Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(86)
Silence reigned over the courtyard, the steady drip of one of the clogged gutters on an outbuilding the only thing to be heard. Then, the silence was broken by Dunn shaking his head and whispering, “No. No that’s not true. I killed those other men. But I murdered Billingsworth.”
And the act obviously haunted him. Those other nine had been monsters. Dunn had probably convinced himself that what he was doing was, maybe not right, but perhaps necessary. But Billingsworth? Billingsworth had been an innocent.
And that made his death a horror…
She’d worked her entire adult life with men who made a living by getting blood on their hands. And if there’s one thing she’d learned about them, it was this: they could live with the killing, as long as it was just and justifiable. But if it wasn’t? Well, then they tended to have serious problems. Because the same inner strength that made them so honorable and dependable also had the tendency to make them incredibly tough on themselves and incredibly unforgiving of what they perceived as a personal failure, particularly if that failure came at the cost of an innocent life.
“Why are you here telling us this?” Boss asked.
“Because I couldn’t live with the knowledge that you, Babineaux’s friends, his coworkers, might actually think he was responsible for what happened when, in fact, it was me.”
“So why not come clean to the powers that be?” Becky said from her seat beside Boss. “Why not come forward and clear Rock’s name?”
Yeah? Why not? If you’re feeling so guilty about—
“What powers that be?” Dunn lifted his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who I was working for over at the CIA.” Okay, so same ol’, same ol’. This Rwanda Don character was a frickin’ ghost. Unfortunately. “I don’t know who the hell to contact, because I don’t know who the hell would listen to me. And I won’t know who will listen to me until I find Rwanda Don.”
Vanessa wanted to say, good luck with that.
Because between Boss’s contacts in the intelligence community and Ozzie’s crazy ability to crack any computer system and code, the Knights almost always got their man when they went looking for him.
But so far in the hunt for Rwanda Don? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
“I will find him,” Dunn declared vehemently. “And when I do I’m going to ask him why he…” Again he seemed to need a moment to compose himself. “Why he turned me into an instrument of murder and mayhem when that’s exactly the kind of men we swore to obliterate.” Dunn glanced around the group, meeting each set of Knights’ eyes square-on. “But I swear to you, after I find Rwanda Don, after I have proof of The Project, proof that I’m not just some lunatic off the street, I will clear Babineaux’s name.”
Boss glanced over at Ozzie. “His story check out?”
Ozzie was staring at his computer screen. “All the stuff about the FBI, the case, and his family is public record.”
Boss nodded, glancing toward the window Rock was concealed behind before looking over at Ghost. A quick dip of his chin, and the Knights’ acting sniper pushed up from his chair to stroll silently—it was eerie how quiet the guy was—toward the retractable awning the Knights usually kept rolled against the back of the shop wall. With the push of a button, the huge awning began to unfurl. At the halfway point, when it reached as far at its mechanical arms could stretch, it stopped. Ghost and Steady unraveled the rest of the tough, waterproof material, pulling it tight and securing the corners to permanent posts located at the far end of the courtyard. The result? A vinyl roof covering the entire area, protecting those in the courtyard from any prying eyes that might be in the surrounding buildings.
Then, the back door opened, and there was Rock. Looking big and strong in his faded Levi’s, Pearl Jam T-shirt, and sweat-stained John Deer ball cap. Looking much more like a good ol’ boy and much less like a hardened operator. Looking like the man who’d rocked her world last night, the man who’d stolen her heart.
And the expression on his face was indescribable. There was hope and concern and wariness. But above all else, there was pity. Because as much as he bore the burden of what had happened to Billingsworth, Dunn shouldered it more than a hundred-fold.
What a nightmare.
And Vanessa wanted to personally strangle whoever the hell this Rwanda Don person was for taking these honorable, dedicated, patriotic men and turning them into something less than what they wanted to be. Something less than what they’d signed on to be.
Rock’s alligator cowboy boots clacked against the slate, and Dunn glanced over his shoulder, then jumped up like his pants were on fire. “Jesus! You’re alive!” he exclaimed.
“It would appear so, mon ami,” Rock replied in that low, smooth drawl, and Dunn collapsed back into his seat. His legs folding beneath him.
“Oh my God!” the man breathed, shaking his head, staring at Rock in disbelief, his face completely draining of blood. “It’s you. You’re The Interrogator. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”
***
Rock grabbed the seat beside Dunn, looking into the man’s bloodless face, and, oui, that sensation he’d felt earlier was definitely recognition. Not that he’d ever laid eyes on the guy, because he was certain he had not. But, still, there was something familiar there. And more than likely, it was because Rock could identify with the aura of sorrow and loss and determination that seemed to cling to him like a shroud.