Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series) (28 page)

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Owen said and rested a hand on her shoulder.
 

“I know, it’s just…chips like this do scream Big Brother, but on the flip side, to be able to find your child?” She rubbed a hand across her cheek, wiping the tear away. “Jake, let me have your phone.” She attached a USB cord to his phone and then her computer. In less than a minute, she removed the cord and handed it back to him. “You’re good to go.”

Jake took his and Dante’s phones. “Thanks.”

Owen offered his hand. “Kick some ass.”
 

“That’s the plan.”

“No.” Ian stood and leveled Jake with a hard stare. “The plan is to gain the necessary evidence to bring in the FBI. We can’t go rogue with this case. Not with it being high profile and the government agencies involved, understood?”

“Understood. But if Hunnicutt so much as lays a hand on Naomi, I don’t give a shit how high profile this case is or who’s involved. Hunnicutt is a dead man.”

*

Bloomington, Indiana
 

11:48 a.m. Central Daylight Saving Time

Vince’s stomach grumbled as he pulled into the parking lot of a three story office building. He’d have lunch on his way to the next delivery. He wasn’t a fan of eating while driving, and it was against company policy, but it would be the only way to stay on schedule and be near the hospital by three.
 

He checked his tablet, searched for the eight packages he would deliver to four different offices and pulled out the dolly. After the boxes were loaded, he entered the building and headed for the elevator. He delivered the first two packages to an accounting firm, and then headed down the hall to the law office also expecting a delivery. Once finished there, he took the elevator to the third floor, found the dental practice that was next on his list and dropped off another three boxes. With only two packages left, he pushed the dolly down the hall in search of the last company on his list. When he caught the suite number, but no company sign, he rapped on the door.
 

A young guy, dressed in jeans and a button down shirt answered. He adjusted his black framed glasses and looked from the boxes on the dolly to the BH-Xpress logo on Vince’s black jacket. “I’m not accepting those,” the guy said and nodded to the packages.
 

What kind of bullshit was this about?
“Come again?” Vince asked and looked at his tablet, then to the suite’s number plate next to the door jamb. “Nexus, right?”

The guy scratched his short beard and rested his hand along the door frame. “Right place, wrong time for a delivery.” He flipped his wrist and looked at his watch. His eyes widened. “You need to get out of here,” he said, then started to close the door.

Vince stopped him. “Look, just sign this and I’ll leave the boxes in the hall.”

“And get blown to frickin’ pieces?” The guy shook his head. “No way, dude. Take them with you. Now, or I’ll call the police.”

The police?
Serious bullshit.
“Okay, sir,” Vince said, when he wanted to tell the guy he was a paranoid fool. This was the second time today he’d been turned away and had packages left undelivered. The first time he’d considered just leaving the packages at the door, but if the customer called into the BH-Xpress offices and demanded they were picked up, he’d have to backtrack and lose valuable time. As it stood, this guy was wasting even more of his time. “You’ll be able to pick up your packages at our main—”

“You won’t catch me within a mile of your company until the bombings stop.”

“Fair enough.”

“What’s not fair is that this country is contaminated with a disease called terrorism and your company is the carrier doing the infecting.”
 

On that note…
“Well, when you’re ready for your packages, you can pick them up at our main office.”

“You’re being brainwashed, man.” He checked his watch again. “The terrorists are coming for us and hitting us where we least expect it. That delivery truck of yours could be a moving bomb. Do yourself a favor. Park it in a field far away from people and run.”

Vince grabbed the dolly and backed away toward the elevator. “Have a good day, sir.”

“You could be next,” the guy called after him and stepped into the hall. “Any one of us could be next. I know the truth. I’ve been watching reports and I know what’s going on out there.”

Vince stepped into the elevator and quickly pressed the button that would take him to the ground floor.

“There’s a connection,” the guy shouted. “The government knows it but isn’t telling the public. Another bomb is going to go off in—”

The elevator door slid shut. “Conspiracy freak,” Vince mumbled. When the elevator stopped on the ground floor, he wheeled the dolly back to the truck. After stowing the dolly and packages inside, he climbed into the cab and started the truck. He thought back to the concern in his wife’s voice when she’d called him after the BH-Xpress plane had exploded, then remembered the lady at the pet shop and how she’d talked about the country being crippled by fear. People had a right to be scared. What was happening was serious and devastating. But paranoia wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere.
 

He pulled out of the parking lot and stopped at a red light. Since he had a ten minute drive to his next delivery, he reached for his lunch box. Still waiting for the light to change, he took a bite of the ham sandwich he’d made that morning and turned on the radio.

“I’m stunned…just stunned,” Manny, one of the hosts of his favorite radio show, said.
 

“Supposedly the President is going to give a press conference about the bombings,” the show’s co-host announced. “It’s about time. How many more bombings will it take before the government steps in and does something?”

The light turned green and Vince stepped on the gas.
 

“They
are
doing something,” Manny countered. “The Feds are involved, along with FEMA, the Department of Defense, the—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know all of this, but what are they
doing
?” the co-host asked. “I’ll tell you what they’re doing. Not a damn thing. Airlines are still allowing their planes to fly, schools are still open…hell, the National Guard should be in every major city across the country. In airports, train stations, bus depots, hospitals, universities. People should be sent home and told not to leave until whatever is happening stops.”

“Are you crazy?” Manny asked. “If the streets are left empty, imagine all the scum that would take advantage. I’m picturing looting and vandalizing and—”

“What we need is martial law,” the co-host said.

