Author: Lisa Phillips
Category: Christian
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/lisa-phillips/page,15,563080-sanctuary_deceived_witsec_town_series_book_4.html
“Me, either,” Shadrach said. “Dauntless has nothing. I think they might have cleared out before we got here. If they were ever here.”
Bolton opened the next door. A single chair and four discarded zip-ties and the necklace. “I found something.”
He knelt and picked up one of the plastic ties. Cut, not broken. The necklace—their only way to find her—broken.
Shadrach raced in the door. “What is it?” His dog went straight to the chair, sniffed and sat down. He barked once. “Nadia was here.”
Bolton nodded. “Did they know we were coming?” He scanned the room, looking for something out of place. Dauntless watched him. It was unlike Dante to clear out of a place without leaving a nasty surprise for whoever found it.
“Found it.” The words came through his earpiece.
Bolton stood. “What is it, Ben?”
“Building’s wired to blow. We must have started the timer when we breached. Forty-five seconds left.”
“Time to go.” Shadrach called Dauntless and headed to the door.
Bolton turned back to the chair. She’d been here. Not long ago Nadia had been here in this building, tied to a chair. Had they questioned her? Dante could have just stuck around and waited for him if he’d wanted to know where Bolton was.
But he’d taken her, and gone someplace else.
“Let’s go!” Shadrach grabbed his arm and hauled him out. Bolton ran with him to the exit, seconds before the entire building exploded. The blast threw him into the air, and he landed with a thump on his back.
“Was that necessary?” Shadrach’s question reached Bolton’s ears as a muffled blur, but he read the man’s lips to fill in the gaps. Dauntless licked Shad’s face, and he pushed the dog away.
Dante wasn’t worried about “necessary.” He only wanted maximum damage, and the complete destruction of anyone or anything connected to him. Bolton had learned that the hard way, and it was the reason his back screamed the way it did just then.
“Ben? Shadrach? Bolton? Anyone?” Will’s voice penetrated the rush in his ears.
“We’re okay.”
Bolton looked around for the source of Ben’s voice. Leaned against the car, one foot crossed over the other, and his arms folded. Ben looked perturbed.
Bolton gritted his teeth and clambered to his feet. Ouch. He brushed off his pants and looked back at the smoldering wreckage of the building. Emergency services would be there soon and didn’t need to find the three of them.
This was all he needed. With no Dante and no more leads they’d never be able to find Nadia. Shadrach was probably right that she would be killed before they found her.
“Head back to the office,” Will said. “Got word of some chatter. I think Grant might be in danger.”
Chapter 14
Sanctuary
Gemma strode into the radio station. Her steps faltered. All bravado bled from her as she looked around. It smelled like him. Nearly three decades she’d lived in town with Hal Leonard, and only now that he was dead did she discover he was her father? She wanted to scream. To throw a tantrum like an unruly child at the unfairness of it all.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked the question of the empty foyer.
No answer. Like her mom had given her—nothing but a bunch of nothing. Thank you very much. Her mom had only cried harder, unintelligible words she couldn’t decipher. A great way to tell Gemma absolutely nothing. So Gemma had gone through her dresser to try and find some evidence that she was the child of Janice Freeman and Hal Leonard, and the reason why neither had ever told her that Hal was her father.
The radio station had been Hal’s whole life. He’d played only 60’s and 70’s rock, adamantly refusing to play anything else until people quit asking. She’d always wondered why that was, even while she admired his ability to stick to his guns.
Gemma walked the hall to the broadcast room. The desk of ancient equipment didn’t surprise her, though it looked like the set of a seventies space movie about the year two-thousand. No wonder he didn’t play any modern songs. His equipment probably didn’t recognize the first thing about a CD, let alone an MP3.
She turned in a circle. No one had played a song on the airwaves since Hal’s death. There were people in town who’d helped him broadcast when he needed a break from the job. So where were they, and why weren’t they playing Hal’s favorite tunes in his honor?
It was almost as though, without the music, no one knew the first thing about Hal. Which meant Gemma had nothing to go on if she wanted to find out who her dad had been.
She’d asked her mom and got nothing. She’d gone back and asked the sheriff, and he’d just given her back a passel of questions. How could she know whether she wanted to open the can of worms unless she knew what was in there? Gemma hadn’t written any new words on her novel-in-progress since the sheriff came to the library. There was no inspiration, only the burning desire to solve the mystery of who her father was.
Gemma rifled through the papers on the desk and looked in the drawers of the file cabinet. There wasn’t much besides a schedule of residents’ birthdays to announce on the radio and an old newscast script about a birth. That kid was five now.
Maybe Hal’s house would yield more results. But by all accounts he’d essentially lived here. She wasn’t sure she even knew where his house was.
Gemma branched out to looking under drawers and behind furniture, trying to remember every mystery novel she’d ever read—or written herself—and where the hidden thing had been discovered. Then she ran her hands along the wainscoting on the walls. Hidden safe or not, she felt pretty ridiculous. He’d been a simple man, an aging biker. He probably didn’t have anything hid—
The wall gave under her fingers. A section six inches tall and three inches wide and about hip height off the floor popped out like it was on a tiny hinge.
