End Game

CHAPTER 54

Reel had hot-wired the old limo’s engine and was now twenty minutes outside of town. Tommy Page would surely be pissed when he got outside only to find his ride gone, but she figured he was probably too drunk to drive anyway.

His portable GPS was on a carrier suction-cupped to the dashboard. She had punched “previous destinations” and the address for the cabin on Bluff Point Road had popped up. She’d clicked on it, and the device was telling her she had about another twenty minutes of driving to get to it.

The rain had picked up again as she drove along. The sky was so overcast that not a single star was visible. The land was flat for as far as her headlights would show. If there had been sand outside instead of dirt, Reel could have believed she was in the Middle East.

Right now she didn’t know which was more dangerous, Iraq or eastern Colorado.

Next, her thoughts, despite her best efforts, turned to Robie.

She was sure that he had gone off to see Malloy tonight. And Reel also was certain that she had driven him to do that. In fact, her words had practically demanded that he do so.

And why had she said to him what she had?

Part of her didn’t know.

Part of her thought she did, but the confidence level was ebbing.

She blinked, and with a swipe of the windshield wipers her mind also skipped to another train of thought. She was entering Robie’s apartment while he was gone and placing the note on his bed. She had gotten a week’s leave from the Middle East deployment. And she had flown directly back to the United States mainly to do what she had, after confirming that Robie was out of the country on assignment.

Essentially, fearless Jessica Reel didn’t have the courage to face the man over it.

But it had been six months since Mississippi, and she had returned none of his calls, none of his texts or e-mails. She had purposely avoided him at every turn, until he had simply given up.

She had volunteered for the most dangerous duty she could think of, and it had very nearly ended up killing her.

And for what reason?

What was the end game here?

You were always supposed to have one. You never started a mission without a concrete goal firmly in mind.

But Will Robie and I are not like a mission. We’re not even close to it. We’re something “else” that maybe neither one of us is prepared for.

Which was why she had written the note that she had.

It’s complicated.

No shit.

So she had taken sniping in Iraq over trying to find common ground with the only man she had ever felt anything for.

Sniping was easy. Sniping was something she knew how to do, excelled at. She feared nothing when she was behind the scope and trigger.

But this other stuff?

I’m clueless. And it scares the hell out of me.

With another whisk of the wipers, her mind returned to where she was going tonight. The minutes ticked by and she finally saw the bent signpost for Bluff Point Road.

She turned down the road, after cutting her lights.

According to Page, the Randalls had flown out to their Hampton digs. But that didn’t mean that the other guys with him on these “other” trips weren’t still in residence.

She passed four dark and what appeared to be empty structures.

The cabin was up ahead. She came to a rolling stop and looked over the place. It was dark, but that meant nothing. It was late and those inside might be asleep.

She got out, made sure she had a round chambered, and checked her ankle holster for her backup.

A Ka-Bar knife rode in a sheath on her right hip.

Serious dudes was how Page had described Randall’s companions. She wondered what serious dudes were doing around here with the rich, spoiled brat. She didn’t think fishing was foremost on their to-do list. So what then?

They had found no connection between Randall and the prisoners in a van. But she didn’t know they weren’t connected, either. And she had to believe that if they found out the truth behind the prisoners, they would find out what had happened to Blue Man.

She moved forward, keeping low and staying in one place only long enough to check for any signs of activity from within the cabin.

Ignoring the front door, she went around to the back. There were no vehicles parked at the place, but that could also mean nothing.

She reached the back door, and after listening for a bit she took out two slender instruments and efficiently picked the lock.

The door didn’t squeak as she opened it, for which Reel was immensely grateful. She stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her.

Reel looked around the room and nothing jumped out at her, figuratively or literally.

She searched the rooms on the first floor. There was a half floor above reached by a set of stairs. The place was pretty rustic, and Reel couldn’t see rich boy Randall spending much time here. And she doubted that his wife knew anything about it, or if she did, she would never choose to set one foot inside a place that was about as far away from the Hamptons as one could get.

But according to Page, Randall came here often, and he must have a reason for doing so. The fact that he chose this place over his luxury doomsday bunker was puzzling. Reel assumed there must also be a good reason for that. And also a compelling purpose for needing the serious dudes along for the ride.

In an upstairs closet Reel finally discovered some things, although she couldn’t make sense of any of the items.

A pair of work boots covered in dirt and grime and smelling of chemicals.

An old map of an area she didn’t recognize, though it could have been somewhere in eastern Colorado.

A box of ammo. Forty-five-caliber ACPs.

But with one important difference.

Reel slid one of the cartridges out and looked at it. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

They’re blanks.