Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series) (22 page)

Jake leaned into the chair and tilted his head back. “Trying to get anything out of you is like pulling teeth.”

She hated keeping anything from Jake, but, in time and when she was ready, he’d eventually learn the truth. Until then, she’d keep him in the dark.
 

She’d keep him alive.
 

Glancing down at the tablet, she caught the time, then her breath. “It’s three minutes after eleven,” she whispered, and started a new search for Rose Wood.

He raised his head and leaned toward her seat, his earthy, familiar scent giving her comfort and reminding her of everything they’d shared this past weekend. If only she could turn back the clock. If only—

The co-pilot emerged from the cockpit, his face drawn and his eyes filled with worry. “Folks, we’re going to have you shut down any electronic devices.”

“Is something wrong?” Jake asked.
 

While the pilot said something about turbulence and possible rough weather—which she didn’t believe based on the clear skies—Naomi quickly scrolled through the tablet.
 

“Ma’am,” the pilot said, just as a new headline appeared from CNN.

Horrified, lightheaded and her stomach nauseous, she held up her hand. “Oh, my God.” Two more people were dead because of her. Her vision blurred with tears. Not wanting the pilot to see her cry, she blinked them away and handed the tablet to Jake.

With reluctance, Jake took the device. He knew in his gut there had been another explosion, but didn’t want to see or hear about the deaths and destruction. People were dying and Naomi knew who was behind it. If CORE couldn’t help them, he firmly believed more innocent people would be killed before the day ended. And if they weren’t careful, he worried Naomi could be one of them.
 

He looked down at the tablet and read the news bulletin.
Nine a.m.
Mountain Daylight Saving Time, BH-Xpress Flight 1113, an Airbus A300f4-622R, exploded during takeoff from the Denver International Airport. Firefighters are on the scene and searching for the two pilots, Jerry Rose and Woody Gilmore.
He stopped reading. An eerie sensation caused his skin to pickle with unease. Concerned with how Naomi was handling the news and anxious for their pilot to leave them alone, he turned to the man and said, “If you’re worried we’re going to become paranoid about flying, don’t.”

The pilot gave them a slight shrug. “You never know how people are going to react. You’re sure you two are okay?”

“Fine,” Jake assured him and once the pilot was back in the cockpit, he turned to Naomi. “This is
not
your fault.”
 

She drew in a shaky breath. “Really? If people knew that the bombings were a way to get to me, who do you think they’d blame?”

“The man behind it.” He handed her the tablet. “I don’t give a shit how powerful this guy is, or who his connections are. I highly doubt the politicians he’s backed in the past would want to be associated with a murderer.” He leaned toward her, purposefully crowding and intimidating her. “Who the hell is he?”

She shoved his shoulder. “Stop. If I think your agency can help me, then I’ll talk. Until then, you need to get out of my face and leave me the hell alone.”

Why did she have to be so damned stubborn?
Fuck it. He leaned back into his seat, taking the tablet with him.
 

“Can I please have that back?” she asked.

“No.” He didn’t care if he was being a dick. Not after all of her lies and secrets. Instead of being a team player and giving him the information he’d need to bring the bombings to an end, she was continuously shitting on him. Feeding him small scraps of the truth. Giving him mismatched pieces to a puzzle he couldn’t solve without her help.
 

Why couldn’t she trust him? After everything they’d been through, after this past weekend, after all of the love and support he’d given her when they’d been together, and she couldn’t confide in him? Total bullshit.
 

He’d loved her. He still loved her. Although at this point he was having a hard time remembering why.
 

Her arm and leg brushed his as she shifted in her seat. He glanced at her and caught her staring at him. The pain and misery in her once laughing eyes made his gut knot. No matter what, no matter her past, Naomi didn’t deserve any of this. “Come here.” Aching to ease her pain, he moved the armrest out of his way and wrapped an arm around her. “We’ll get through this,” he said and, when she rested her head against his shoulder, he kissed the top of her head.
 

He couldn’t be sure of how things between them would be in the end, but as long as she was safe and the bombings stopped, nothing else mattered. As the minutes ticked by, her breathing changed and her body became dead weight against his. He glanced down. Naomi had dozed off and was now asleep. Good. She needed her rest. They had a long day ahead of them. Once they reached Chicago, he planned to take her directly to CORE. When he’d spoken to Rachel and had given her what little information he’d had, she’d said she hoped that Ian’s contacts at the FBI and Homeland Security would be able to tell them about the devices used in the bombings. He just hoped to God Ian’s contacts came through for them. There was no way in hell he’d ever allow Naomi to go to the prick behind this.

As the minutes passed, he kept her close to him and scrolled through the tablet, searching for updates from the different bombings and hoping to find new clues and links other than the Rose Wood connection. Twenty minutes later, he saw that the owner of BH-Xpress, the world’s fourth largest shipping and packaging company, was about to give a press conference. He clicked on the link and raised the volume.

Within seconds, a tall, olive-skinned man with black, slicked back hair approached the podium. Beneath his somber image the caption read,
Ric Mancini, BH-Xpress Chief Operating Officer
. The man cleared his throat and leaned toward the microphone. “Thank you for joining us. Mr. Hunnicutt will speak briefly and then answer a few questions.” He looked to his left and raised his arm. “Christian Hunnicutt, owner and CEO of Brockheist Hunnicutt Express International.”

The CEO replaced Ric at the podium. His expression grave, he turned his solemn gaze on the reporters. “Thank you for coming,” he said and shuffled his notecards. “My heart goes out to those tragically affected by today’s horrific events. I am deeply saddened, especially for those who had lost loved ones. As you know, less than an hour ago one of my company’s planes had exploded during takeoff. The pilots, Jerry Rose and Woody Gilmore, both lost their lives.” The pilots’ smiling images flashed on the corner of the screen. “Jerry worked for BH-Xpress for seventeen years and Woody, for the past twelve. Both were good men who were dedicated to their families and their jobs. I believe I speak for every employee of BH-Xpress when I say they will be missed.”

