The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(59)

White kicked him in the chest, pushing the man away and creating enough distance to in turn deliver a strike with his baton. He missed the man’s wrist, instead landing a mighty blow to his hand. White followed immediately with an even more powerful second strike to the man’s leg. A loud snap echoed in the alleyway as the man fell to the ground, clutching his broken leg with his injured fingers.

The large man who’d fallen to his knees had already righted himself. He sprang at White from the pavement. White lurched forward and met him halfway, jabbing the butt of his baton into the man’s mouth, knocking out a few teeth in the process. The man fell to his side, howling in pain.

Before White could make another move, three of his initial pursuers all rushed him at the same time. White had just enough time to twist sideways when they rammed him. He fell onto his back, feeling the NSA cell phone slip from his pocket. White, pinned down by the combined weight of the three men, couldn’t move. One of them swung at his face and nailed White just above the left eye. Another drove his knee squarely into his groin. White let out a strangled gasp as the three men continued to pound him.

“Syop,” a frail voice said, just loud enough for White to hear. “Yoy wants him alive.”

White opened his eyes. It was the large man. His face was a mess. Blood poured from his mouth through the smashed lips and broken teeth. That was why his speech was so distorted. He didn’t look happy. With his left arm, the tall man wiped the blood from his chin and squatted next to White.

“Once Yoy’s none we you, you mine. You’ll pay fo’ that,” the man slurred. Then he spat a crimson shower into White’s face. “Lif’ him up,” the tall man ordered his men.

Someone punched White in the gut, driving all the oxygen out of his lungs. The three men lifted White to his feet and zip-tied his hands behind his back. The large man started walking toward the panel van but suddenly turned around, as if he had forgotten something. He stepped forward and delivered a sharp kick to White’s balls. Pain racked his entire body. Had the three men not supported him, White would have fallen to his knees.

Someone jabbed something sharp into White’s neck. For a moment, he thought he’d been stabbed. But when the pain went away and his vision started to dim, he knew he’d been drugged.

His last sensation was of being thrown into the back of the panel van. Then everything went black.





CHAPTER FORTY


Naval Air Station Fort Worth, Texas

Veronica had just finished eating a ham sandwich when she saw her dad’s three-car motorcade stop in front of the house. She washed her hands, placed the dirty dishes in the sink and the mayonnaise back in the fridge, and walked to the small foyer. She opened the door as her father stepped onto the porch.

“Hey,” she said, letting him in. She closed the door behind him.

He gave her a quick hug and squeezed her arm lightly. “How are you, Vonnie?”

“Better,” she said. And it was true. Her neck wasn’t getting worse and had actually regained some of its natural color. With a bit of makeup, she thought she looked pretty good for a girl who’d almost been choked to death three days ago.

Her two-hour talk with the base psychologist the day before had helped too. She hadn’t thought she needed to talk about her experience until she actually did, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit the psychologist had given her some kind of emotional and psychological relief. They had penned in another appointment for tomorrow, and Veronica intended to follow through since her father insisted she stay on base for at least another two or three days.

“You want something to drink?” she asked.

He shook his head. An unfamiliar look of concern creased his face. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of pressure he must be under. The attempt on her life had certainly added to his stress level. Inauguration day was only weeks away. And then the real work would begin for him. As far as she could remember, her father had always been a champion at compartmentalizing his professional duties from his family life, but what happened in San Francisco had certainly blurred the lines.

It had for her too. That’s why she wanted to clear the air between them.

They sat in the small living room, each taking a seat on a pale yellow sofa. She grabbed the TV remote and turned off the television, which had been set on a cable news channel.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” her dad said. “Did you talk to the FBI?”

“I did. They came twice. They were very nice. I spoke with the base shrink too.”

Her dad nodded. She heard his phone vibrate in his suit pocket. “Sorry,” he said, pulling it out. He scrolled down an unbelievable number of unread messages.

“How many of those do you get per day?” she asked, glad she wasn’t the one who needed to read them all.

“On bad days, hundreds,” he said. Then he looked at her. “But that’s not important. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Where’s Clay?”

Her father’s face changed, and a look of regret flickered in his eyes. It only lasted a fleeting moment, but it was enough to make her anxiety level spike to new heights.

“Dad? What’s going on?” She was surprised at how shaky and urgent her voice sounded.

It wouldn’t be apparent to anyone else, but it was to her. Her father was fighting an internal battle. She could see it being played out on his tightly composed features.