Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series) (43 page)

“Mmm, thorny suckers.” He kicked the pump and the numbers flipped a bit faster. “If you stick around, you can catch the crawfish festival later this month. Good eatin’, good music, but I recommend taking a flask. Beer ain’t cheap.”

Christ, why the hell hadn’t he stopped for gas earlier? He stared at the numbers on the pump, wishing they’d roll by faster. It had taken him seven hours to reach this point. Add on another forty-five minutes, plus the time it would take to kill Rose, he figured he could be back on the road by late afternoon. Since he shouldn’t have left Norfolk, he would need to drive the almost eight hours back to his estate tonight.
 

During the early hours of Tuesday morning, after he’d finally finished speaking with those idiot FBI agents, and Martin had subsequently released him due to lack of evidence, Agent Suts had dropped him off at his plantation estate. Christian had then spent the remainder of the day locked in his bedroom suite. Other than having the small kitchenette fully stocked, he’d ordered his servants not to disturb him. As he’d sat in his room, a room he’d planned to share with Rose while his bitch wife and kids were in New York, he planned his next move.
 

Martin had assured him his name would not be leaked to the press. Years of friendship, told him he could trust the Director of the FBI. As added insurance, he’d still made a few calls. The Vice President had plans to run for president in the next election, and was rather fond of Christian’s campaign donations. Christian had also been in contact with his secretary and PR people. They were to handle BH-Xpress’s stance on the bombings, and were to make sure that the financial aid he’d promised to the bombing victims started immediately.
 

He continued to watch the slow rolling numbers on the rusty gas pump. Rose had cost him a lot of money. When he considered how much he’d spent on investigators over the years, the C-4 Ric had purchased for the bombings, his eighty-six million dollar plane and now the fucking financial aid—she owed him. Plus, he’d lost a COO and his two best bodyguards.
 

He leaned against the silver Focus and considered Vlad and Harrison. As much as he’d love to find and kill them, they would have to wait. Martin might not leak his name to the press, but that didn’t mean the director wouldn’t have his people watching him. Thanks to his state of the art security system, he knew they weren’t—yet. Still, it would behoove him to maintain caution. In time though, Vlad and Harrison would pay.
 

The pump finally dinged. “That’ll do it.” The man moved the nozzle away from the car. “You sure you don’t want me to—whoa,” he shouted, and pulled a small hatchet from his back pocket.

Christian stepped back and raised his hands.
 

“Don’t move unless you want to get hurt.”

What the hell? If he was going to die, his executioner wouldn’t be a hatchet wielding redneck. Lowering his hands, he prepared to use the gun he kept clipped to the back of his belt.
 

“She’s a beaut,” the man said, scratching his beard and staring at the ground.
 

Christian followed the man’s gaze, then jumped to the side when he saw the snake. “Is that thing poisonous?”
 

“Yep,” he said, holding the hatchet steady. “Won’t kill ya or anything, but it’ll hurt like a son of a bitch. Been finding a bunch of them lately. I gotta get into those woods next to the station and find their nests. One of these little bastards killed my cat and that pisses me—” He whacked the blade against the asphalt. “Gotcha.”

Christian watched in fascination as the decapitated snake’s body squirmed and its mouth still moved.
 

The man wiped the blade along his coveralls, then spat. “When I was in Nam, I had a platoon leader, Cap’n Dumbass we called him.” Still watching the snake, the old man chuckled. “Cap’n Dumbass used to tell us how we gotta cut off the head of the snake. Once done, the bodies, meaning Viet Cong, would flounder around and eventually die. That dipshit never cut off a snake’s head. See how its mouth is still snappin’?”

“How long before it stops?” Christian asked, thinking how ironic this conversation truly was. He’d anticipated killing Rose, cutting off the snake’s head, so to speak. Once she was gone, there wouldn’t be anyone left to accuse him of anything.

“I’ve seen some take a few hours.”

Christian shook his head and pulled the keys from his pocket. “So what’s the best way to kill a snake?”