Inside was a handle.
Gemma pulled the handle and the section of wall in front of her popped out, opening a door in the middle of the wall.
She glanced inside.
“Of course there’s a secret room.”
**
Nadia Marie might not live that life anymore—not for a long time—but she remembered very clearly what a hangover felt like. It hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to try and figure out where she was…a motel room? A camera had been set up on a tripod in the corner of the room. Pointed at where she lay on the bed. Nadia looked down at herself.
She was dressed in a skimpy red nightgown.
So not good.
She shifted around on the bed and pushed away the fog of being unconscious and whatever they’d injected into her. Hands tied to the headboard rail. Nothing on the nightstand she could use to cut the ties. She barely remembered what happened between then and now as they’d stuck her with another needle.
What had Dante said? Give her to Earnest. Apparently this was what being given to Earnest meant.
Nadia scooted as close to the headboard as she could. Even as she prayed with all her might that what she suspected was definitely not going to happen, the rail snagged the ties. Nadia moved her fingers over…the point of a nail! She caught again and preceded to saw through the plastic. The nail lit across her wrist, but it couldn’t be helped. Nadia steeled herself against the pain.
If Shadrach could survive everything he’d been through as a Marine, being framed for the president’s assassination, being blown up in Sanctuary, boarding an aircraft in-flight and rescuing Remy from that crazy Navy SEAL, then she could get out of this room.
If her mom could fight back against Dante, and do it so well that he was forced to retreat, then Nadia could get out of this room.
If her best friend Andra could give up a life as an assassin and marry the most straight-laced person either of them had ever met, Nadia could get out of this—
The door opened.
“Well, well, well.”
Nadia flicked her gaze to “Earnest.” Twenties, white. Stringy hair and the body S
hadrach had before he’d filled out.
Warm liquid ran down the inside of her forearm, but she ignored it and the considerable sting and kept sawing at the plastic.
Eliminate the disadvantages, or use them to your advantage.
There were so many disadvantages to her current situation that she barely knew where to begin. Nadia flicked her hair back with a shake of her head and lifted her chin. “I guess you’re Earnest.”
“Dante said you’d earn well. He didn’t say you were famous.”
“You don’t look old enough to know who I am.”
He flashed a mouth of yellowed teeth. “Age doesn’t matter when you have the internet.” Nadia could see the outline of a cell phone in the front pocket of his pants.
He had a phone.
“Guess you’re ready to get started.”
Nadia shifted so he could see the blood on her arm. “Actually, I seem to be having a problem.” If she pulled hard enough on the ties, would they snap? Lord, help me. This couldn’t be His plan. That was supposed to be hope and a future. Right? All of which seemed very distant right then, when she was caught in this spider’s web with no way out. Her foolish attempt at helping Bolton fix his problem was over if this didn’t work.
He cried out in frustration. “Are you kidding me? You’re supposed to be in good condition!”
He didn’t come close enough. No, he went to the bathroom instead. Nadia pulled at the ties as hard as she could, praying they would snap. Three seconds later he came back into view, and she was forced to relax. He put the towel around her wrist and squeezed.
Nadia hissed. “This isn’t going to work. You can’t even see what you’re doing.”
He groaned and reached behind him to produce clippers. Nadia bent her legs under her as far as she could.
The ties were cut.
Nadia launched from the bed. She wrapped her legs around him and punched. Sure, she could have offered him money to let her go. But where was the satisfaction in that?
He swung the clippers around and slammed them into her upper arm. Nadia cried out and punched again with her other hand. He pulled the clippers free. She wasn’t going down like this. Nadia grabbed them and slammed the pointy end into his nose. Two more hits and he was not only dazed, but unconscious.
Nadia shifted down his body and pulled out his phone. She dialed Shadrach’s number and pressed Call.
A gun cocked. The phone slipped from her bloody fingers and dropped on the floor.
Nadia lifted her head and saw a suited man stood in front of her, pointing a painful and messy death in her face.
“Let me guess,” the man spoke in slow, measured words. “He indicated he was Earnest.”
“I think you need better help.”
“Sadly, hard to come by. Unless you’re offering. I have a feeling you’d be a worthy addition to my team.”
Nadia would have liked to vomit on the floor, but that would be unladylike. “So what now?”
Two men appeared at the door.
“I had hoped to do this here, but it looks like new accommodations are in order.” He lowered the gun and lifted his elbow, indicating she should take it. “Shall we?”
This was by no means a retreat on his part. One wrong step and she’d be shot by this guy, or one of his goons. All that training she’d done didn’t matter much unarmed against a bullet travelling more than a thousand miles per hour to hit her between the eyes.
This was not a man you tried to deal with.
“Nadia Marie Carleigh, I presume.”
Please, God, let that call have gone through.
Nadia looked around for the wash cloth and picked it up. “I certainly am.” She said it as though him thinking otherwise would be an affront.
The phone lay on the floor but face down so she couldn’t see if it had connected. Help. eHElpShe held the washcloth over the wound on her arm and couldn’t hold back the wince.