“You really
are
crazy,” Manny said. “You’re talking curfews, suspension of civil law and civil rights. And that’s
not
something I’m ready for.”

 
As Vince polished off his sandwich, he couldn’t help agreeing. He was no expert when it came to martial law, but didn’t like what he was hearing. This kind of talk wouldn’t ease people’s fears, but intensify them. He, for one, enjoyed his civil rights and didn’t want them taken away because the government and their agencies couldn’t find who was behind the bombings.

“We need to break for commercial,” Manny announced. “Before we go, for those of you just tuning in, there’s been another explosion.”

“Bombing,” the co-host corrected.

“That hasn’t been confirmed. What has been is that the riverboat, Delta Rose, was carrying approximately one hundred and thirty passengers when it left the St. Louis dock at twelve-thirty p.m. Central Daylight Saving Time. The Delta Rose exploded thirty minutes later. We have no information on survivors at this time, but will update you as we get the latest news.”

A commercial for Sahara Mart replaced Manny’s voice. The sandwich Vince had just consumed sat like a brick in his stomach. All he could think about was the guy from the office building.
 

There’s a connection…the government knows it but isn’t telling the public. Another bomb is going to go off…

He turned right and pulled into another parking lot to make his next delivery. The guy with the conspiracy theory was right. Now that he thought about it, maybe Manny’s co-host wasn’t that far off, either. Because bombs were going off every hour on the hour, there
had
to be a connection. Those government agencies the radio hosts were discussing had the people and the means to make that connection. He didn’t want martial law and would hate to see the U.S. shut down airports and such, but he, like probably everyone else, wanted answers. Starting with what the government was doing to put an end to the bombings? And who in the hell was behind it?
 

*

Norfolk, Virginia

1:07 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time

Harrison stared at the back of Honey Badger’s head and pictured what a bullet in the middle of his skull would look like.
 

Messy. Gory.
 

Satisfying.

He looked away and glanced down at the open laptop. The codes on the screen…hell, the whole damned system mocked him. He could hack into just about anything he’d tried. Although self-taught, he could probably teach kids coming out of college with a Computer Science degree a thing or two. But he couldn’t touch
this
laptop without permission. The irony was just too much. The laptop would give him access to the outside. His fingers itched to stroke the keyboard, to inform the world that the crazy badger behind the bombings was none other than billionaire business owner, Christian Hunnicutt. And no one would believe him. They especially wouldn’t believe that Hunnicutt killed innocent people to send a woman a message.

He closed the laptop and caught a smear of dried blood he must have missed when he’d washed his hands earlier. Mickey’s blood. His stomach churned with revulsion. No matter how long he lived—and he doubted it wouldn’t be until he was old and grey—he’d never forget taking a knife to his twin. Carving into his flesh. The blood. Mickey’s cries.

Harrison scrubbed a hand down his face and looked at Hunnicutt’s back again. When he’d been in the middle of slicing his brother and Ric’s cell phone had rung, the deranged dickhead could have told him to stop. But he hadn’t. Even when he knew the woman had received his message, he’d had Santiago keep a gun to Harrison’s head and had forced him to continue cutting Mickey.
 

Fucking bastard.
 

He’d never met anyone like Hunnicutt and hoped to God it stayed that way. The man didn’t care who he hurt. He also didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself and his agenda.
 

Rose Wood
.

Harrison didn’t know anything about the woman, but if she was smart, she’d stay away. The image of the crudely carved letters on Mickey’s stomach ran front and center in his mind. Then again, maybe the woman didn’t have a choice. With a gun to his head, he’d sent the signal to each detonator and had caused death and destruction across the country. At this point, he didn’t care about his life or even Mickey’s. Whether by Hunnicutt’s orders or a federal judge’s, they were going to die either way. What he cared about was finding a way to make sure Hunnicutt didn’t get away with murder. Otherwise, he’d rather have Santiago slit his throat and put him out of his misery. Only now he had someone else to worry about.

Rose Wood had served as Honey Badger’s catalyst. He’d used her name to incite every explosion, and she’d connected the dots and received Hunnicutt’s messages. Harrison might have pulled the trigger, but
she
was the reason why people were dead and dying. The guilt—he couldn’t worry about her guilt, he had enough of his own.
 

“Ric,” Hunnicutt said, turning away from the TV. “Pull out your cell phone and Google Hazel Wood. I’m rather surprised her name wasn’t mentioned on the news.”

Now that he knew the connection between the bombings, and morbidly curious as to how she fit into the Delta Rose riverboat explosion, Harrison asked, “Who’s Hazel Wood?”

Hunnicutt flashed his teeth with a self-assured smile. “She’s a banjo player well known for her country and bluegrass music. Decades ago, she and her former band won a Grammy. Best album, I believe.”

“Got it,” Ric said, scanning the small cell phone screen. “This isn’t good. Her performance on the Delta Rose was cancelled yesterday and replaced by a country trio. Apparently Hazel Wood is currently in the hospital recovering from an emergency appendectomy.”

Hunnicutt narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Harrison tensed and prepared for the worst. But, as if someone had flipped a switch in the badger’s brain, Hunnicutt relaxed and grinned. “I have to admit, this makes me look more ingenious than I already am. The Feds will be spinning their wheels trying to figure out where the Delta Rose ties in and, quite possibly, begin coming up with a new connection.”

“Especially with the next explosion,” Ric added.

Hunnicutt snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” He stepped over to the throne chair and sat at the edge. “This is good. Once Rose arrives, there will be no need to continue with the bombings.” He shrugged and leaned back. “We can leave and pretend none of this ever happened.”