Jake (In the Company of Snipers Book 16) Page 16

  He processed them quickly, checking for air vent covers that might be loose, hidden wall panels, or anything suspicious. Nothing. Returning to the main office, his heart kicked up a few beats. The outer office was now clear of agents and customers. Even Connie was nowhere in sight, but where would Rafe keep a deep dark secret? Definitely not too far from his fingertips. The information had to be here somewhere.

  So find it.

  The desk? Jake pulled the center pencil drawer all the way out. Sliding his hand inside, his fingertips traced the underside of the desktop. Nothing. All the drawers opened easily, and he performed the same search on them all. Still nothing. The more he searched, the tighter his nerves stretched. Nothing in the place was locked or suspicious. The clock kept ticking and the odds were against him. Rafe might already be on his way back, but Jake had found zero. Zilch. Nada. He stood and stretched his back, worried he’d risked Jamaal and Lacy for nothing.

  Damn. It has to be here. Dr. Presley said it was. She died passing her intel to Lacy.

  Panic started an annoying tap, tap, tap at the back of his neck. Icy fingers trailed down his spine. Zack always told him not to let the little things rattle him and to think. Settle down. Take it easy. Steady and smooth. Deep breath. Exhale slowly. Take your best shot. Don’t get mad. Get even.

  Jake gulped. I can do this. For all those little girls, I have to do this.

  He dropped to the floor to check the underside of the desk, his ears straining to hear anything but the silence of this deadly predator’s man cave. The carpet was thick and plush. He wouldn’t be able to hear footsteps on the other side of the desk if he was caught. So hurry!

  I am! He rolled to his back for a better view. The desk rested on four ornately carved footings, but there was no hidden safe secured to the bottom of it. No envelopes taped anywhere. No hidden compartment. Shit. Nothing.

  He caught sight of the cordless screwdriver setting in a charger below the pencil drawer then. Why’d Rafe need that? Didn’t he have a maintenance crew? Or was he just the kind of a guy who liked to handle his own small repairs? Yeah, right. Jake removed the tool from its charger. Designed with a pivot handle, the thing fit snug in his hand. Curious.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Jake! Get out of there right now!” Lacy hissed, her head low and her left hand over her mouth so as not to disturb the other Starbuck’s customers.

  “He’s not hearing us,” Jamaal said. “Keep trying. Call him one more time.”

  She and Jamaal had heard everything, all the bumps, shuffles, and other odd noises as Jake searched Rafe’s office, but they needed him to pick up. The SUV was back. A uniformed guard ran out to open the driver’s door, and out stepped the man in the black trench coat. Poindexter.

  “Shit,” she muttered. It was Rafe all right. He stood there for a moment scanning the streets, but all he could see was the street from where he stood, not her. She ducked anyway to keep out of sight. Her sixth sense tingled, but she didn’t think he’d seen her. He couldn’t see all the way across the street and into the window with those mean squinty eyes, could he?

  “Please pick up, Jake,” she whisper-growled as she dialed again. “Damn it, talk to me.”

  Poindexter stalked into the rear of his building and disappeared from view.

  “I’m going in,” she told Jamaal. “Maybe I can—”

  “No, you ain’t.” Jamaal slapped his hands together, still on the curb across the street and acting the part of sentinel, trying to keep warm while he watched. “Jake’s got time. He’s smart. Give him a minute.”

  She swallowed hard. “I know he’s smart, but he’s outnumbered. The Rabbit and Ferret never left. Now Rafe’s back. Jake’s screwed.” This was the worst thing that could happen, him inside facing who knew what, and her outside, helplessly waiting.

  Jamaal glanced over his shoulder just as two men in business suits exited through the front doors. Lacy listened and watched, her heart climbing up her throat. Not you too.

  “You can’t make me leave. I ain’t doing nuthin’,” Jamaal muttered in a deep Southern drawl to the men. “Jes’ waitin’ for some kind soul to throw a couple crumbs my way, so’s I kin get back home to Macon, Georgia.”

