Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(93)

“I’ve got trouble here, Jack. Big trouble. I’m hoping you can help.” Ethan told him about the murder, the investigation that had led to a copycat killer in Dallas and a hostage situation in Atlanta. He mentioned the sniper who’d been waiting for him this morning, here in Seattle.

“Sounds like you’re up to your ass in alligators, good buddy.”

Ethan grunted. “I’m not sure what the hell is going on, Jack, but I really need to find out.”

“So how can I help?”

“One of the leads I’m following involves a guy named Julian Latham. Thirty years old, lives in Miami. Peter and Alessandra Latham, Julian’s parents, are big money, Jack. The kind that might just come a little too easy.”

“And you’re saying that because . . . ?”

“Julian works for one of his father’s companies, Latham Property Management. Interestingly, he travels three or four times a year to Caracas, disappears for a couple of days, then comes home. I’ve got a feeling he’s doing more down there than managing company property.”

Ethan filled Jack in on as many details as he knew, including the hotel, the Gran Melia, where Julian stayed when he was in the city.

“Your tip was good the last time,” Jack said. “I’ll check this out. We’ve got a man on the ground down there. He may recognize the name. If not, I’ll have him do some digging, see what he can come up with.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“I’ll call you when I’ve got something. Meantime, stay out of range.”

Ethan smiled. He was getting plenty of free advice lately. Most of it was pretty good. “I’ll do my best.”

He hung up the phone and turned back to Val. “Morrell’s got a man in Caracas, an agent or informant, I’m not sure which. He’s going to see what Julian’s up to.”

“I hope he does it fast.”

“Yeah, so do I.”





Chapter Thirty-Five



Val walked with Ethan down the hall to the third bedroom to retrieve a disposable cell phone. This room was all Dirk Reynolds, a man cave that included a closet holding several pairs of camouflage pants and a pair of black tactical vests, a basketball and football in the bookshelves along the wall, a weight rack and bench, tennis racquets, a snowboard and winter outdoor wear, a racy-looking single ski, and a ton of other miscellaneous sporting equipment.

Most noticeable was the heavy steel gun safe nearly as tall as Ethan that dominated one wall. Val figured the fishing rods were out in the garage, along with motorcycle helmets and God only knew what else.

She couldn’t help wondering what Meg would say if she saw all this—which reminded her that she needed to talk to her friend.

Ethan pulled a throwaway phone out of a drawer and handed it over. “It’s untraceable. Dirk keeps a couple of them charged just in case. Program in my number, nine-one-one, and anyone you might want to call.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be in the living room on my computer. No e-mails, by the way. And no Facebook, okay?”

She nodded. Ethan walked back out the door, giving her some privacy to use the phone.

She called Mom and Pops first. She had phoned them every day since she’d gotten back to Seattle, but after being shot and nearly killed, she needed to talk to them again.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

“Hi, honey.” She could almost see her mother’s smiling face, framed by the cloud of silver hair she usually clipped back at the nape of her neck.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” Val said.

Her mother must have caught the tremor in her words. Val could almost feel the mother radar kicking into gear on the other end of the phone.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

She wasn’t okay. Today had been a nightmare. So far, she’d been able to control her emotions. Now she was fighting not to burst into tears.

“I’m . . . I’m okay.” Except for being shot. “I just . . . I miss you.”

“Oh, honey. We miss you so much.”

“When are you coming up to see us?” her father asked, picking up the bedroom extension. For once, he was in the house instead of outside working on the farm.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. The police . . . umm . . . may have some more questions for me. They’re still trying to catch the man who killed Delilah Larsen.” And may have shot at Ethan and me this morning.

“Delilah . . . she was that model who was murdered,” Pops said. Tall and thin, with blond hair turning silver, he actually looked like her, though they were not blood relatives.

“Lord, it seems like that happened ages ago,” her mother said.

“I can’t believe they haven’t caught the bastard yet,” Pops grumbled.

“The police are still looking. They’re doing their best, but they might need my help. Or Ethan’s.” She said the name just to hear how her parents would react.

“He’s your bodyguard, right?” her mother asked.

“Yes, but . . . our relationship has gotten a little more complicated lately.”

Silence fell. “Well, it’s about damned time,” her father said. “Beautiful young woman like you. Could have men beatin’ down your door if you wanted. Though I can’t say I’m sorry you been so choosy.”