Thrill Ride (24 page)

What
a
nightmare.

And Vanessa wanted to personally strangle whoever the hell this Rwanda Don person was for taking these honorable, dedicated,
patriotic
men and turning them into something less than what they wanted to be. Something less than what they’d signed on to be.

Rock’s alligator cowboy boots clacked against the slate, and Dunn glanced over his shoulder, then jumped up like his pants were on fire. “Jesus! You’re alive!” he exclaimed.

“It would appear so,
mon
ami
,” Rock replied in that low, smooth drawl, and Dunn collapsed back into his seat. His legs folding beneath him.

“Oh my God!” the man breathed, shaking his head, staring at Rock in disbelief, his face completely draining of blood. “It’s you. You’re The Interrogator. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”

***

Rock grabbed the seat beside Dunn, looking into the man’s bloodless face, and,
oui
, that sensation he’d felt earlier was definitely recognition. Not that he’d ever laid eyes on the guy, because he was certain he had not. But, still, there was something familiar there. And more than likely, it was because Rock could identify with the aura of sorrow and loss and determination that seemed to cling to him like a shroud.

Cut from the same cloth, they were. Both patriotic with a deep sense of duty. Both experiencing intense regret over Billingsworth’s death. Both having been screwed over by the CIA and Rwanda Don.

And, as if on cue, Ozzie scratched his head and started attacking his keyboard. The
clickety-clack
was so loud it snapped Rock’s attention away from Dunn and over to the kid.

“What’s up,
mon
frere
?” He’d seen that expression on the Ozzie’s face more than a time or two and referred to it as bloodhound mode.

“Give me a second,” Ozzie muttered, frowning at his screen. “When Dunn said you were The Interrogator and he was The Cleaner, it struck a chord with me. I think I…” He shook his shaggy blond head, growling, “Screw you, CIA database. You think you’re so smart with your encrypted algorithms and backdoor defenses, but you’re not smarter than ol’ Ozzie.”

Dunn glanced over at Rock, lifting a questioning brow. “
Oui
,” Rock smiled, “he talks to his computers like they’re alive. But, believe me, the kid’s not insane. If there’s a way to—”

“Got it!” Ozzie announced, lifting a hand to Eve who was sitting beside him. The woman—her eyes had been flying at full mast ever since they’d been down in Costa Rica, and Rock wondered how she kept the things from drying out like a frog’s carcass in the July sun—looked at Ozzie’s raised palm.

“Slap me some skin, woman!” Ozzie demanded, his dazzling smile lighting up the entire courtyard. Rock recognized that look, too. Ozzie was on to something…

Could
it
be? Has he really found—

“Oh,” Eve immediately reached up and slapped Ozzie’s hand, but the guy wasn’t going to be satisfied with only that. He was feeling celebratory—and completely oblivious to the fact that Rock was on the edge of his seat waiting to hear the good news—so he hooked an arm around Eve’s neck and smacked a loud kiss on her lips. When he released her, the poor, overwhelmed woman was beet red and, even through the haze of frustration and anticipation clouding his head, Rock heard a low growling noise.

Then he realized it was Wild Bill.

Ozzie must’ve heard it, too. Because the kid smirked before pursing his lips and blowing Bill a kiss. “Don’t you worry, Billy boy.” He wiggled his blond brows. “There’s enough Ozzie to go around. So if you wanna come over here and gimme a ki—”

“For fuck’s sake, Ozzie!” Boss thundered. “What have you found?”

“Oh,” Ozzie turned his computer around, and on the screen was what appeared to be some sort of report. The sorry sucker had more than a few lines redacted. And even if the kid hadn’t already been cursing about the CIA database, Rock would’ve known he was looking at some form of Company document just by the number of blacked-out paragraphs. No one was as efficient and/or slap-happy about redacting information as the spooks.

“What are we looking at?” Boss asked. Everyone, including Rock, leaned forward to try to read what words
were
still legible.

“This is a thesis, written about ten years ago by a budding CIA psychiatrist,” Ozzie explained. “From what little I could gather from reading what remained of the text, it proposed a way to deal with an individual or group of individuals—which I took to mean terrorists, but it could very easily be homegrown bad boys—by splitting up the duties of investigation, interview, and elimination among a trio of operatives. It outlines a way to basically kill our country’s enemies, not those we take out with bombs and drone strikes, but those individuals we happen to catch and can’t necessarily prosecute by…erm,
traditional
means, without placing the responsibility of said duties on any
one
person’s shoulders. This thesis proposes that a team of three agents, trained in each specific area, could be utilized to annihilate these threats.”

Rock’s heart was a riderless racehorse, galloping out of control. And when he glanced out of the corner of his eyes, it was to see Dunn breathing heavily and staring at Ozzie with a mixture of hope and dread.