  Lacy couldn’t make out what the men were saying when Jamaal shuffled away from them. He made it two steps before they tackled him. He threw an elbow, but they had him down on the ground before he knew what hit him. One held him by the neck while the other punched, and Jamaal was out for the count. Lacy stood. The enemy had the upper hand. They were all screwed.

  “Jake,” she demanded one last time. “Jake. Can you hear me?”

  There was no time left. Shaking like a leaf and mad as hell, she tugged her cap down low and pushed her chair away from the corner table. Jake needed her help. Now Jamaal. She was going in.

  Deep breath. Settle down. Take it easy. As long as Zack kept talking in his head, Jake kept his cool. He replaced the screwdriver in its charger and pushed off the floor, adrenaline pumping right along with frustration. He’d been in Poindexter’s office too long, but there was nothing to be done but start over, so he did.

  Back into the bathroom he went where an equally ornate wooden bathroom cabinet held a fancy bowl-shaped crystal sink and several drawers. The drawers revealed the same lack of anything useful other than hand soap and paper towels, so Jake crouched to one knee and opened the doors beneath the sink. Great. Cleaning supplies and a toilet plunger. Nothing mysterious about them.

  He dropped to one knee and peered beneath the cabinet. The place looked spotless. The drain pipe, too. He reached one hand in to examine the underside of the top. Jackpot. A single, three-inch diameter metal tube was secured to the bottom right side of the cabinet top by two metal clamps, both screwed to the underside of the top. But time was running out. One of Poindexter’s agents had to have called him by now. He was coming. Jake could feel it in his bones and his clammy fingers.

  Retrieving the cordless screwdriver, he made quick work of removing the clamps. Carefully, he lowered the metal tube. It was nothing more than an aluminum pipe capped on both ends, but it was heavy. The caps unscrewed easily. He tilted the pipe and—

  Shit. Jakes heart sank. There was no secret list in this damned tube, only gold coins. Had to be solid gold by the weight of them. So, Poindexter was a gold hoarder. Who cared? It was an odd place to hide it though. Jake crouched to view the rest of the cabinet. Four more metal tubes were attached to the bottom side of the wooden top. Shit. Probably more coins. Not what I’m looking for.

  His heart pounded loud and clear to get out of there. He’d found nothing. He was just a petty burglar at this point and this was a B&E, pure and simple. But gold coins? What could Poindexter be up to that he needed a stash of gold in his office?

  Hurriedly Jake reattached the clamps and restored the metal pipe to its hiding place. He strode back to Poindexter’s desk to replace the screwdriver, intent on leaving before he got caught. He’d failed. He pulled his cell up out of his pants pocket to advise Lacy and Jamaal that he was going out. Lifting the phone to his ear, he heard loud voices in the hallway. The carpet might be thick, but the walls, not so much.

  “Listen guys,” he muttered to Lacy and Jamaal. “I came up with nothing. Get out of sight. I’ll meet up with you—”

  Of all the damned crazy things, the wooden part of the desk he’d leaned his palm onto had just shifted. It slid smoothly to the side, revealing a hidden compartment. Jake hung up on Lacy and Jamaal before he gave them a chance to answer, and he began snapping photos of the first sheet of paper. A list of foreign names with photos of dark-skinned Cambodian girls. The second sheet of paper was another list just like the first. And so on. He photographed five pieces of documentation in all. From his quick scan, the papers documented the sales and transportation of twenty Cambodian girls with a written guarantee from some guy named Prentiss.

  Thrilled and scared to death at the same time, he texted the images to Lacy and Jamaal’s phones. A stack
of passports lay beneath the papers, bound tight with a rubber band. Hurriedly, he removed the elastic and opened several of the passports to the page with the girls’ photographs. His heart hurt for those babies.

  A plain brown envelope lay beneath the passports. He re-secured them with the rubber band before he lifted the brown envelope. It wasn’t sealed and no address adorned the front. Sliding his finger beneath the flap, he tipped the single sheet of photographic paper out, and ‘holy shit’ fell with it.

  The shock of seeing that particular grinning face in this particular eight-by-eleven photograph stopped his heart. This was no arrogant state governor or sex-addict in the senate. This was Sterling Waterman, one of the most influential men in the United States, the billionaire who made presidents. On his knees. Naked. Raping an innocent girl from Cambodia.

