Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(37)

“Agents are waiting for you inside the chow hall. Our men will handle the local authorities,” Rodriguez says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “It’ll be a pleasure questioning Warner, Guthrie and Oliver.”

I laugh.

“They aren’t—” Farrington starts.

“Real cops?” I finish for her. “Sure they are. Real dirty.”

We slip between the security vehicles and through the gate.

"How did you—?" Farrington asks, still surprised.

"'Cause I’m the best.”

"Ryder." She tilts her head in a playful way. “Full of yourself much?”

“It comes easy when you’re as good as me.”





“How’s she doing?” I ask Rodriguez, who is my friend and a security force specialist on the Barksdale Base.

“She’s shaken up.” He develops a shit-eating-grin before he looks away from me to sip at his coffee.

“What?”

“She asks about you an awful lot.”

“I did save her life.”

“So she told us.”

I stretch back and fold my arms behind my head arrogantly, looking up at the ceiling. Rodriguez, who is a short, stocky Mexican-American with dark eyes and hair and a great sense of humor, takes a seat opposite me at the small table. Farrington and I, along with her FBI entourage, are being housed in an east military barracks wing that was cleared out for our use. It’s like a basic hotel room with a bed, couch, kitchenette and dining table for two. It’s the first time I haven’t felt on high alert since yesterday.

“All right, big shot, your hunch was correct.” He leans back in his chair. “What tipped you off?”

“First off, I planted a bug on the phone line outside of Miguel’s house. Briggs was monitoring it. Second, I didn’t trust local authorities, especially when they wanted me nowhere near her, so I followed them. Briggs heard when the call came in from Weston, the chief of police, to Miguel and they decided on a drop point for the girl. That’s when I broke her out,” I explain. “Briggs recently informed me that Weston is in FBI custody, but they had no evidence to hold the rest of his team.”

“So the Bureau believes they were acting unaware?” Rodriguez asks. “What do you think?”

“I’m not convinced,” I tell him. “But they were *s, and I don’t like *s.”

Rodriguez laughs.

“When Miguel, aka Mason, learned that his cover was blown, he hauled ass while the feds froze all of Mason Enterprises’ assets.”

“I’m sure he has enough offshore and overseas accounts to keep his ass set up for a while.” I get to thinking. “You know what I don’t understand?”

“What’s that?” he asks while he removes a red and white pack of Marlboro’s from his jacket pocket.

I almost drool as he flips the boxed lid—I can smell the tobacco waft from the box.

“You going to light that up right here?” My feeling of earlier triumph is a bit squelched. “You’re already flaunting your coffee.”

“Like you were just flaunting your heroics?” He rolls his eyes. “Still trying to quit?”

“Not trying, I have.”

“It shouldn’t bother a tough guy like you.” He rolls the flint wheel of the lighter.

“Dude, you’re a dick.”

“Fine, * lips, I’ll wait and do it outside.” He laughs. “Now, what was it you didn’t understand?”

“Why didn’t he simply have Farrington killed? Think about it—she said she overheard his men talking about how they were keeping her pristine for a sex-slave buyer in Mexico that would help pay off Miguel’s botched drug deal debt to Cruz—the one Drew Jameson created with his theft—while at the same time getting rid of the key witness.”

“That isn’t farfetched.”

“No, it’s not—she’s a beautiful, young, intelligent and fiery university student who would give the buyer quite a fight. But when they had the opportunity to kill her and be done with her when she was in Weston’s custody, why did they take so much risk and trouble to get her back? They could have easily just killed her, eliminating the only eyewitness to Jameson’s murder.” I consider the implications. “Honestly, with the amount of money Mason Enterprises is raking in, surely Miguel could fix the wrong with Cruz financially and simply do away with his witness.”

“Maybe she heard wrong,” he suggests. “Miguel could’ve been saving her for himself.”

“That’s a theory.”

A brisk knock at the door steals our attention. Rodriguez answers it. I’m surprised to see it’s my longtime friend and colleague, Agent Jones. As always, he’s dressed simply but impeccably, wearing a standard pressed gray suit.

I stand up and extend my hand to greet him. “Jones, it’s good to see you. I had no idea you were working on this case.” His dark hand folds around mine. Jones has the build of a linebacker, stands a head taller than me and looks like he could chew bad guys up and spit them out just as quick. Not for the first time, I decide I’m glad he’s on my side.

“Farrington’s a high-profile case. I asked to get in on the action,” he says. Then he gives me a pointed stare followed by a sardonic smile. “Speaking of Farrington, she’s asking to see you.”