“And here’s the kicker,” Ozzie sucked his teeth, nodding excitedly. “Guess what this thesis calls those three positions?”

“The Investigator, The Interrogator, and The Cleaner,” Vanessa whispered quietly, and Rock looked over to find her staring at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her expression hesitantly hopeful.

Oui, ma petite
, this might just be it. This might be the lead we’ve been waitin’ on…

“Ding, ding, ding!” Ozzie shouted gleefully. “Give the girl a gold star!”

“But why three?” Boss queried. “Why not just let one guy do all the dirty work.”

“Because,” Ozzie said, turning the computer screen back toward himself, “according to this thesis, that kind of wet work has severe psychological effects on the person doing it. Basically taking a nice, normal, mentally sound person and, over time, turning them into a sociopath at best, a psychopath at worst. This thesis proposes that splitting up the work, never letting the guy who does all the investigating actually meet the target, never letting the guy who interrogates the target ever bear witness to the consequences, and never letting the guy doing the executing see the target as anything other than a monster, is a way to protect the psyches of all those involved. Sort of an intellectual and emotional checks-and-balances solution, if you will.”

“Jesus,” Boss ran a hand through his hair. “The Investigator, The Interrogator, and The Cleaner, huh?”

“Yup,” Ozzie nodded. “And I, for one, don’t believe in coincidences. At least not ones this big.”

Neither did Rock.

“Fuck me,” Boss sighed. “So now that we know what piece of shitty psychological mumbo-jumbo started this whole thing, all that’s left to discover is who within The Company ran with it.”

“Yeah,” Ozzie frowned, and a thought occurred to Rock.

“Who wrote the thesis?” he asked.

“Ummm,” Ozzie used his finger to scroll. “Says here it’s a Dr. Donna Ward.”

“Who is she?” he pressed, something scratching at the back of his brain, something he could
almost
put his finger on.

“Gimme a second,” Ozzie caught his tongue between his teeth, typing frantically. Then he looked up, eyes bright. “She’s married to Governor Ward. He’s one of the politicians Billingsworth was investigating. Holy hell, we’re really onto something here!”

“It’s more than that,” Rock said, his brain absolutely buzzing.

You could have heard a feather drop in the courtyard. Even the distant sounds of police sirens, the subtle trickle of the Chicago River flowing behind the outer wall, and the steady hum of auto traffic on the nearby Kennedy Expressway couldn’t detract from the silence that hung over the entire group.

“What is it,” Boss demanded, staring at Rock’s face, “What the hell do you know?”

“I know who Rwanda Don is.”

Eve glanced around the courtyard at the hard faces of the Black Knights, barely believing what she was hearing.

Geez
Louise!
They were all certifiable. Completely, totally, utterly insane. Of course, she’d begun to suspect as much way back in Costa Rica…

“You guys aren’t really going to confront and interrogate the wife of the governor of West Virginia, are you?” she asked.

But if there was an expression that personified determination, each and every Knight was wearing it.

Okay, so I guess you
are
really
going
to
confront
and
interrogate
the
wife
of
the
governor
of
West
Virginia.

Ozzie frowned at her like maybe
she
was the crazy one in the bunch. “She’s not
just
the governor of West Virginia’s wife,” he said. “She’s also Rwanda Don.”

Because, as Rock pointed out, Donna Ward and Rwanda Don were anagrams—which the Knights found too fortuitous to ignore and too coincidental to chalk up to mere chance. Plus, once Rock and that new guy, the friggin’
hit
man, began comparing notes and discussing their training, they’d each come to the conclusion that,
yes, indeed
, come to think of it, Rwanda Don
had
seemed to use words and phrasing sequences more common in the fairer sex.

Although, for the life of her, Eve couldn’t figure out what those might be. Or perhaps it was the glaring
lack
of words like
dick, cocksucker
, and
asswipe
that led Rock and Mr. Dunn to their conclusions…

And then there was the link between her husband and Billingsworth’s investigation. Just that fast, the ball had started rolling. And Eve could only shake her head in an awed sort of consternation.

“Okay, so how do we get tickets to this thing?” Boss asked Ozzie, who was once again going at his keyboard with the concentration and rhythm of a concert pianist.

And call it fate or kismet or maybe even a touch of old-fashioned luck, but Donna Ward and her husband, friggin’
Governor
Ward, were in town, down at the Peninsula Hotel at a Party fundraiser.

And wouldn’t you know? Dear ol’ Daddy was supposed to be attending that same event.

“I, uh,” Eve spoke up, glad, for once, that her family was so well connected. “I could get us tickets. My father is a huge campaign supporter. He could get us in.”

Ozzie glanced up. “All of us?”

“However many tickets you need,” she nodded.

“Remind me to kiss you again,” he winked, then wiggled his eyebrows.

