Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(75)

“So then the question becomes,” Ozzie mused, “what was Billingsworth investigating that made this Rwanda Don character, or whoever Don works for, so nervous that they’d turn their backs on everything The Project had previously stood for—deleting high-class criminals—and go after an innocent man?”

“My information says Billingsworth was investigating the candidates for the upcoming election,” Boss said.

“So you think his murder was politically motivated?” Ozzie posited. “You think he found something on one of the candidates, and whoever was running The Project from within the CIA commanded this Rwanda Don person to take Billingsworth out? And then when Rock got nosy they decided to take him out, too?”

“I’d say that’s a good possibility,” Boss said, and Rock couldn’t help but agree. That was the avenue he’d been trying to investigate on his own, but he’d run out of leads weeks ago…

For a long moment no one said a word, all of them digesting the ramifications of everything that’d been discussed. Then, once again, Eve broke the silence, quietly asking, “If you don’t know who Rwanda Don is, then how did you get the tapes of your interrogations back into his hands?”

And out of all the questions posed today, this was the easiest one to answer. “Before each mission, I’d receive a phone call where Rwanda Don, always with that disguised voice, would give me the address and number of either a PO box or a train station locker or some such thing. I’d go there, pick up one of the files, and then it was up to me to secure the confession. After doing so, I’d drop the confession tape back at the spot where I picked up the files and redial the phone number—which was different every time, by the way. After two rings, I’d hang up, and my part was over.”

“So you can’t find this Rwanda Don that way,” Eve mused, her smooth brow beetled.

And that was the whole problem. As far as Rock could figure, there was no way to find Rwanda Don.

“I say we look harder at everyone Billingsworth was investigating,” Ozzie said, frowning in consideration. “That seems to be the key.”

“Agreed,” Steady nodded. “And, Rock, if you could get me the locations of those train station lockers, and anything else you can remember, I can start making calls to see if we can find whoever rented them. Can anyone think of anything else we could try?” he asked the group.

There was silence while everyone considered options, but after a couple of minutes, when no one offered more ideas, Boss slapped a hand down on the conference table. It was his standard signal the sit-rep had come to an end. “Well,” he boomed, “I’d say we’ve got a couple of good threads to pull. So let’s start yanking and see what unwinds.”

As the Knights pushed up from the conference table, each intent on helping him get clear of this whole, sordid mess, Rock couldn’t help but shake his head in wonder. He may’ve lost his parents and Lacy down in Louisiana, but the Black Knights were his family as surely as if they’d shared a womb together, bonded not by the blood running through their veins, but by the blood they’d spilled together in the field.

When he pushed up from his chair, there was a hard lump of affection and gratitude throbbing in his throat.





Chapter Twenty


Vanessa lifted the pillow she’d thrown over her head and glanced at the glowing red numbers on her digital alarm clock.

Oh-two-hundred.

And Rock had yet to stumble up to bed. She knew this because for the last three-plus hours she’d been listening for the telltale clank-clop of his cowboy boots on the metal stairs. But if she’d counted pairs of footsteps right, everyone except for Rock—and Ozzie—had hit the hay long ago, gone to get a little shut-eye after one hellaciously frustrating day. Between the lot of them, they’d been unable to help Rock come any closer to clearing his name. So, the plan was to tackle the problem again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.

But, first, Vanessa had something to settle with Rock. Tonight. If the uncooperative sonofagun would just come up and go to his room and—

The sound of footsteps stopped her mid-thought, and she cocked an ear.

Nope. That wasn’t Rock. That soft plodding sounded like Ozzie’s Vox sneakers, not the hard wooden heels of cowboy boots. Still, Ozzie might have news…

Vaulting from the bed, she padded barefoot across the room before throwing open the door and catching Ozzie just as he was about to stroll past. A startled hand jumped to the Springfield Armory XD-45 he always had strapped to his side, but as soon as he saw her, he relaxed and leaned a hand against the doorjamb, one blond brow winged up his forehead.

“Well, finally,” he grinned. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses and invite me into your bedroom for—”

She rolled her eyes and shoved a finger over his mouth. “Can it,” she said, shaking her head. Ozzie hit on everything with two legs. He absolutely personified the term man-whore.

“What did you find out about the folks Billingsworth was investigating?” she asked impatiently. Since they’d hit a brick wall concerning Rock’s pick-up and drop-off locations—apparently whoever rented the lockers and such had paid in cash and used an alias, go figure—Ozzie’d been trying to found out everything he could about Billingsworth’s investigation. It was now their only hope.