“You pretty much just saw it,” the man said, tucking his hatchet back in place. Then he laughed. “Unless you got yourself a honey badger. Ever see that YouTube video. Funny stuff, right there. That damned badger took down a cobra and the venom didn’t even stop him.”

Fucking honey badger.
 

Christian let out a bark of laughter. Talk about true irony. Yes, he’d seen the stupid video. The moment he’d overheard his men calling him Honey Badger, he’d looked up the creature. While he thought the video mildly amusing, what he’d read about the animal had intrigued him. Although he considered himself more of a lion than a small, vicious weasel, even a lion couldn’t necessarily stand up to the honey badger. And right now his lion, or rather his cobra consisted of Rose and some small time, private dick agency.
 

“You sure about that windshield?”

“I’m good,” he said, opening the car door. He glanced down at the still moving decapitated snake. “I need to be back on the road.”

“Happy hunting.” The old man chuckled. “And flower watchin’.”

Christian smiled. “I do love roses.”

*

Harrison’s eyes burned and watered as he stared at the closed laptop. Thanks to Vlad’s damned chain smoking, a hazy fog hung in the Rainbow Lodge’s small, shitty room, reminding him of the week they’d spent planting the bombs. Only now they were in Woodbine, Georgia, trying to figure out a way to disarm the bombs without being caught. “Why do I feel like we’ve come full circle?”

“What is this circle Harry says?” Vlad asked and blew smoke rings.

“We started this in a crappy motel and are now planning to end it in another one.”

“Harry plan to end it. Vlad is…on rail. We should never have come and go straight to Florida, like Harry say.”
 

Four years ago, the Norfolk PD had arrested him and Mickey for robbing a bank, and while they’d recovered most of the stolen money, the police hadn’t realized Harrison had set up an account in Titusville, Florida. Neither had Mickey. If his twin had had a clue, the money would have been carelessly squandered. Prior to their arrest, Harrison had created fake IDs for him and Mickey. They had social security numbers, Florida driver’s licenses, along with a bank account.

After collecting interest for the past four years, he had over one hundred grand waiting for him, along with his and Mickey’s bogus IDs in a safe deposit box at the same bank. Vlad could easily assume Mickey’s fake ID. The driver’s license photo would be a problem, but at least Vlad would have a new name and they’d both have an opportunity to hide in plain sight.
 

“Rail?” Harrison asked, trying to keep up with the Russian’s use of the English language.

“Vlad not interested in Harry’s plan with woman. Big mistake. But,” he said with a sigh and snuffed the cigarette in an ashtray. “Three last bombs must be found.” He shrugged. “So, Vlad on rail.”

Vlad needed to learn his idioms. “You mean on the
fence
.”

“Fence, rail, no point in making mincemeat out of Vlad’s words. I grow tired of being corrected. Beside, Harry understood.”

Mincemeat? Man, did Vlad need some serious schooling. Based on how the Russian kept teetering on him, he’d let this one slide. He didn’t necessarily need Vlad on his side, but at this point, Vlad was all he had. He’d lost his brother, his twin, his best and only true friend. He couldn’t count on his mom. Hell, anymore, he didn’t even know where she lived. He’d never met his dad and had no clue if the man was dead or alive. With no family to speak of, no friends to count on, he was left with the one person who actually acted as if he gave a shit about him.

A six foot six, two hundred and forty pound, former heavy weight boxer who referred to himself in third person, smoked like a frickin’ chimney and couldn’t quite master the English language. What a pair they made.

“Look,” Harrison began, “you need to get off your
rail
and trust me on this. We go to the woman, give her the laptop, tell her what we know and then leave for Florida. Simple and easy.”

“No.” Vlad took out a fresh pack of cigarettes and smacked it against his palm. “Not easy as fucking pie. What if she calls FBI?”

“We’ll be long gone.”

“Bullshit. We might go, but Feds will know the state we are in and put APP on our asses.”

“APB,” Harrison said under his breath.
 

