Jordan Summers - [Dead World 01] (16 page)

The man scoffed. "My word
will have to be good
enough."

"Remember your ass isn't the only one on the
line. If I go down before this plan is fully executed, I'm taking you and your
people
with me," Roark vowed.

A soft tinkling of laughter filled the connection.
"Is that a threat?" Roark shivered and said nothing, wondering again
why he'd gone into business with someone so deadly.

"I didn't think so," the man said smugly.
"You do your job and I'll do mine. Don't contact me again or the next time
I'll be the one paying you a visit."

The line went dead before Roark could respond. The
coiled tension filling his shoulders threatened to
rip muscle if he moved. At least they were on target.
With the
help of this insider, the republics would fall into line. Fear caused even the
bitterest enemies to join ranks. And he'd be there to lead them . . . right
after he destroyed the abominations known as the Others.

Mike Travers held his head
against the door of Roark
Montgomery's
office
, ears straining to hear. He
knew
it was wrong to eavesdrop, but his boss
had been act
ing strangely for the
past few weeks, looking at him with something akin to loathing in his eyes.

At first Mike had considered Roark's behavior election
jitters, but he had been around long enough to recognize those symptoms and
this wasn't it.

He slid down the door as if that would make it easier
to hear. The voice grew muffled. Damn it! Mike stood again, returning to his
previous position. His gaze darted down the hall to ensure no one was coming.
The last thing he needed was to be caught spying.

He couldn't hear what the person on the other end
of the line was saying, but the stress in Roark's
voice
was apparent. Who was he talking to? Why hadn't he asked him to place
the call?

Montgomery rarely did anything
for himself, enjoy
ing
the thrill of ordering underlings too much. Mike
played the part of timid assistant to perfection.
His act
was so good
he'd even convinced himself at times. So
why
the sudden secrecy?

This change in protocol made Mike decidedly un
easy. Six more months and the elections would be
over.
Six more months and he'd reach
full vesting, allowing
for a
pleasurable retirement. One that didn't involve as
sassinating the competition. Sweat dotted his upper
lip and his heart began to pound. He pressed a hand on the
door to hold
himself in place.

 "Is everything going as planned?" Roark
asked.

Mike glowered. What plan? Was Roark going to dump him
now that they were on the verge of winning this final campaign? Was he
contracting another killer to dispose of him? Rage ignited within him,
spreading the acid of hate through his veins.

He'd given this man fifteen years of his life. Fifteen
years that had cost him everything he held dear. Mike pictured Raphael's
luminous face, smiling during happier times, and his heart clenched. Not a day
went by that he didn't mourn his brother's death. He'd tried—and failed—to save
him when the genetic testing labs were destroyed.

The pain had been so great that he'd actually changed
his last name from Vega to Travers. All that was left were the memories.
Without Raphael, Mike had no life outside of campaigning and Roark Montgomery.
He'd poured his soul into his work. And he wasn't about to let Roark stop him
from escaping this nightmare that he'd created.

His jaw clenched, causing his incisors to grind together
and slash his gums. A not so gentle reminder of his days spent strapped to a
gurney pumped full of drugs that forever changed his DNA. The pain was quickly
replaced by cold.

Mike wouldn't put up with that kind of behavior
from Roark Montgomery or anyone else. He'd worked
too long and way too hard to get to where he was
and he wouldn't lose it now that his goal was in sight.

He straightened the front of his suit. His hands
curled into tight fists, his nails ripping the skin of his palm. Mike ignored
the blood as he strode down the hall to his small utilitarian office. He
entered the room and slammed the door. The walls bowed from the energy rolling
off him in waves.

Mike took a couple of deep breaths and tried to
calm down, but he couldn't see beyond the red
haze
clouding his vision. Items on
his work space shook vi
olently
before plummeting to the floor. The air crack
led and his chair slammed into the desk. No one would
be
replacing him.

No one!

It was time to find out who his competition was and
eliminate them.

"Travers, get in here," Roark Montgomery bellowed
in his comlink, the sound nearly splitting his eardrum.

Mike forced himself to calm and a minute later entered
his boss' office, looking a little worse for wear.

"What the hell have you
been doing?" Roark asked,
scowling.

Mike kept his hands behind his back, wishing he could
ask him the same question. Instead, he reverted to his cowering persona.
"Research like you asked, and I was cleaning."

Roark frowned. "Well forget
all that. I need you to
do something else. I want you to find out how many
female tactical team members there are at IPTT."

"Sir?"
What was he up to now?

Roark ignored his question. "After you do that,
run a background check on all of them. I want to know who their families are.
where they were born. rank, and their current location."

"I'll get right on it. sir."

"I want it by tomorrow," Roark added.

"Are you sure this is more important than locating
the Others? We have a lot of territory to cover."

Roark's features flattened. "Yes. and the next
time you question my orders, you're fired."

Mike swallowed hard, then gave him a curt nod and
left. He didn't know who Montgomery was after, but he felt bad for whoever she
was.

Red arrived at the sheriff's office the next morning
at six
. She wanted to talk to the
townspeople before the heat of the day baked the desert and sent everyone
scurrying inside until the late afternoon. She wasn't sure how long it would
take to reach the outer
limits of the town,
but she wanted to give them plenty
of time to access the remote areas.

