Ryder
You never made me any promises…echoes in my mind as I exit my truck at Blackwood headquarters. I hadn’t made Hadley any promises, no, but as I stride into the building, after being grilled at the police station for an hour and giving my final report, I decide I should’ve made at least a couple promises to her. But the game has changed now. Someone was killed tonight to keep quiet, and with the senator’s attempted murder, I can only assume we’re getting close to finding out who’s behind this.
My attention had been on Hadley and mistakes were made. I need to correct my error, and I’ve never wanted to hunt down anyone as much as I want to hunt down the scumbag behind this. Not only for the senator, but for the tears Hadley had cried.
I enter the bristling command center, where there’s not a person who isn’t sitting behind their desk, working to get answers before I’ve even asked for them. “An update on the senator?” I ask no one in particular.
Jenny, a four-year employee of Blackwood Security, turns around in her swivel chair and answers me, “He’s still in surgery. But from the reports I’m seeing, it looks like he’s going to pull through.”
“Good,” I tell her, silently saying a little prayer of thanks for the miracle that is modern medicine. I don’t let myself be too relieved. We all need to stay sharp. “Have we looked into the alarm system at the senator’s house?” It’s top-of-the-line, and I can’t even begin to understand how it was disabled.
Another longtime employee, Chris, reports without turning away from his monitor, “From all appearances, it seems the senator didn’t enable it when he arrived home.”
Which I suppose makes sense. They couldn’t disarm the alarm without my knowing about it, because we had those safety measures in place. But that means they were waiting. Someone had to have been watching the senator, patiently waiting for that one moment for the senator’s guard to be down and then they acted. Furthermore, since Lupa and the senator were shot around the same time, I’m led to believe there must be more than one hitman. One person kept a close eye on Hadley and me. Another watched the senator. My hands tighten into fists, knowing I fell into their trap. I’d been so busy with Hadley’s video, trying to protect both Hadley and the senator that way, I wasn’t looking between the lines. I was too close to this, too close to Hadley.
And that’s why you don’t screw the senator’s daughter echoes in my mind.
I shove the thought away and focus on what’s ahead of me. “Someone please give me an update on Lupa.”
Alex spins around on her swivel chair, and I find dark circles under her eyes, telling me that when this is over and behind us, she needs some time off to take a vacation. “You didn’t hear anything at the station?”
I shake my head. “It was all business there tonight. I was questioned, signed the report that stated that we were looking at Lupa since he hacked the senator’s computer”—of course I left out anything about Hadley—“and then I left.” Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. I’ve had targets die in my presence before, some even killed by members of my team and myself. A short investigation always ensued, but in the end the deaths were ruled self-defense.
“Well,” Alex continues, spinning back to her computer, “there’s been nothing so far on the police databa
se, which means either they are still gathering evidence or whoever is doing the report is just lazy and hasn’t entered anything in yet.”
Not what I want to hear. I need a lead. Anything that could point me in the right direction. And now I know that we clearly have a couple of professional hitmen, considering whoever shot Caleb obviously took the shot from a fair distance away, since we didn’t see him. “Anything from the crime scene investigators?”
“Negative. They just finished up at the house now,” Alex reports, typing quickly, until I begin to see reports flash across the monitors on the far wall. “I don’t see anything that they’ve processed. No fingerprints reported. No strands of hair. It was a very clean job.”
“And what of the disc containing the video?” I ask.
Jenny answers, “No other prints but Caleb’s.”
I glance at Jeff, who’s sitting next to Jenny. “Any luck finding anything on Caleb’s computer?”
“Sadly no,” Jeff grumbles. “And there goes my Christmas bonus.”
He’d get one anyway, but I like them thinking they have to work for it.
Frustrated with the lack of news or helpful information, I press my hands against the back of the empty chair in front of me. “Something must have changed.”
“What do you mean?” Alex asks.
I lift my head. “We had just apprehended Lupa and the senator was already shot. What would have made the person behind this feel he needed to react?”
Alex is silent a moment, eyes flicking up to the ceiling.
“It could be this,” Jeff interjects, typing on his keyboard until a news article pops up on the screen. The headline reads: YOU’RE RICH! PAY MORE TAX! “The senator was a loud supporter of this tax policy.”
“Explain to me what I’m looking at?” I ask, not having time to read the article.
He reports, “A bill is being put forth that will increase the taxes on the wealthiest.”
Money. Exactly what I had suspected motivated the blackmailer. Usually in the end, money is the biggest driving factor in political violence, alongside power. “And this vote is happening Tuesday?”
“It is,” Jeff replies.