to be safe and he told me he always was.

We all knew there were risks with this job. We'd seen it happen before, but our losses were rare. And those that we had lost, I had not had a personal relationship with any of them. But Patrick was my wingman. He had been by my side ever since I joined Omega. A Beta since his first day, he said it was his life's dream job since he'd wanted to join the military but couldn't due to some medical anomaly. Something the Council was willing to overlook, apparently.

I couldn't imagine that Patrick was down for the count. Yeah, he annoyed the shit out of me most of the time, but I needed him on my team. It wasn't my team without him.

"We need you, Ben. Peters has been running Alpha in your absence, but I want you on this. I need you on this. He will step down to Beta for the time being. To take over Patrick's spot."

I felt myself nodding. Then my heart wrenched. My throat felt raw. "What about Nikki?"

"We're getting her to a safe house. The plan is to put her into WitSec once Michaels is in custody. She's a star witness based on fingerprints we found on the doorknob inside that hidden room. All other prints had been wiped clean. Since none of the other men are talking—"

I shook my head. "She's not complicit!"

The director stood over me now. "I want to believe that, Ben. I do."

I jumped up, hands fisted at my sides. "No! If her prints are in that room, he forced her in there. Take a damn look at the scars on her body! He's beaten her into submission. You said you saw the laundry room."

"She can make a conviction stick." Davenport put his hand on my shoulder, but I yanked out of his reach.

"Nikki is a victim. She shouldn't be forced into this." I meant them to be said in anger, but the force behind my words was gone.

I knew my boss was right. But it didn't stop me from acknowledging that what bothered me most was I would never see Nikki again if she got into WitSec. Her gut feeling back on the island had been spot on. What more could I do, though?

"We need her, Ben. And we need you."

###

Two days later, we were no closer to locating Hunter Michaels. Since the meet and botched capture of our man-at-large, a team had been sitting in the same house where this had all started for me. Doing surveillance on the drug factory disguised as a humble abode. And of course, there was no activity.

Had Hunter known law enforcement discovered his workshop? Is that why he'd gone into hiding? Why he'd avoided the meet?

Surely, he wasn't stupid enough to go back home. I'd told Davenport it was a waste of time and resources. He'd agreed, but other Council members higher up had wanted to watch the house just in case.

I was back in my loft, staring out over the city. Thinking of where I'd been four days ago, looking at the same sky. When my only care in the world was Nikki's wellbeing.

I could still remember the feeling of holding her as she cried on my shoulder at the airport. Her hands clawing at my arms. Begging—sometimes with indiscernible words—for me to tell her how I was involved in all of this. Sobbing harder when I came clean.

Lieutenant Johnson had provided her with an overview of what had gone down with her boyfriend and the gang. That we needed her testimony to put him away. He'd failed to admit we didn't actually have Michaels in custody yet.

They had given us a few minutes to say our goodbyes. I'd waited for her to blame me...to tell me she felt betrayed. But she never did. And the only words I could think of were, "I'm sorry," but they seemed pathetic given the situation. So neither of us had spoken. We'd just held each other, silently mourning the mandatory separation.

We had kissed softly before we were transported to two vehicles going in different directions.

I had been with Director Davenport, and I'd demanded our first stop be to see Patrick. He had started to argue about the importance of the mission until I snapped at him that Michaels could wait another thirty minutes. Maybe it had been my tone, or maybe he'd had remorse for what had happened to Nikki, but the director had backed off and told the driver to head to the hospital.

The breeze was chilly out on my balcony, and my hands were growing numb as I gripped the railing. But I knew whatever discomfort I felt didn't even compare to what Patrick was going through. He was still hooked up to so many tubes and wires. The doctor had put him into an induced coma to stop the swelling on his brain after the bullets had been removed from his arm, leg, and the left side of his skull. Now it was just a matter of waiting for signs of improvement.

I threw a promise out into the ether. I would stop Hunter Michaels, no matter the cost. If not for Nikki then for Patrick.

Director Davenport had called earlier, asking me to come in first thing in the morning. He wanted to discuss our next plan of action. I knew without asking what he wanted me to do. He hoped that Nikki would talk to me...give us some ideas about where Hunter may be hiding. I hated to do that to her. I really did. But he was right...again. She was our best bet at ending this.