“Excellent. I think I’m going to enjoy this, though our acquaintance will be shorter than I’d have liked.”
Nadia dredged up something of the young woman she had been and shrugged, determined to play the part and survive until help came. “Whatever, just so long as I get paid.”
“Let’s talk terms in the car.”
She had to go with him, to take his arm and leave the phone on the floor, not knowing if she’d managed to call her brother, if help was coming. And now it would come to a place she had been. Not the place where she was.
**
Shadrach gave Dauntless the command to stay and shut the car door. Earnest. He’d heard enough on the call to know what she was up against but not enough to be able to find her.
He readied both guns and walked into the restaurant, one in each hand in plain view. Decorated in gold accents and bold red carpet, it smelled like funky sausage. Shadrach shot the bartender before he could draw that weapon—likely a shotgun—from under the bar. A busty waitress screamed and scurried out of sight. Two goons drew on him. Shadrach shot their kneecaps then held aim on them to make sure they weren’t going to fire back at him.
Lazlo Silver pulled the napkin from his collar and stood. Wiped his hands. He discarded the cloth on the table and eyed Shadrach like this was just another day at the office. The Russian boss was built like a boxer, and his biceps bulged from his tailored silk shirt, with short sleeves that showcased his tattoos. His hair was shaved, and his eyes were so dark brown they looked black, as though the stains on his soul couldn’t be contained.
“And who are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Shadrach said. “I have one question. You answer it, I leave.”
Humor flashed in Lazlo’s eyes. “Tell me now why I shouldn’t simply kill you.”
“Do that, and word is spread that you’re drafting plans to make a power play against Earnest.”
Lazlo stilled. “What do you want to know?”
“Where to find him.”
Lazlo shook his head. “You want to make the short trip to hell, who am I to stop you? It’s not like you’ll be around to attend your own funeral. Earnest will, however. The last person who crossed him was blown up one more time, after his death. In his own casket. Killed every person in attendance just to send a message.”
“Let me worry about my funeral. Just tell me where to find him.”
“Whatever reason you have, let it go. I don’t like you” —his goons were on the floor, each clutching a shot-out kneecap and moaning— “but I consider it professional courtesy to warn you this is pointless.”
“You’re that scared of him?”
“In some circles,” Lazlo said, “simply to speak his name is death.”
He hadn’t sounded all that scary on the phone. Nadia had done good, getting them the man’s name. The call had been long enough to trace the motel room where she’d been. Even if it had been too late, it was still a lead. One they were all going to push to its limit until they knew how to get Nadia back.
Shadrach lifted both weapons from the goons, to Lazlo himself. An action that typically brought about a death of its own. Or so the newspaper reports led people to believe. “Where can I find him?”
Lazlo blew out a breath and shook his head. “Foolishness begets foolishness. And I will not cross that man. Not for you.”
**
Ben clicked the locks on his vehicle and pocketed the keys. This stretch of Chinatown was quiet, and home to a restaurant Ben had wanted to try for a while but felt the need to steer clear of. At least until tonight.
The hostess was a tiny, older lady in a silk print dress and her gray hair in a bun.
Ben said, “I’m meeting someone,” in Mandarin and kept walking. While she sputtered behind him, Ben strode through the sea of tables toward the door at the back. There was nothing remarkable about the restaurant, but the wontons were to die for—or so he’d heard—so they did a steady business. It smelled really good, and his stomach rumbled. Maybe he could pick up an order to go on his way out.
The door at the back of the room said Private. Ben ignored the stares from people enjoying their fried rice and turned the handle. It was locked from the inside. He drew his Sig and gave the door a swift kick.
The hostess screamed. The sound rose as she ran across the room toward him. Ben pushed the door closed and heard the bang as she slammed into the door, and her scream cut off. Dim hallway, four doors to choose from, but the layout matched the building plans Remy had dug up online.
Halfway down the hall a man emerged from the room at the end.
Ben shot him.
Another man stepped over his body, but Ben shot that guy so that he landed beside his associate.
Ben strode to the room. Four automatic weapons pointed at him, held by suited Chinese men. The old man behind the desk didn’t stand, he simply lifted his eyebrows as he studied the man who had just walked into his restaurant and shot his men. “Before I kill you, I confess I wish to know what you want.”
Ben nodded. He answered in Mandarin, “Some assistance for the man who got George Seng Mei out of Taiwan.”
Two of the men with weapons flinched. There was an intake of breath from one. The old Chinese man simply stared harder. “That was you?”
“It was.”
“Then I appear to owe you a debt. One that covers the death of my men.”
Ben lifted his gun and held it sideways. “Tranquilizers.” He said it in English because he didn’t know the Mandarin word.
One of the guns turned his head to the old man and said one word.
The old man nodded.
Ben switched back to Mandarin, “Where can I find Earnest?”
The old man started to shake then laughter spilled from his mouth in a cackle. “You want—” He laughed harder. “Whoever she is, or whatever this is for, it is not worth the mess you will find yourself in when you kick that hornet’s nest.”
“Nevertheless.”