  Jake’s stomach roiled at the savagery he saw displayed on the glossy photo. Now he knew what Poindexter was really after. Rafe wanted the highest office in the land. He wanted to be president, and with this incriminating shot of Waterman, the most prestigious, powerful job in the world was within his reach.

  The oddest calm filled Jake. He might not be the expert sniper that his friend Zack was. Hell, he might not even be half the man he used to be, but the time had come to put the mad dog, Rafael Poindexter, down, once and for all. He, Jake Weylin, could save every last one of those poor, frightened girls.

  Composing a quick text to Lacy and Jamaal, Jake attached the pictures he’d just taken, including the one of Waterman. No doubt they’d make Lacy sick to her stomach, but she needed to protect the evidence. Just to be sure he had all bases covered, Jake blind-copied Zack Lennox as well. The attachments might shock him, but he’d get the message, and like always, Zack would help.

  Jake restored everything to their previous locations. Taking one step from the desk, he activated the secret compartment, and Poindexter’s ugly secret was hidden once more.

  Jake had everything he needed. Except time.

  Poindexter’s office door handle was already turning.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lacy’s incoming pinged. Tapping the handy dandy blue icon on her cell, she brought up a text message from Jake with 5 separate .jpg attachments.

  Whew. About time. She stopped on the sidewalk just outside the Starbuck’s exit. Her heart stopped pounding out of control. If he was texting, he was safe. She dialed and gave him one last chance. “You’d better pick up this time and talk to me,” she muttered into her phone, her eyes on the dangerous predicaments Jake and Jamaal were in instead of where she was going. She turned and ran smack into a very hard male chest.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, aggravated this guy had been standing so close and that he hadn’t gotten out of her way. The moron. He’d almost made her drop her one and only link with Jake. The guy didn’t even have a cup of coffee in his hand. She glanced up to give him hell for not minding his own business. Damn, but he was a tall guy. And big. Broad shoulders blocked her view of the door.

  Her eyeballs kept scrolling upward and her chin kept lifting. Over a black polo shirt beneath a leather jacket. On up and over an Adam’s apple in a thick neck. Then a scruff of a beard, and finally, into the blackest pair of mean brown eyes she’d seen in a long time.

  Whoever this guy thought he was, he had the nerve to glare down at her. His head was bare, except for more scruff. The hostility radiating off him stopped her cold, and if her instincts were right, he was ex-military down to his boots.

  “Do you mind?” she asked. I don’t have time for this. Move it or lose it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as his gloved hand clenched down hard on her forearm. “You’re coming with me.”

  “No, I’m not. Let me go,” Lacy growled, jerking her elbow away from the behemoth. Whoever this jerk was, he palmed the door behind her and had her on the sidewalk almost before she could stow her phone in her pocket. Dragging her away from Starbucks, he headed in the opposite direction of Poindexter’s building. For every single step he took, she had to take three just to keep up. Like she had a choice the way he was dragging her.

  Not once did he give her a chance to ask questions or explain. Who does this to a woman in broad daylight anyway? Only a rapist or a perv.

  “I said no!” She screamed as she jerked away from him again, but he just kept walking and dragging, like he had a right. The ass!

  “Let me go!” she shrieked, leaning backward to counterbalance his pull. No such luck. All she succeeded in doing was scraping her soles on the sidewalk while he dragged her forward. He wasn’t hurting her, just scared the daylights out of her.

  The guy was all power and too damned much nerve! When he ducked around the corner of the Starbucks, she went limp to the ground. He slowed down for all of the two seconds it took him to lift her up by one arm and drape her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. She came back to life, kicking, punching and screaming. He growled, but not once did his massive paw move from the cheeks of her ass where he held her in place.

  The last straw! Now she was scared. She screamed one last ear-piercing demand for help. Where the hell was everyone. Didn’t anyone care?

  Too late! He swung her off his shoulder and dragged her up into his face until they were nose to nose. Those black mean eyes skewered her into silence. She froze. Holy shit, this guy was wicked strong. His breath smelled like cinnamon.

