Shattered Lies (Web of Lies #3)(2)

* * *



Jason Wolski didn’t like Sebastian Abel. He stood toe to toe with him at the private airport outside DC. Jason was supposed to transport a dead body or two. What he didn’t need was this man busting his balls. Dalton, his former PJ team member, certainly didn’t trust Sebastian, and Jason couldn’t blame Dalton. He didn’t trust Sebastian either, and he’d just met him.

“Who are you?” Sebastian asked again as he stood tall, trying to intimidate Jason. It wouldn’t work. As a PJ, nickname for soldiers in the U.S. Air Force Pararescue, Jason and his team were the last chance of rescue behind enemy lines, in the middle of the ocean, on the top of a mountain . . . it didn’t matter where you were, a PJ would come for you. It was how Jason had lost his leg. A rescue in the middle of the ocean where a shark decided he looked like dinner.

Dalton had saved him, and Jason had retired to spend time with his wife, Michelle. They’d started a camp in the Virginia mountains to help wounded veterans regain strength and independence while learning to deal with the inevitable PTSD. And then Dalton had called out of the blue. It was then that everything had taken a horrible turn. His wife was now dead, and maybe Sebastian didn’t realize that meant Jason had nothing left to live for.

“Look, I was told you were cooperating with the president. If you’re not, then maybe we need to have a little talk between us to find out who you are working with. When this was arranged, there was no mention of you being on the plane with me. You either need to tell me why you’re suddenly going wherever I am, since I didn’t tell you my destination, or you need to back the fuck off,” Jason growled as he dropped the second cooler at the bottom of the stairs to the jet. He’d packed four—two with bodies and two with fish just in case someone wanted to see what was in them.

“What’s in the coolers?” Sebastian asked instead.

Jason didn’t respond.

“Where are you going?”

Sebastian was losing his temper. Jason saw the heat flushing his neck slightly. Good. Jason was losing his, too, and right now smashing his fist into Sebastian’s perfect face sounded damn good. “Either you’re with us or against us. Which is it?” Jason asked, setting his hand on the large hunting knife attached to his hip.

“I’m with you, if I know who you are.”

Jason smiled a lethal smile. He had survived a shark attack. He’d saved more people than he could remember. He’d scaled mountains, swum through hurricanes, dug through avalanches, and run through enemy fire. If this asshole thought he could intimidate him, he was dead wrong.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “When the pilot called to tell me the jet was ready, I had to check it out. How do I know you’re not stealing it?”

“I guess that’s a risk you have to take. Or simply call the president. I’m acting on his direct orders.”

Jason turned to the back of the truck and hefted up another giant sized cooler. This one had Fitz Houlihan’s dead body in it. Tate Carlisle, the press secretary and member of the band of spies the president had put together, had killed the Hollywood agent when he’d told her she had to join Mollia Domini or die. Too bad for him Tate was a crack shot. When Jason turned back, Sebastian was on the phone. Jason grunted as he carried the body up the small steps and into the plane. Sebastian was going to be trouble. Men like him were used to giving orders, not receiving them.



* * *



“Sebastian, did you see the news?” Birch smiled into the phone. He saw Alex’s head shoot up and meet his eyes. He looked suspicious, and that reminded Birch that the team didn’t fully trust Sebastian. His own best friend was now a possible suspect. It hurt. Sebastian had always been the one person Birch could always turn to.

Birch listened to Sebastian angrily mention a roughneck absconding with his plane. “Who is he, and what does he want with the plane?”

“He’s with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. And you have many planes. I don’t know why this is suddenly a problem. Is something going on, Sebastian?” Birch lowered his voice to his friend.

“No, it’s fine. I need to leave for a couple days, and I haven’t seen him before so how am I to know if I can turn a $50,000,000 jet over to him?”

Birch heard the frustration and something else he couldn’t quite place. “Let’s get together soon and discuss it. Make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Don’t do that, Birch. Don’t use the negotiator voice with me. We’ll have dinner when I get back.”

The line went dead, and Birch felt the first fingers of doubt grab hold of him. What was going on with Sebastian?





2





It had taken a while but he was finally here. The private villa on the shores of the Black Sea outside the small town of Krapets, Bulgaria, was eerily silent. His villa was near the border of Romania, and well off the main coastal road. Here, looking out over the dark green waters on the quiet shores of the Black Sea, he had conceived of Mollia Domini. He had planned it perfectly. But now, he’d hit a bump in the road. A really big bump. He slid his arm over the desk and sent everything crashing to the floor. Years of developing a network of reporters and celebrities to spread his messages—gone just like that. He’d known while he was traveling to the villa that it was bad, but now the president was being hailed as some sort of hero as contact after contact of his were publicly humiliated on television, even here in Bulgaria.