Attempted Assassination(13)

The lobby had been done in relaxing greys, deep reds, and rich browns; the atmosphere had been quiet and relaxed throughout his stay. Typically, he preferred things a little more chaotic so he wouldn't be noticed, but he also had the ability to detect the vibe of a room and match his demeanor accordingly.

He kept his sunglasses on and took a seat in a white, high back chair by a window that offered him a clean view of the front door. As he picked up a fresh copy of USA Today, he scanned the lobby and the people milling about.

He didn't see the blonde-a damn good thing-and no one looked his way.

Just another guy waiting for a business colleague.

As he pretended to read the paper, he kept his gaze trained on the front door, looking for his mark. People came and went, mostly dressed in business attire, talking on their cell phones or checking email on the screens. He'd read the other day that injuries had skyrocketed from people walking into things because they looked down at their phones all the time, and he understood why. Very few made eye contact with each other anymore, which proved good for him. Immersed in their small digital world, they didn't pay him any attention.

At precisely eleven in the morning, a man in a wheelchair rolled into the lobby and approached the front desk. Jordan studied him carefully, certain he'd found his target, Joe Smith. He glanced outside, but didn't see a truck or van that would have transported him, and Jordan wondered if he'd driven himself and left the van somewhere, or if another person had parked the vehicle and would eventually make an appearance. After a few moments, he felt confident that Joe had arrived alone, on his own accord.



       
         
       
        

Joe smiled and laughed with the front desk clerk, one Jordan hadn't seen before. The man slid Joe a key card, and he rolled himself over to the elevators.

Jordan set down the paper, smoothed out his blue tie, and walked over to the elevators, the weight of his gun secure in the back of his waistband under his jacket.

The panel doors opened, and he held them to allow Joe to wheel himself in.

Joe smiled at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

And it really was. The sun shone brightly in the clear sky, yet the temperature had stayed quite mild-probably in the seventies or so.

He moved to Joe's right and leaned against the back wall. Joe stared upward, watching the numbers change. Jordan pulled out his gun and kept it behind his thigh.

His heart beat steadily. There wouldn't be any sweaty palms, butterflies in his stomach, or tremors in his hands. He'd done this over a dozen times in the past year, and any nervousness he may have had at one point had disappeared long ago. He just had to remember that killing this man was a step in protecting America.

On floor ten, the elevator stopped, and a man stepped in. He nodded at Jordan, then hit the button for floor fifteen. When he exited, Jordan knew that in a few floors, Joe would be dead.

He flipped the safety off the gun and kept his gaze trained on the back of Joe's head. When they landed on the top floor, he'd make sure no one stood in the hallway, then he'd complete his task.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

He smiled at Joe and motioned for him to exit first. Joe wheeled himself out and went to the left, and Jordan followed. He looked right, and stopped short as two men came into view.

He narrowed his gaze as a feeling of recognition settled in. Both stood at his height, around six feet. One had longer, dark hair; the other wore a scruffy beard. Both had on nice suits, and he couldn't help but think they usually wore more casual clothing.

They glared at him.

"Hey, Jordan," the one with the dark hair kissing his collar said. "You're not going to be killing anyone today."

He quickly assessed the situation. Neither one had guns in their hands. As he glanced at Joe, he saw that he'd rounded the corner to the suite where he would be holding his meeting.

He could kill the two in the hall, then get his intended target.

Just as he turned his head to go through with his plan, the guy with the beard hit him square in the jaw, stunning him. He still raised his gun, prepared to shoot. He got off one shot, and suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. He felt a jab in the side of his neck, as if he'd been stabbed him with something. 

The bearded guy stepped up to him and hit him again. This time, the powerful blow dropped him to his knees.

He reached out to hit back, but suddenly, his limbs felt as if they had turned to concrete, and the person behind him took his gun, then guided him to the floor.

Looking up, he gazed at the two that had hit him.

He'd screwed this up. He'd been caught. They'd drugged him. The dark rug beneath him suddenly felt as though he lay on a white, fluffy cloud, floating high in the sky.

Through the haze shadowing his brain, he couldn't help but feel he knew the two men kneeling next to him. The guy who'd drugged him stood over him with his arms crossed over his chest. They all stared at him with hard gazes, one that let him know he would be in trouble.

"Hey, Jordan. I hope one day you remember me. My name's Brody, and this guy over here is Lucas. Even though you just tried to shoot us, which pisses me off to no end, we're here to help you. Now that guy standing behind you, he doesn't give a shit about you, so watch your manners around him."

The words barely registered, but his head began to ache, as if something tried to claw to the surface of his brain matter.

Joe Smith rolled over and looked down at him, his gaze also serious and wary. Jordan couldn't help but grin at how screwed up the man looked upside down.

"And you know my name, Mr. Callahan."

As darkness encroached on his vision, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His whole body had now turned to dead weight, and he couldn't lift a limb if he tried. He didn't feel any fear. In fact, he didn't care about anything at this point. The drugs had taken effect, and he would be out within seconds.

The last thing he heard was Joe Smith speaking.

"Take him down through the kitchen-the staff has been paid off to look the other way. The van will be waiting out back."

Damn. That's exactly the route he had chosen to escape after his job had been completed.

Then, his world went black.





18





Ava stared at her husband, who still slept soundly. He lay on a twin bed in the basement, his feet cuffed to the metal bedframe. His hands were shackled together with a binding that held one wrist then snaked under the bed to the other.

He'd been stripped of his clothing and dressed in a pair of sweatpants without a string, a simple white T-shirt that could be found in any clothing store, and a pair of white sport socks. It had been explained to her that shoes wouldn't be allowed, because if he did escape, he would have a much more difficult time going anywhere in stocking feet. A tie to hold his sweatpants had been forbidden since he could use that to strangle someone.

Joe had said he wouldn't take any chances to give Jordan an opportunity to hurt anyone.

It had been three hours since they'd returned with his still body. At first, she'd thought him dead, but Lucas, Brody, and Thomas had assured her he lived. Lucas had even pointed to his shoulder where a bullet had grazed him.

"Even though he still owes me a hundred bucks from a bet two years ago, that son of a bitch tried to shoot me!"

Tears clogged her throat as she gazed around at the concrete walls and floor. She'd never been down to the basement; just assumed it had been as nicely furnished as the rest of the house. Instead, Jordan truly did reside in a prison.

The door at the top of the stairs had three locks secured from the outside, and a simple one on the inside. When she'd questioned it, Joe had assured her he wasn't some demented sicko who kept people locked downstairs like some horror movie villain, but had installed the locks after buying the house.

However, it looked as though Jordan wouldn't be making it to that top step. They had him completely confined and immobile.



       
         
       
        

Thomas sat in a chair in the corner, his eyes closed, a gun resting on his lap.

In the quiet, her memories took her back to their first date in North Carolina.

She'd returned from Seattle about two week prior to a stack of work on her desk at the accounting firm she worked for back then, and it had taken some time for Jordan to get settled in with his new unit.

When they'd finally been able to connect again, it had surprised her how much she'd missed being with him. It seemed completely silly to her as they had only spent one day together, but happiness and relief washed through her when she walked into the Italian restaurant and saw him sitting in one of the booths. She couldn't contain her smile, even if she'd wanted to.



He waved to her, and she wished she could wipe the stupid grin off her face. Her plan had been to keep it cool, to be aloof, but with heat rising in her cheeks, that plan seemed to have gone right out the window.

He stood as she approached the table, also wearing a big, silly grin.

They embraced, and she inhaled deeply. Her memory hadn't failed her-he still smelled like sandalwood and leather.

"It's so good to see you," he said as they sat down.

"You, too."