Breaking Away (11 page)

“Yeah, I know. Keep digging. We have to have that contact before we can link the two. Keep me posted.” When Gilbert leaned over to toss his phone onto the coffee table he came into view. He brushed his fingers through his hair, stretched, and then turned. His footsteps came closer to the dark kitchen. Flash flattened himself against the wall.

Gilbert hit the light switch, illuminating the room. In a swift, practiced move, Flash rested the suppressor at the base of Gilbert’s skull. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Gilbert jerked, then stiffened. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Why did you try to fucking kill me?”

“I didn’t.”

“You may not have pulled the trigger, but you were the one calling the shots. What’s happened to the assholes who shot me?”

‘They’re on administrative leave while they recover from their injuries, and the shooting is being investigated.”

And I’m the only witness
. “Once the first shot was fired, they tried to cover things up by taking me out. Was that their idea or yours?”

His thick dark brows contracted in a frown. “I wasn’t involved, Carney.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shoved Gilbert forward and gripped his shoulder to jerk him down into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Gilbert turned his head into the barrel of the gun and looked over his shoulder. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yeah, I do.” He wanted to lay into the guy and whale on his head. Since he had the advantage of twenty pounds and five inches in height against this asshole, he could do some major damage. The idea was tempting. “You’ve fucked up my gig with my team, asshole. You fuck with me again and I’ll take you out.”

Gilbert’s mouth tightened and he shoved his hands behind him. Flash set aside the gun long enough to secure Gilbert’s hands to the back of the chair, and then secured his ankles to the chair legs.

Flash removed the suppressor from his weapon, shoved it into his pocket and seated the Sig into his waistband at his back. Now that the guy was tied, he shook the tension from his muscles and stepped around to face him.

“What have you done with the artifacts and the cash?” Gilbert demanded.

“They’re secure.” At least, he hoped the artifacts were.

“You’re not making a case for innocence with this behavior, Carney.”

“Innocence of what? All I did was go to the meet and follow orders.” He jerked off his hat and turned his head. “This is what your guys did, Gilbert.” Though he knew it was impossible, he asked anyway. “Are they the same ones who killed Dobson?”

Gilbert mouth tightened. “No. That was someone who tracked our activities. Look, Carney, you don’t know everything that’s going on.”

“Then why don’t you explain it to me? Right now I don’t feel the love, Gilbert. And I certainly don’t feel the trust. Why do you think I’d turn anything over to you with the way things read right now?

“Because I can get you back to your team. I can smooth things over with your command. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

That was exactly what he wanted. But once he turned everything over to this asshole, he’d be a sitting duck for being arrested or put down like a rabid dog.

“Start explaining, Gilbert.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ve done complicated before.”

“Yeah, I’ve read your juvie record.”

Flash raised a brow. “That was a long time ago and not relevant to this. Quit stalling.”

Gilbert pulled against the zip ties, his olive skin flushed with effort. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Trust me, I already regret ever agreeing to do anything for the FBI. But I’m not regretting one moment of this, asshole. The longer you stall, the more excuses I have for trying something painful to get you to open up.”

“I can’t talk about the case. We’re dealing with national security.”

“Yeah?
I am
national security, Gilbert old boy.” Flash cocked a brow at him. “Do you
really
want to go there?”

“Fuck!” Gilbert jerked his shoulders then drew several deep breaths. His dark gaze shifted around the room, as though looking for a means of escape. He jerked his head to clear the heavy wave of brown hair falling over his forehead from his eyes. “The artifact smuggling is tied to drug trafficking in Iraq and Afghanistan. The major drug cartels are trafficking in artifacts to create a new pipeline for the drugs. We needed an in with the network to get involved with the drug trade there.”

Well, this was going to be good. Flash leaned back against the counter and waited for the man’s tell. “I smuggled artifacts into the US for the FBI just so they could be sold and then traded for drugs.”

Gilbert shrugged. “Sometimes you have to do bad things for good reasons. There’s a guy high up in the Iraqi government we think is behind the whole thing. Instead of taking over through car bombings and acts of terrorism, he’s using the drug money to get his own people into key positions. We’re trying to create a trail to lead things back to him, so the Iraqi government can take him and his people down.”

Flash allowed the information to stew for a moment while he studied the guy’s body language. “Why artifacts? Why not just money?”

“This guy is fanatic about his national heritage and about getting us out of his country. He wants us, and our democratic influence, gone. His get-into-business card is a piece of Iraqi history. Think about it. He’s sticking it to us two different ways. He’s sending drugs over here to be peddled. And he’s using the money he makes to fund his own terrorist takeover.”

“It’s the drug cartels who’ve set up trade here who are using the artifacts to create a new pipeline for product,” Flash repeated.

“Yeah. Most of them have set up shop from other countries, so they owe no loyalty to us. We had no way of infiltrating them so we could get in on the ground floor. So we created our own.”

“So you’re going to use National Security to take them down for terrorism.”

“Which will keep them in prison longer than drug charges seem to.”

The scenario he was talking about was complicated enough to be true. Flash studied Gilbert’s face. Sweat beaded the guy’s forehead and ran down his cheek. He blinked several times. “How are they getting the drugs from Iraq and Afghanistan to here?”