  “Listen,” he hissed. “I don’t have time for this. I’m trying to save your life. I’ve got two men in trouble, maybe three. Don’t force me to fuckin’ knock you out cold.”

  She gulped so loud even she could hear it. “Let me go,” she pleaded, instantly mad at herself for sounding weak. A damned tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t mean that either, but the brute choking the life out of her collar saw it. His demeanor softened. He set her back to her feet, but he still held her tight enough she couldn’t escape.

  “You’ve got no business being here. Why are you watching Rafael Poindexter this morning? Why today? Tell me.” He gave her a gentle shake.

  Lacy wilted. This guy made three of her. All the worst things that could happen to a defenseless woman ran through her mind. Too bad she wasn’t defenseless. She jerked her knee up and—bingo. Just like that, Mr. Big Shot let her go. Down he went, knees to the pavement and the most awful groan roaring out of his mouth. How’s it feel, tough guy?

  He rolled to his side and into a fetal curl, his eyes squeezed tight and his palms over what used to be his family jewels. Well, they were purple family jewels now. Maybe black, blue AND purple.

  “You’re not so tough now, are you?” she hissed, her fist clenched to knock him down again if he even thought for one second that he was brave enough to get back up.

  “Lacy,” he gasped.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “What’d you just call me?”

  He squinted up at her out of one eye, one really dark brown eye that shimmered like it might have a tear in it. “Lacy Wright. Shit. I’m Zack Lennox, Jake’s friend. He called me earlier.”

  “Oh, my hell!” she squealed. “You’re Jake’s friend, and I just kicked you in the—I’m sorry! Let me help you up. Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s all right. I should’ve—”

  “Yes. You should have told me who you were before you grabbed me. I might be small but I’m no pansy-assed soldier.” She offered her hand to pull him to his feet. “But I really am sorry. Are you okay?”

  That one dark eye squinted up at her like he thought there was no way she could help him get to his feet. She latched hold of his elbow to prove him wrong. He might be a big guy, but she’d helped bigger and scarier. If she could get Jamaal up two flights of stairs and into her apartment, she could surely get this Zack guy to his knees. Maybe.

  Ah, the poor guy. He winced, but he accepted the offer and let her help him. Male pride kicked in about then and he shrugged her off and stood all by himself, maybe not as straight as usual, but he was on his feet.


  “I am so sorry,” she explained, “but you scared me. I couldn’t just let you drag me away and rape me and burn my body now, could I?”

  He shot her a quizzical look. “No, it’s my fault. I had to get you out of Starbucks before Poindexter’s men got you, too.”

  “Where’s Jake?” she asked, her need to apologize forgotten. “Do you know?”

  “We suspect Poindexter’s got him two floors down,” Zack muttered, his hands to his knees and still breathing heavy. “If he’s still alive.”

  “Still alive? What’s going on?”

  Zack took a deep breath and blew it out very slowly before he answered. “I’ve been watching some jerk named Manny Prentiss for eleven days now. Rafe Poindexter’s name keeps popping up. I wanted to know why.”

  “Prentiss is the pig who’s selling girls from Cambodia to Rafe,” Lacy declared. “That’s why. They’re both into something called the virgin trade.”

  Zack looked at her closely. “Do you know that for a fact?”

  She nodded excitedly, sticking her burner phone in his face. At that precise moment, it pinged with another text. “Yes. I have all the evidence we need to put him and Poindexter away for life. And Jake’s alive. He just sent me another text. See.”

  Zack clamped his palm over his chest pocket and lifted his own vibrating cell phone out. “Looks like Jake’s a busy guy,” he said when he looked at the notification. “He just sent me a text, too.”

  He nodded his chin toward a black SUV, the same SUV she’d seen parked outside her apartment only a day earlier. “Let’s get out of sight.”

  “You’re the one who’s been following me,” she said, not asked. “That was you at my parking stall yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  “Not exactly,” Zack answered slowly as he moved stiffly to the SUV. “Get in. I’ll explain.” He opened the passenger door and offered a small flourish for her to enter.