“What? Speak loud.” The Russian pushed off the wall. “Do you correct Vlad again?”

“You know what? I did.” Harrison stood. Between bonding over stories about their past and a heart-to-heart over their time at the warehouse, all of which involved too much vodka, he knew in his gut the Russian wouldn’t do anything to him. “It’s APB, which stands for All Points Bulletin.”

“That what Vlad said.”

“No, you said, APP. Depending on the right situation, if you threw that out there people might think you have to
take
a pee-pee.”
 

“You know what Vlad think? Vlad think we should part way.”

Harrison’s stomach seized. The only time he’d been on his own and without someone he could trust was during his two years in prison. And he did trust Vlad. The Russian could have left him behind, but he hadn’t. And when it came to Mickey, Vlad had showed extreme remorse. “Remember yesterday and what I told you about Mickey?”
 

Nodding, Vlad took a drag off his cigarette. “I told you the mouse reminded me of my brother, Erik.” Grief filled his eyes and he released sigh. “It why Vlad didn’t like Mickey. Like Erik he could have done more with life.”

Monday night, while doing shots and arguing about what to do with the laptop, they’d discussed Mickey at great length. Because they were on the run and Harrison knew he wouldn’t have the opportunity to bury his twin without being apprehended by the FBI, with the help of a fifth of vodka he’d done his own version of a eulogy. After he’d finished highlighting all of Mickey’s highs and lows, Vlad had told him about his brother, Erik. Erik had been born ten months after Vlad and they’d been tight—as tight as twins—from the stories Vlad had told. Only Erik had gone in a different direction and was now buried in the family cemetery.

“I’m sorry if I keep correcting you, but that’s a shitty excuse to walk away from doing the
right
thing.” He drew in a deep breath. “I get why you stayed with Hunnicutt. You had no choice.” Harrison honestly believed this. Vlad was more of an indentured servant than hired help. Hunnicutt had used the Russian and had threatened him and his family. “If you’d rather we go our separate ways, then fine. As for me? I’m going to see this through. If I end up caught, then at least I did the right thing.” He looked away. “It might not keep me from burning in hell, but at least it’ll be off my conscience.”

“Right thing put Harry on row of death.” Harrison looked at Vlad, who chuckled. “Kidding. Vlad know it Death Row. Vlad also know it where Harry heads. But…” He took a long drag off the cigarette. “We do this. Vlad and Harry, we do this. Then go look at pretty women in bikinis.”

Relieved, Harrison grinned. “Awesome. Okay, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave. I’ll wipe the computer clean of my prints and put it in that plastic grocery bag I saved. Then we’ll stakeout Rose’s house again.” They’d gone there last night, but she hadn’t arrived yet. When they’d tried again today, they saw her walking inside with a man. “I don’t know anything about that guy she’s with—”

“Vlad been thinking.”

“About?” he asked, using the motel’s thin bath towel to clean the laptop.

“He not FBI like Harry first thought.”

“Then who the hell is he?”

The Russian shrugged. “Vlad think he and other man, one who chased us from warehouse, are together. Think, Harry. That guy chase Vlad and Harry
before
FBI shows.”

“
They
caught the signal sent from the BH-Xpress’s server, not the Feds.” He scratched at the three day old beard stubble along his jaw. “Could be another government agency.”

“CIA?”

“The bombings were domestic, but maybe ATF? I guess it doesn’t matter. What does is making sure we get to Rose when he’s not around. I’m not interested in finding out who he works for, I just want to make the drop and get the hell out of here.”

 
Harrison looked at Vlad’s white-blond hair. “Before we go, I’m wondering what you’d look like if we changed your hair color.”
 

“Vlad wonder what Harry look like with missing front tooth.”

Harrison shook his head and smiled. “No need to threaten me. All you had to do was say no.”

“No.”

“Well, if we’re not already, I guarantee we’ll be on the FBI’s most wanted list soon. It’s not like you blend in.”

“No dark hair.” Vlad ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Unless Harry shave head bald.”