Hunnicutt took a step back and pressed his thumb and index finger against his brow. After a moment, he drew in a breath and moved to the microphone. “I’ve spoken with the Vice President and Senator, Ron Bammerlin, who leads a committee against domestic terrorism, as well as the Directors of the FBI and Homeland Security. Each man has assured me that they are doing their best to uncover who is behind the explosions that have affected San Francisco, Henderson, Nevada, Clyde, Idaho, Smithfield, Wyoming and now Denver, Colorado. I am personally donating my company resources to help put an end to the violence. I have also created a fund to aid the victims and their families during their time of need.”
 

He gripped the podium and looked directly into the camera. “The terrorists behind these bombings need to be stopped. Their cowardly acts are despicable and reprehensible. They’ve gone after the young, the elderly and every age in between. Race, religion and class make no difference to these villains. And while it’s unclear what their cause is, what
is
clear—they are trying to terrorize Americans. But we are strong. We have fought as underdogs in the past and have come out on top. Why? We have heart and soul. We have courage and ingenuity. Banding together, helping our fellow Americans hurt by these atrocities, will only strengthen our resolve.”

Naomi stirred in his arms. Jake glanced away from the tablet and caught her watching the press conference. When he saw the fresh tears in her eyes, he squeezed her tighter. “You okay?”

She nodded and kept her attention on the tablet. Although not satisfied with her response, he continued to watch the press conference, too.
 

“As I said,” Hunnicutt continued, “I will offer my company’s resources and donate my time and money to help stop the madness. I encourage anyone with information regarding who is behind these bombings to come forward. This is America. The land of the free. The home of the brave. We must show a united front and end the terrorism now.” He looked at his watch. “I have time for a few questions.”

“It’s eleven fifty-eight,” Naomi said in a quiet, ominous tone. “Please, God. No more.”
 

He tensed. The helplessness and eerie sadness in her voice unnerved him. Naomi might have lied to him about herself and her life, but he’d like to think he knew the woman behind the mask. With each explosion, with each death and injury, she would allow the guilt to fester and control her life. She needed to understand that this was not her fault. Damn it, she needed to stop hiding and trust him.

“Mr. Hunnicutt,” a reporter said and stood. “Is it true that you’ve grounded every BH-Xpress plane?”

“In 1855, my great-great grandfather, Brockheist Hunnicutt, started this company. He’d been a stevedore and worked the docks in London. It has been said that he’d witnessed and helplessly watched as men who worked by his side died or lost limbs, due to poor working conditions. When he’d started his shipping company, he’d sworn that no employee of his would ever suffer on the job. He’d created standards and procedures that are still used by my company today.” Hunnicutt scanned the crowd. “Although the Directors of the FBI and Homeland Security do not believe BH-Xpress is being targeted and that these bombings are random, I’ve ordered every plane to be grounded until they’ve been thoroughly inspected. I will not put my employees at risk.”

“What about your customers?” another reporter asked. “Aren’t you concerned about their dissatisfaction over late deliveries?”

“Crass,” Naomi muttered.

“Seriously,” Jake agreed.

Hunnicutt gave the reporter a condescending half smile. “I would like to think my customers are more concerned about the safety of their fellow Americans. Next question.”

Another reporter stood. “Your wife and children are in New York. Are you concerned for their well-being?”

“My wife and children are my
top
priority. I’m always concerned for their well-being. I spoke with Liliana before the press conference. She and my children are safe.” Hunnicutt checked his watch again, then scanned the sea of reporters. “One final question.”

“Is it true that you plan to run for the U.S. Senate in the fall?” another reporter asked. “Political analysts have suggested that after a couple terms as senator, you could be a possible presidential candidate.”
 

Hunnicutt shook his head. “Now is not the time to discuss politics. Now is the time to reassure Americans that—”

“Oh, my God,” someone shouted.
 

Naomi tensed and leaned forward, as murmurs and whispers ensued from the audience on screen. When voices began to rise, Hunnicutt placed a hand over the microphone and looked to Ric Mancini. BH-Xpress’s COO walked across the stage and whispered something to Hunnicutt, who quickly covered his mouth and shook his head. Ric rested a hand on Hunnicutt’s shoulder, said something else, then moved back to his earlier position.
 

Hunnicutt approached the microphone. “Everyone, please. For those of you who haven’t heard, there’s been another explosion. This time in Amarillo, Texas. I—”

The CNN newsroom filled the tablet’s screen. “As BH-Xpress CEO Christian Hunnicutt just stated, there’s been another bombing,” the news anchor said with disgust. “An explosion just ripped through Palo de Rosa, a shopping mall located in Madera, Texas, a suburb of Amarillo.”

Naomi grabbed the tablet from him and began a new search. Within seconds, she slammed her head against the cushioned seat.

“What is it?” he asked.
 

She slid her eyes closed just as a tear escaped and handed him the tablet. “
Palo de Rosa
is Spanish for rosewood.”
 

*

Norfolk, Virginia

12:08 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

Harrison looked away from the big screen TV. He didn’t know what sickened him more, viewing the destruction he’d caused at the Palo de Rosa shopping mall, or watching as the billionaire badger snowed the world with his bullshit.
 

“Honey Badger is going to be
muy cabreado
,” Santiago said with a chuckle.

“English,” Vlad reminded the Columbian.
 

“
Oh caramba.
” Santiago rose from the sofa. “Pissed off, Russian. You know Honey Badger don’t like it when people interrupt him and that news anchor just dissed his ass.”