The night was still mine, though. I didn't have to sell my soul until the sun rose. And what better place to sulk than at my old stomping grounds?

The club hadn't changed a bit. For a typical Monday night, I had the VIP section to myself once more. Both Bruce and Marti attended to me like a long, lost son. Yet while the bourbon flowed freely, it had lost its appeal.

Halfway into my second glass, I realized it had been almost two weeks since I'd imbibed, save for the glass or two of wine at dinner each night while in the Maldives. I hadn't touched the stocked liquor cabinet in our villa. I hadn't found reason to.

That led me to think of Nikki. Of how she had distracted me from losing myself at the bottom of a bottle. She was a lovely diversion. One I'd gladly allow daily, if only...

"Would you like another?" Marti's breasts then her face drifted into my line of vision. "Or something a little stronger?"

I snorted softly, shaking my head. "What I want—what I need—this bar cannot provide. But thank you for offering."

"Your loss, honey." She left me with a sway of her hips to wallow in self-pity.

As I let the emptiness of the upper area settle around me, I grimaced at the fact that I had thought coming here was going to solve all of my problems. It never had before. I could admit that now. So why would I think it would be any different this time?

I set the glass aside, still half-full, and got to my feet. The last two nights had been restless and full of dreams of waking in Nikki's arms to her touch...touching her in return. I doubted I would get any true sleep tonight, but I should at least try.

Bruce and I exchanged a handshake, and I hit the bathroom before heading to my car. Which made me chuckle. If I'd ended up like last time, I would have been taking a cab to headquarters in the morning. I could just imagine trying to manipulate Nikki into talking while my head buzzed with a hangover. That was if I could have even gotten out of bed. I'd made a wise choice in cutting myself off early.

Outside, the night was still. The roads were devoid of traffic, and even the club had been slow for a weeknight. It wasn't that late, but the sky was dark with clouds covering the moon.

As I approached the parking lot, I noticed it seemed darker than usual, too. That the light on the brick wall of the opposite building was out. Right above where I'd parked my car. It had been on when I'd arrived ninety minutes ago.

My senses went on high alert. Looking. Listening. My body preparing to defend.

With the lower crowd tonight, there were few cars in the lot. Which meant there were less hiding places if someone were waiting to attack. Not necessarily waiting for me, but anyone trying to make a quick buck by holding up a slightly-inebriated person returning to their car from a prestigious club. And it very well could be just a burnt out lightbulb. I shouldn't take any chances, though.

When I hit the button on my fob to unlock my car, I knew my instincts had been right on. The lights flashed against the opposite wall. As they went dark, I saw a brief shower of red sparks hit the ground underneath a car parked across from mine. They quickly disappeared into a black shadow, indicating someone had stomped out a cigarette.

Any normal person who noticed someone lurking in the parking lot would have either gone back inside the club or hit the panic button on their keyfob. But I was far from normal. Not to mention, I was pissed about the whole Nikki thing.

I considered calling out the intruder, but I figured I would have the upper hand if I didn't let him know I was aware of his presence. I pocketed my keys and casually walked to my car. Faint footsteps approached as I reached for the door handle. I started to turn toward the sound when I felt the muzzle of gun press into my left shoulder.

"Don't move." The voice was gruff, and I could smell the stench of smoke on his breath as he stood over my shoulder.

I decided to play along, for safety's sake. "I don't want any trouble. You want money? My wallet is in my back pocket, right side. Go ahead, take it."

"I don't want your money."

"The car? Keys are in my front right pocket."

"Hoskins, where's my girl?"

Shit. My eyes closed briefly. Michaels.

Nikki had mentioned he had eyes everywhere. I still doubted that, but I had a hunch I knew where he'd gotten his intel. It probably didn't take much to make Amy talk, and I had stupidly told her my full name...the name of the club where I'd met Nikki. Plus, Nikki had told Hunter I'd given her a ride home from here, although I wasn't sure if she'd name-dropped. I wondered how long he'd been scoping out the joint. Where else he'd been looking for her. If Amy was okay.

"Hunter, is it? Can I turn around?"

"No. Put your hands on top of the car."

Yeah, right. Did he actually believe I would obey him? I needed to stall. As I glanced down, I noticed his dark reflection in the driver's side window. Saw he was just behind me to the left, the gun aimed at the back of my head now.

