“I don’t want any trouble,” Maddox said. “How can I get the girl without getting in the middle of this?”
“Whoa now,” Mr. P said in a chiding tone. “A threat tomeis a threat toyou. Don’t you agree? If I wanted to deal with this on my own, I would’ve done so in a very different fashion. One whereIget the girl. So here is my confession, dear Volkoff. I commissioned you, unfairly, perhaps, because I don’t want to merely take the guy out. I want to reach his entire team. In order to do that I need an ally.”
Amy released a shallow breath as she awaited Maddox’s reply. Her heart was kicking into that panicked beat once more, her breath threatening to hitch and skip and hurry to a pace that would make her faint.
“What are you suggesting?” Maddox probed.
“I’m suggesting this: You bring some of your best men, I round up my finest, and weset up a sting operation in reverse. We spend a little interrogation time with this guy and find out who sent him.”
“And I still get the girl?”
“In exchange for port access, yes. And tell you what: How about once we’re through with him, I throw an ex-Navy SEAL into the deal? If we can keep him alive, that is. I’m sure somebody overseas would be interested in… picking his brain, shall we say. He’ll be worth top dollar. All you have to do is get him and the girl quietly off American soil. Save us the pesky task of hiding his body.”
“Not a bad deal,” Maddox said. “All this in exchange for port access on the East Coast?”
“That’s right. And your help in taking them down if things get sticky.”
A series of sharp, rattling knocks sounded at the glass door of the shop. Amy shoved a hand over her chest as her heart dropped.
Jace shot into action, retrieving his laptop, a stack of papers nearby, and the small box attached with a few wires. He hurried into the backroom without shooting her so much as a glance, leaving Amy with her swelling panic, now hot and pulsing in her head.
Dear Lord, please don’t let them hurt Jace. Please say he’s not just using me. And please don’t let me pass out before I make it to the door.
She pulled the lanyard from around her neck as she surveyed the front doors with hazy, non-seeing eyes. It took her a moment to realize Mrs. Millerson stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the next as she peered into the double doors. Without even thinking, Amy hurried over and unlocked the door.
“Mrs. Millerson,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “We’ve still got another few minutes before we open.”
The woman patted Amy’s hand and shuffled in. “Yes, dear, but Jonathon always lets me in a little early.” The pushy customer shuffled toward the back of the store.
Amy tipped her head to catch sight of Jace and his headphones and his stern expression.
She braced herself with the counter once more, recalling a time in her youth when she’d lit a match and watched it burn out. At first, the appearance of the match didn’t change much, save the color. What had once been a bright red and white head had turned ashy black, along with the upper half of the stick. The neck had shriveled a bit, but it had survived the burn, or so she thought; just as Amy had brought the smoldering match close to inspect it, the upper half disintegrated before her eyes.Puff. Gone.
If the man on the phone had his way—this powerful Mr. P who ran a trafficking ring like it was as innocent as Sunday brunch — Amy Nelson and Jace Burns would disintegrate, like the match, in a similar fashion.
Without so much as a trace.
