No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(13)
His eyes stayed on her for a beat, then he stood and nodded at the bearded man. He came over and untied her feet, then raised her up. Nick started thrashing, getting nowhere with his feet tied at the ankles and his hands behind his back.
He shouted, “Don’t do it! Leave her alone. I’m warning you. Don’t.”
Seamus slammed a boot into his stomach and said, “Shut the f*ck up. If you’d told someone you were going out with her, we would have waited. Blame yourself.”
Kylie was halfway up the stairs, her legs barely moving, the bearded man dragging her steadily upward. Seamus turned to go and Nick shouted, “She’s my fiancée! She flew in to surprise me. I didn’t know she was coming. Don’t kill her because of that.”
Seamus turned back. “Your fiancée?”
He nodded furiously. “Yes. My mother and father love her like me. Even more than me. She was staying with them last week and set up this surprise.”
“Then why were you f*cking her in the backseat of a car?”
Nick paused, then said, “Girls aren’t allowed in the barracks.”
“You never heard of a hotel?”
“Look, I don’t know. We were just . . . overcome, I guess.”
Seamus shouted up the stairs. “Hold it.”
Kylie sagged to a step, still weeping. Seamus marched up to her, cupped her chin, and raised her head. “Is this true?”
Lost in her own despair, Kylie hadn’t heard the conversation. She said nothing, almost catatonic. He squeezed her chin and repeated, “Is it true?”
“What? Is what true?”
“Are you his fiancée?”
She looked down the stairs and saw Nick staring at her intently. He faintly nodded his head. She hesitatingly said, “Yes.”
Her mind struggled to keep up. To comprehend what Nick was doing. She saw Seamus considering her answer and prayed he didn’t ask any questions about Nick’s family. Nick had been extremely evasive whenever anything like that came up. Even secretive. She’d never pressed.
He leaned back and said, “We researched Nicholas for over six months, and you never surfaced. Why is that?”
From the floor, Nick said, “The Secret Service insisted we keep it quiet. She can’t be officially protected, and they saw her as a potential leverage point.”
Kylie thought, Secret Service?
Seamus smiled. “Well, they were right.” He nodded at the man holding her. “Take her back. We’ll see how the honorable Phillip Hannister deals with two missing he holds dear.”
As the man jerked her back down the stairs, the name swam around her head, seeking purchase. He kicked the back of her knee and forced her to the ground, flex-tying her feet again. As the darkness descended from the hood, her memory clicked, and she knew why they wanted Nick.
Phillip Hannister, the vice president of the United States.
DAY FIVE
The Hunt
9
Going through the metal detectors of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, I was a little disappointed in Kurt’s choice of meeting location. I always preferred hitting up a small pub—of which there were plenty in DC—but for some reason, Kurt had decided that the McDonald’s attached to the museum was the way to go. Considering it was ten in the morning, I guessed that was okay.
On the civilian side, Kurt was ostensibly the president of Blaisdell Consulting. On the military side he was a PowerPoint Ranger staff officer working at the Special Operations Division of the Joint Staff in the Pentagon. The multiple personalities would have given me schizophrenia. For security reasons, because of the myriad different cutouts and cover companies tangentially associated with the front known as Blaisdell Consulting, Jennifer and I never went to the physical building next to Arlington Cemetery in Clarendon. Any time we needed a face-to-face with our command, we did it off-site. And this situation was definitely one for a face-to-face, especially given the strange instructions Kurt had relayed on the phone call yesterday.
Based on Knuckles’s recommendation, I’d patiently let the letter sit on my desk for the better part of two long days. Well, patiently was a polite way of putting it. I’d paced around and read it so many times that Jennifer had asked if I’d worn out the words. I’d finally figured that a day and a half was long enough and picked up the phone to call Kurt. Jennifer had stopped me, saying I’d promised her to let it sit for two full days. I’d started to argue, then my cell had rung. Strangely enough, it was Kurt.
Stranger still, he didn’t want to talk on the phone. He’d told me to pack clothes for a week and to fly to DC. To which I’d responded, “Is the Taskforce going to reimburse me for the airfare? If not, you can fly your ass down here.”
He’d said, “I’ll pay you back. Both you and Jennifer.”
Not the Taskforce will pay you back or Blaisdell Consulting will reimburse you, but I’ll pay you back. And he wanted Jennifer to come as well, with enough clothes for a week. Strange indeed.
We wound our way through the displays, moving around the simulated moon landing outside of the interior entrance to the food court. Through the glass I saw Kurt in the corner, sipping a cup of coffee. Dressed like a businessman, he glanced my way and nodded. Jennifer broke to the counter to get her own cup and I went straight to him. He stood up and shook my hand, saying, “I know you have questions. Let me talk first.”