Behind the Lies (Montgomery Justice #2)(81)

She groaned, then blinked, but she still couldn’t see anything.

The pain splitting her skull pounded incessantly where she’d been struck. She tried to move, but her hands had been secured behind her back. The metal cuffs bit into her skin.

A small, trembling body pressed against her back.

Sam. Oh, God, help them.

The vehicle took a hard left, fast. The movement slammed them against the cold metal.

A whimper sounded from behind her. She squirmed, desperate to touch Sam, but she couldn’t budge.

She felt for him and finally caught his little hand in hers. His wrists were bound with rope. He wiggled his hand against hers.

“Baby, are you hurt?” Her husky words filtered through the black.

“No. Scared,” he mumbled, as if something were stuffed into his mouth.

The vehicle jerked, slamming Jenna into the ceiling of their prison. They were moving slower now, and bouncing like they’d turned onto a back road.

Brad. It had to be. But why treat them this way? She’d promised him she would bring the evidence. And why hurt Sam? She couldn’t believe he’d be this cruel to their son.

The rumbling of the car stopped. Jenna tensed.

The trunk opened.

A bright light pierced the darkness, blinding her. She blinked, but she couldn’t see the figure behind the beam.

“Brad?” she choked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Silence,” a voice said.

Not Brad’s voice. A voice with an accent.

The man grabbed her arm and tugged Jenna from the trunk. She fell to the ground then turned her head to get a view of her attacker. A mask covered his face. He pulled her up by the handcuffs, nearly dislocating her shoulders. She stumbled to her feet. He slammed the trunk closed with her son still inside.

“Sam!” she screamed.

He backhanded her. “Shut up.”

He shoved her toward a small, boarded-up dwelling. No streetlights. Trees all around. She had no idea where she was. Or how far from Gabe’s house they’d traveled.

How would Zach find her?

The man opened the door. “Sit.”

He pointed to a lone chair in the middle of a small, sparse room. The fetid smell of trash and mold overwhelmed her. She didn’t want to walk inside. Her entire body trembled.

The dilapidated shack—and it was a shack—screamed at her not to enter. She swallowed, looking right, then left.

“Sit.”

He slugged her again and forced her inside. Pain shot through her cheek. She fell to the ground.

He kicked her in the belly. “Chair. Now.”

She curled up into a ball. He grabbed her hair and dragged her across the room. She cried out in pain.

“No one can hear you,” he said, “but scream again and I will cut out your tongue.”

He lifted her onto the chair and yanked her arms behind her. She couldn’t prevent the yelp, but bit down hard to stop the sound. He unlocked the handcuffs and threaded them through the back of the chair. He then attached each of her legs by the ankle to the wooden chair. When he’d finished, she couldn’t move anything except her head and a slight bend of her wrists.

He stood, his breathing harsh. “Do you know why you are here?” he asked, his accent thick but clearly Middle Eastern.

“Brad?” she whispered, her voice questioning.

“Zane Morgan,” he spat. “Or, should I say Zach Montgomery?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” he said, and trained the flashlight in her eyes. She could see nothing behind him, and then a large shadow shifted toward the door, a stick in his hand.

“You will understand an eye for an eye.”




Brad stared across the street at Sammy’s, the bar Gabe Montgomery had purchased using a fairly mundane dummy corporation.

It had been simple enough for Brad to triangulate Jenna’s cell signal to a tower not too far away. She had to be here.

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Damn it. He couldn’t avoid the call again.

“I feel as if we’re having the same conversation over and over again, Mr. Walters,” the annoying voice droned. “Garrison is still alive.”

Brad cursed under his breath. He didn’t need this. Not now. “He won’t be for long.”

“So you’ve promised. Another job has come up, and I’m out of time or I wouldn’t be giving you another opportunity to fail. And Mr. Walters. Your payment will be half the usual rate until you prove yourself to me again. Screw this up and I’ll see that your reputation is worthless.”

Brad gripped the phone. They both knew his identity had been compromised. His life as Brad Walters was over—what was his client playing at?

He had to maintain control to keep her guessing.

“Location?” he said, through gritted teeth.

“The outskirts of Denver, very near where you are. This job should make you feel like a patriot. An Afghani terrorist has infiltrated the country. He will be in Golden, Colorado, sometime in the next twenty-four hours.” The specific coordinates came through as a text. “I want you to kill him, but I need an identifiable body for the authorities. Do you understand? You may have to get up close and personal.”

Brad sat stunned, watching the light that showed the conversation successfully recording and logging the number. A government number that wasn’t blocked.