Adrenaline suddenly pumped through my veins as I remembered Jimbo raising a gun at me. How that scenario had played out. I wasn't about to repeat it. Because if something happened to me, Nikki would be vulnerable no matter where she was.

The hand in my pocket wrapped around my phone. I pressed and held the Home button until the phone vibrated three short times, three long times, and three short times again. Cellular SOS. The distress signal could be traced to the phone's GPS location.

"I'm not going to tell you again. Put your hands—"

Before he could finish, I dropped to the ground, spinning around with my right leg out. I heard the gun go off—my driver's side window shattering; both ears going slightly deaf—as I caught him behind his knees. He went up in the air then straight down on his back with a loud cry and an even louder thud. It was almost comical, like a cartoon.

The gun clattered to the ground when he fell. Michaels rolled onto his stomach, jumping to his feet with a roar. "Where the fuck is she?"

"Safe from you." I was back up, too—the soles of my shoes crunching on the few glass fragments that had fallen outside of the car, littering the asphalt—and leaned away as his fist swung out. Though it missed my face, he caught me in the shoulder. The force of his punch threw me back against my car. My grunt was short-lived as the rear impact knocked the breath out of me.

"Love hurts sometimes."

I blocked another punch and struck out, connecting with his chin. "Maybe you'd like to get whipped until you bleed."

"Oh, she likes it. Begs for it." He wiped his fist at a trail of blood coming from his lip. Then he held the back of both hands up, grinning as he wiggled his fingers at me. "Come on. Is that all you got, loverboy?"

I blocked several more punches, delivering some of my own. A few hit their target, though he was a squirrely fellow for being so big. I caught one to the jaw. It was just a graze, but it still rattled my teeth.

We scuffled about a bit more, and somehow, he got his arms around me from behind. He dropped down to the ground, landing me on top of him with a grunt. Both arms tightened around my chest as his legs wrapped around my waist.

"Tell me where Nikki is, and I'll make this quick."

Breathing went from difficult to close to impossible. But my brain registered that he'd crossed his ankles. While one would think it was a logical move—creating a lock so your opponent couldn't get away—it was a foolish move on his part. A rookie one in the art of street fighting.

I crossed my right foot over his, then my left leg over the rest of our feet. As he continued to try to squeeze the life out of me, I leaned back against him and raised my hips, pressing my left knee down. I knew I'd been successful when I felt his hold give...before I heard his roar as he realized I'd just broken his ankles.

Free from his death grip, I rolled off him, gasping. Both ears were ringing now, too. "That was for Patrick."

The idiot tried to get up with the support of the car beside mine. He let out a blood-curdling scream as his legs collapsed, landing him on his knees. His face contorted into something devilish with a drooling mouth and wide, black eyes as he reached for me.

I managed to get behind him and mirrored his efforts, but in the proper way. I quickly wrapped my legs around his waist, hooking my feet on his hips. My right arm wound around his neck, my elbow in line with his chin. Gripping my left bicep, I jerked my left hand behind his head and pulled my elbows together.

One of his hands clawed at my arms while his other arm flailed against the pavement. As he tried to jerk his body in that direction, I caught sight of the gun under my car just behind the front driver's side wheel. I tightened my grip both above and below until I heard his gurgling gasps.

"This is for every time you raised a hand to her. For every time you raped her!" I hissed the last words, my anger like venom as my spit flecked his cheek. He jerked beneath my hold. "No more will she be afraid of you, you pathetic bastard."

Eventually, he stopped struggling. I rolled our bodies towards my car so that we lay on our left sides, and I risked releasing one arm from his neck in order to reach the gun. He uttered a weak groan but didn't attempt to move.

Weapon secured, I maneuvered to get Michaels on his back and knelt on his chest with my right knee, my left leg stretched out for support. My left hand gripped the collar of his jacket, my forearm pressing down against his neck.

Sirens filled the night, but they were a distant sound in my head. Even with my eyes open and the lack of light, I could clearly see the welts and bruises on Nikki's body as though she were standing before me. This man...this thing...he had caused them.

The gun wavered in my right hand. My index finger twitched a hair's breadth over the trigger, my other fingers squeezing the grip a little tighter. Michaels still didn't move, but I could feel him breathing steadily under my weight. I could very easily kill him with the chokehold. I only had to squeeze a couple of more inches. But that would be letting him off too easy.