“Try it and you’ll be walking funny for a month,” Billy growled, to which Ozzie made a face and replied, “Touchy, touchy.”

Eve felt the need to shake her head, really quickly, like a dog shaking off water. Who’d have ever thought she’d be involved in all of this?

Not her, that’s for sure. And even though she was scared out of her head, she had to admit there was a little part of her, a part she’d never guessed she possessed, that found it all very exciting.

I
mean, come on! I’m about to aid and abet a group of spies in the interrogation of a U.S. governor’s wife!

It didn’t get more James Bond than that. Well, if they’d give her a gun, it’d be more James Bond. Maybe she’d talk to Billy about—

Boss cut into her thoughts. “Okay, then. So how the hell do we get our hands on her? She’s not likely to just come with us. And there will be security at this thing, so it’s not like we can cart her off without drawing an assload of heat.”

“From what I can gather from these political gossip boards,” Ozzie began, and Ghost muttered, “Jesus Christ, political gossip boards? What’s next?”

“Oh, you’d be amazed at all the juice out there on the Internet,” Ozzie wolf-whistled. “I read this one post about the mayor of Newark that’d—”

“Ozzie,” Boss interrupted, “get back to the point.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he nodded. “So, according to these gossip boards, Dr. Ward likes to snag a secret smoke after each fundraiser. Out in an alley, in a tucked-away bathroom somewhere. You know, out of sight of the high-falootin’ sorts.”

“Doesn’t appear her smokes are very
secret
considering it’s all over the Internet,” Ghost muttered.

“Hard to keep much a secret nowadays.” Ozzie grinned before adding, “We can grab her then, and I’ll knock out the city surveillance cameras on that block, you know,” he shrugged, “just in case our activities become nefarious.” Oh, geez Louise. They’re activities might become nefarious. “And we can park the Hummer out back in case we need a getaway car.”

Getaway car…Eve’s blood pressure rose with each sentence out of Ozzie’s mouth.

“And what if she doesn’t go for a smoke?” Becky asked.

“Considering the best-laid battle plans never survive contact with the enemy,” Ozzie answered, “we’ll just do what we do best.”

“Which is?” Dunn asked.

“Improvise,” Ozzie and Steady replied simultaneously.

“Okay,” Boss slapped a hand on his knee. “So, we confront her in the bathroom or alley if we can, or pick a place on the fly if we can’t. And we hope like hell Rock can use his woo-woo head-shrinking skills to get her to crack.” He turned to the man in question.

“I’ll crack her,” Rock assured them, his face set in hard lines.

“Donna Ward won’t stand a chance,” Vanessa smiled at Rock so softly, so sweetly.

Eve watched Rock’s face soften and, if she wasn’t mistaken, that was the man’s heart she saw reflected in his pretty, hazel eyes. Then, suddenly, as if he realized he was letting everybody in the courtyard see too much, he shook his head and glanced away.

“Thanks,
chere
,” he muttered before standing and marching toward the shop. He stopped just before he reached the back door, spinning back toward the group. “Are you all sure you want to do this?” There was no mistaking the hesitation and…yes, that was anguish plastered all over his face. “You could get in serious trouble if this thing goes sideways.” Which was what Eve had been thinking all along. “And you’ve all…” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “You’ve all risked so much already.”

“Shut the hell up,
pendejo
,” Steady growled. “Even if you had died on that porch in Costa Rica, we’d still be bustin’ our ass to clear your name. All for one and one for all, hoo-ah?”

“Hoo-ah!” the Knights shouted in unison, and Eve nearly jumped out of her skin.

Holy moley, and here she was again, having to slap herself on the forehead.

So
much
for
thinking
you
were
closer
to
growing
that
set
of
balls…

A few more logistics were discussed and then the Knights broke apart. Eve went to push up from her chair when Billy stopped her with a warm, rough palm on her shoulder. She glanced up to find him standing beside her. And with his dark-chocolate hair falling across his forehead, his warm, brown eyes watching her so intently, he looked very much like the boy who’d laughed and kissed and taught her so much all those years ago.

Then he spoke, and his harsh tone obliterated that little fantasy right then and there. “You sure you’re cut out for this tonight?”

She felt the pilot light on her temper ignite. “I’m made of much tougher stuff than you think,” she declared, scrambling to her feet so they were on a more level playing field. She’d always lamented her height, her giraffe neck and gazelle legs, but she’d learned to use it to her advantage. Most men were intimidated by an Amazon woman.

Unfortunately, Billy had never been most men. He grabbed her arm, giving it a squeeze. “This is
important
, Eve. Men’s lives are at stake.”

