The Hunted

64

Nick Bradley walked into the bar near his motel and ordered a Scotch, straight up. He buried his head in the crook of his elbow and exhaled deeply while the bartender prepared his drink.

When the man placed the glass on the counter in front of him, Bradley lifted his head and then peeled a couple of bills off his money clip. His eye caught an image on the news playing out on the television mounted above the far end of the bar.

“Hey, can you turn that up?” Bradley asked the barkeep.

The man reached below the counter and pointed a remote at the TV. As the volume rose, Bradley could hear the news reporter setting the scene.

“…and it appears as if the government’s case against Anthony Scarponi could be in significant jeopardy, unless their key witness, former FBI agent Harper Payne, makes what would appear to be a miraculous recovery…”

Bradley’s gaze remained locked on the TV as images of the street in Fredericksburg flashed across the screen. An officer-involved shooting team was examining and documenting the scene behind the reporter as she babbled on about the Scarponi case.

“We have Ray Jamison standing by at Colonial General Hospital, where Agent Payne was brought a little over an hour ago.”

Bradley threw another mouthful of Scotch down his throat, the burn bringing his mind back into focus. His placed the glass back on the bar and grabbed for his cell phone, which was now ringing. He answered it with his eyes still fixed on the TV.

His back straightened. “I’ve been trying to reach you, where the hell have you been?” He paused, waiting for the answer. He shook his head, then slid down off his stool. “Did you see the news? This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He listened for a second, then broke in. “No. Absolutely not.” He turned and glanced around, realizing his voice had been a little too loud. “We need to meet,” he said as he pushed through the bar’s front door. “Right now.”