“They’re shipping them from West Africa into Cuba, then they’re filtering them in through Miami.”

Flash had worked in Africa. He knew about the drug cartels there. Drugs were an equal opportunity employer. And big enough money so governments of poor countries ignored their trade to get their hands on some of the cash. But there was something about the scenario Gilbert was outlining…it sounded familiar somehow. “What happened with the two assholes who shot me?”

“They weren’t FBI. They were sent to take you out, just like the other squad was sent to take Dobson and me out. Their badges were a thumb-their-nose type of deal.” There went Gilbert’s quick blinking again.

A fresh wave of anger rolled through Flash. His stomach muscles cramped and he moved around the kitchen. A memory clicked and he drew a deep breath. What now? He stared at the fancy cappuccino machine on the counter. Wonder how much that set his pal
Bert
back? His mind raced. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me that? You let me believe they were FBI agents and that my career, my life, was probably over.”

“I follow orders just like you do, Carney. The powers that be are trying to limit the fallout. Our whole operation was compromised. We lost three agents. But you gave us two contract killers who might be able to lead us back to some key players.” Blink, blink, blink.

He didn’t doubt that killers were involved. He’d played Dobson’s message and heard that going down. “Glad I could help you out,
Bert
.” Bitterness laced his voice. If they were hit men and not FBI, their bodies were probably weighted down somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

“It was a competing faction who sent them in. They tapped into our operation and decided to take the whole thing down.”

“It sounds as though they did.”

“Not quite. We still have some people in place deeper in. But we need the artifacts you have and the cash.”

“Well that just may be a problem,
Bert.
”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

“They’re with some people I trust a lot more than I do you.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, his thick brows shot upward. “Who?”

Flash shook his head. “Next time you spin a yarn to a mark, try to control your body language, dude.”

Gilbert face paled, then color shot into his cheeks. He strained against the straps that held his hands and feet and the chair danced on the tile floor. “God damn it, Carney. You have to listen to me. We need those artifacts and the money.”

“I’m sure you do. I don’t know what all this is about. But I know straight up that the bullshit you just spread around in here isn’t it.”

Flash strode across the kitchen, picked up his pack, and sauntered across the living room toward the front door.

“If we don’t deliver those artifacts to the buyer, everything comes apart, Flash.”

“Yeah? Just like you’ve pulled my life apart with this crap.”

“Why do you think I’m not telling the truth?”

“I may have been downrange, but I haven’t been out of touch. The scenario you just outlined happened in South America about two years ago. And let’s just say I’ve had first-hand experience in Africa.”

“You walk out that door and you’re a dead man,” Gilbert threatened.

Flash scooped Gilbert’s car keys out of the bowl on the coffee table and turned to look over his shoulder. “Every time I’ve gone on a mission that’s been a possibility.”

He slammed the door behind him as he left the apartment.

CHAPTER 9

Las Vegas

“Y
our health insurance has been canceled, Mrs. Cross,” the woman said from her seat next to the hospital bed. She had introduced herself as someone from the hospital financial office. “As of this morning you have no insurance. I need you to sign these forms taking financial responsibility for the remainder of your stay.”

Samantha stared at the woman. Of course Will and his parents had found a way to put pressure on her. The lawyer had warned her that it would happen. “Was my husband’s coverage canceled or just mine?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I only spoke to the district manager of the health insurance company about your coverage.”

“What did you say your name is?” Sam asked.

“My name is Leigh Gabbard, Mrs. Cross.”

“Ms. Gabbard, I’m not signing those forms and I’m not taking financial responsibility for being injured. My husband is responsible for this, and I’ve paid enough.”

“But someone has to accept responsibility in order for you to stay, Mrs. Cross.”

Sam drew as deep a breath as she could to fight back the panic. Her stomach knotted with both rage and tears. Without Will’s support she had nothing. And obviously his family believed that by cutting her off and making her destitute, they would have the leverage to manipulate her.

Why hadn’t she fought harder to have a job of her own, to have her independence? Because Will hadn’t wanted her to be independent. He hadn’t wanted her to have anything but him. Once again he was abusing her, psychologically. And, like always, he had forgotten his daughter’s well-being.

Sam threw the blanket aside and slid her legs free of the bed. She bit back a cry of pain as she rested her weight on her feet. Every muscle in her body seized. Her ribs made it impossible for her to straighten up.

Mrs. Gabbard’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” She got to her feet.

Sam reached for the phone. “I’m calling my grandmother to come pick me up.”

“But…” She bit her lip. “You can’t leave unless your doctor discharges you.”

There was something freeing about the truth. The more she spoke it out loud, the more the weight of all she’d been carrying lifted. “Then I suppose you’d better go out and tell the nurse to call him to come and discharge me. I don’t have any money, Ms. Gabbard. I don’t have a job. My husband has canceled my insurance to try and pressure me into dropping charges against him. And I can’t have thousands of dollars in hospital bills hanging over my head when I’m trying to live without any support. So, I’m leaving.” Sam looked through the slit of her injured left eye. Thank God, she could finally see out of it. “I can’t pay to stay here. I’ll just have to make do.”