She parked her car out front and
stepped onto the
sidewalk,
not sure if they'd be taking her vehicle or his.
The sun was already near blinding and it had
barely
poked its
bald yellow head above the horizon.

Morgan Hunter exited the
building, carrying a ther
mos. Dressed in taupe khakis and combat boots, he signaled for her to
get into his vehicle.
"I
thought we could use some synth-coffee because it's going to be a long
day." He smiled as he slipped on his sunshades.

"Good idea."
Why did he have to he so
thoughtful?

They drove out to the homesteads, leaving behind
pavement for gravel roads. Miles separated the settlers. Out here near the
boundary fence, they were exposed, unprotected, yet somehow survived.

Red shivered at the desert's vastness. Could she live
in a place so remote? Face every day not knowing whether she'd survive to see
the next? A strange peace settled in her bones as she realized she could. She'd
put her life on the line every time she went to work. At some point over the
years that had become normal. Life here would be no different.

Morgan pulled into the nearest home, a cloud of dust
trailing in his car's wake. A woman in her midtwenties exited the house,
holding her hand above her eyes to stave off the glare. She wore what appeared
to be a stained green coverall over tanned fatigues with tattered brown leather
shoes. Her hair was short, mannish in style. If it hadn't been for the apron
cinching her waist, Red would've thought she
was
a man.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff?"

"Nancy, this woman has a few questions for you.
I'd be grateful if you'd answer them the best you
can."

The woman glanced at Red's black combat boots and
instantly stiffened. "What does the tactical team want with my family?
We're law-abiding, registered folk."

"Nothing, ma'am," Red replied.
"I
just
have a few questions about the area."

Her wary gaze went from Red to
Morgan and back
again. "I suppose
you should come inside, so you can get out of the sun."

They followed Nancy into her flat-roofed home, which
consisted of four rooms that Red could see. The space was clean and well kept.
Modest gray republic-issued furniture filled the inside, leaving little in the
way of comfort. The woman had done what she could to add color by sewing pieces
of red fabric to the understuffed squares that passed for pillows. It
brightened the room and made it feel more like a home than a hovel. If she
didn't look out the window, Red could almost forget that they were out in the
middle of nowhere.

Living on the fringe of society left most families
existing on the bare necessities—food and water. The woman had done a good job
with what she had, Red noted.

She motioned for them to sit. Red and Morgan did so,
then accepted glasses of water from the woman's trembling hands. Red wanted to
reassure her, but she didn't know how.

"Gina, this is Nancy Dupray. She and her husband
own this plot. They domesticate wild pigs, which are perfect prey for a
marauding
pack of animals."
Morgan's gaze shot to Nancy and she fumbled with
her apron.

Red leaned forward. "It's nice to meet you."
The woman reluctantly shook her hand. "I only have a few questions to ask
and then we'll leave you in peace."

Nancy nodded jerkily.

"Have any of your stock come up missing?"

Nancy's face flushed and she looked to Morgan again.

"It's okay, Nancy. You can answer her."

The woman shifted, her boots
clunking on the floor.
She sat suddenly,
the cushion deflating under her
weight.
"A few sows have gone missing and some wa
ter rations, but that's nothing new in this area. We suspect some of
it's
caused by the unknowns that come
across
the boundary in search of a better life. Can't
say as I blame them. They need something to eat after
that
journey."

Red frowned. "You haven't noticed
anything
else
unusual."

"Nope, that's about it." Nancy shrugged.
"What are you looking for?"

"Animals."

"I don't understand,"
Nancy said, glancing between
them. "There are all kinds of animals around here. We have packs of
wild dogs, coyotes, and wolves. The lat
ter
are rare. They don't tend to come around these parts much. Even seen some of
those big cats they
used to keep in zoos
before the war. That's just how it
is in the outback. You either accept
it or move to town."

"Let me be blunt" Red said. "These
animals I'm after may have killed a woman."

The color drained from Nancy's face. "D-don't
know nothing about that." She rose, wiping
her hands
on her apron.
"I
think you'd better leave. Don will be
home soon. I have to fix his midday meal so he can take it with him when he
heads back to work." She glanced around anxiously, her gaze straying more
than once to the kitchen.

"Midday meal? It's six-thirty in the
morning." Red said.

"Most folks around here work from midnight to
noon, so that they can avoid the hottest part of the day," Morgan
answered, before she could reply.

Nancy gave him a half-smile and her shoulders relaxed.

"Are you sure you can't help us?" Red asked.
"You haven't even seen her picture yet." She tossed the photo onto a
table in front of them.

Nancy jumped back as if she'd been struck. "We
don't know anything about that woman." She shook her head. "You'll
have to look somewhere else. We didn't do anything wrong. I think you should
leave."

"No one's accusing you of anything—"

Please leave." Nancy sniffled, then ushered them
to the front door.

"Thanks for all your help, Nancy." Morgan
said.

Red couldn't help but replay the woman's reaction when
she told her what she was after. Nancy knew something, but there was little
chance she'd get her to talk. The woman had made that perfectly clear when
she'd practically tossed them out of her home. Red didn't want to think about
Morgan. He'd been no help at all.