“Stop manhandling me, you big brute!” She jerked her arm away, glaring. “And don’t you worry about me. After all, this is
my
pond we’re going to be swimming in. So you’d do better to worry about yourself.” And, with that, she spun on her heel, stomping toward the shop, feeling his piercing gaze on the center of her back the entire way, trying not to let the fact that he had absolutely
zero
faith in her cut her to the marrow.

***

“Have you seen Rock?” Vanessa yelled over the din of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” She was very sure they had Ozzie to thank for
that
particular musical number—the guy sometimes had a sadistic sense of humor.

All around her, the shop was buzzing with activity. Everyone, even Jonathan Dunn, was in various stages of readiness for the fundraiser. Tuxedo jackets hung on the backs of chairs, a pair of high-heeled silver pumps lay on the conference table, and Becky, in fire-engine red chiffon, sat at the bank of computers with Ozzie, watching the guy compile what information they’d been able to find on Dr. Donna Ward into a nice tidy dossier. Eve stood behind her in a stunning blue evening gown, bobby-pinning her hair into a sleek bun.

“I, uh,” Becky had to shout over the music, “I think he’s up in his bedroom, clearing his head!”

And that made sense.

Unquestionably, this was going to be the most important interrogation of his life. He needed to outwit and outmaneuver the mind that’d dreamed up The Project, and he needed to do it double quick. Because it wasn’t like they’d have a ton of time with Donna Ward before someone came looking for her.

For a split second, she debated disturbing him. Then decided
to
hell
with
it
.

“Thanks!” she yelled at Becky before lifting the floor-length skirt on the purple, sequined halter dress Becky and Eve had chosen for her during their madcap dash to Neiman Marcus. She padded up the metal stairs to the third floor on bare feet—she wasn’t going to slip into her heels until she absolutely
had
to. When she reached the landing, she dug a finger in her ear just to make sure it didn’t come away bloody.

Ozzie had his stereo system volume level set to
rock
concert
, and she was amazed he didn’t suffer perforated eardrums. And though she could still hear good ol’ Jon wailing away about being a cowboy and riding on a steel horse—
huh, kind of appropriate
—at least she wasn’t pushing up against a wall of sound, which meant she could hear herself think.

And what was she thinking, do you suppose?

Well, nothing new there. She was still thinking about Rock. About that hint of uncertainty she’d seen in his eyes out in the courtyard when they came up with the plan to have him interrogate Donna Ward…

The last thing he needed right now was to be second-guessing himself and his abilities. And she was nothing if not good at pep talks. After all, she’d been giving herself pep talks regarding him for
months
now.

Knocking on his door, she waited until she heard him murmur, “
Oui?
Come in,” before turning the knob and pushing into his bedroom. And there he was, doing nothing more than softly strumming his guitar as he sat on the edge of his bed—that big, messy bed with the sage-green comforter they’d done so many fantastically naughty things in—and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest at the sight of him.

He looked so good, so handsome and delicious and downright
wholesome
. And maybe it was the jeans and the boots and the big, shiny belt buckle, or maybe it was the sweat-stained John Deer ball cap he had turned around backward. But looking at him, she thought he belonged out on a tractor somewhere or sipping iced-tea while rocking slowly in a porch swing. Looking at him she was reminded of a song by Waylon Jennings her father used to play on vinyl. Something about a rambling man and standing too close to the flame. Something about once the rambling man messes with your mind, your little heart not beating the same…

Holy
cow, Waylon. You were sure right about that.

Because ever since she’d met Rock, her heart had certainly taken up a new rhythm. One that flitted and fluttered like a drunken bird most days.

“You look beautiful,” he said, letting his gaze run down the length of her purple-sequin-encased body. She felt the path of his eyes like a physical touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, suddenly hoarse. “So do you.”

He lifted a brow, one corner of his mouth quirking. And, yeah, that sounded really lame. “So, what’s up,
ma
petite
?” he asked, dragging her wayward mind back to the situation and the reason she’d barged in on him.

“I…uh…I just,” she cleared her throat and wrung her hands together. Now that she was here, about to offer him what she hoped would be a little reassurance, she felt silly.

Rock had come by his nickname naturally, because he was so solid, so dependable and unfaltering. Which meant the last thing he probably needed or wanted was affirmations and platitudes from her. Undoubtedly, he only craved a little peace and quiet to strum his guitar and mentally go over the strategy he wanted to use on Rwanda Don…er…Donna Ward.

And here she was disturbing him.

Still, she had to say
something
, because she could tell by the way he squinted up at her that he was beginning to think she might be going just a little batty. And, the truth was, when it came to him? He was probably right. As he’d say, she was crazier than a road-runnin’ lizard.

Geez, Van. Get it together.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re going to get that confession,” she blurted and fought the urge to roll her eyes even as she pressed doggedly ahead. “You’re going to get her to admit to being part of The Project. You’re going to find out who she’s working with. You’re going to find out why they burned you. And you’re going to clear your name.”