Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 19

She searched the crowd for Vince. He was already a half hour late. She'd stalled as long as she could. Much longer, and she would need to cobble some kind of talk together with Eli. She found him still in a back corner chatting with a decked-out young mom.

Too bad Angeline couldn't have joined them, but according to her husband, the stress from the bombing had taken a serious toll on her blood pressure, so they were both camped out in front of the TV indulging in nonstop sports network.

She checked her wrist.w.a.tch. If Vince didn't show soon, she feared the crowd would get restless and leave. Many of them were on a lunch break from work. Others worked the night s.h.i.+ft and were giving up sleep.

He'd called an hour ago to say he needed to talk with her about something important. Something he couldn't discuss over the phone. But he still hadn't arrived from whatever work had called him away last night.

After they'd had s.e.x against a door.

She'd never been so glad for an interruption as she was when her cell phone rang. Chicken. Yep, that was her, but didn't she have enough on her plate right now? She was ent.i.tled to pull a Scarlett O'Hara and worry about it tomorrow. These kids needed her undivided attention. And if she kept making excuses long enough, she might actually convince herself she wasn't running from the intensity of being with Vince for the first time.

A hand cupped her shoulder. She jumped, then looked back.

Vince crowded close to her from behind, hot and bulky and intimately familiar. "Look out for spiders, and watch what you say."

Spiders? Her eyes went wide. His friends were piloting their surveillance insects in here. Now. Her skin itched worse than if the real things had been crawling up her leg.

He tugged his day planner from under his arm and pulled out a grainy black-and-white photo. "Do you recognize this person?"

She squinted. A sweats.h.i.+rt with the hood up obscured most of the face. Was the listening spider recording her now? Could the eyes on the other end see how her body hummed with awareness from standing beside Vince? "I can't see enough of the face to be sure."

Vince pulled another photo sheet from beneath it with a series of smaller snapshots scrolled out like movie frames. The c.u.mulative picture coalesced in her mind.

"That's Brody." She glanced up sharply.

"The professor-type kid from the Mercenaries, right? Is Brody's family here?"

Oh, G.o.d, what had he done? "Why do you want to know?"

"Later." He nodded toward the wall where a tiny spider crawled along the edges of a bulletin board. "Can you answer my question please?"

"His grandmother is over there"-she pointed to the last row of chairs-"wearing a purple s.h.i.+rt, sitting by the water cooler. That's Webber's mom beside her."

"They're friends?" He edged closer to the spider. Feeding information?

"Neighbors." She hated being kept in the dark, but she had to trust him. Strange how she trusted him so totally when it came to her teens but couldn't relax her fears when it came to her heart. "They take different s.h.i.+fts on the city road work crew so one of them is always around for the kids. Is it him?"

Brody? Her caller? The bomber. It didn't gel for her, but she should know better than to rule anything out when it came to these kids.

"Shhh. Not now. I need you to watch the adults and note anything that seems strange for our friends." He planted his hand on the wall beside the silvery arachnid. "I should present my part of the talk now."

She scanned the room, her eyes snagging on twitchy Officer Jaworski, who never let go of his nightstick.

"Who's that with Jaworski?" She pointed to the young man in a sharp suit standing with the cop in the back of the room. Another undercover guard? Maybe. But maybe not. It seemed to her anything out of the ordinary should be noted for the folks on the other end of the eight-legged listening device. "I've never seen him here before."

Vince c.o.c.ked his head to the side. "Oh, that's the congressional aide from California getting the lay of land. He came to the meet and greet. I ran into him in the parking lot checking out my Ducati with Eli."

"I must have missed him. I wish Eli would have mentioned that." She made note of the California aide for future reference in her quest to put her agenda forward. A personal appearance from the political staff boded well, and she intended to make the most of it by speaking to him before he left. "Let's get things rolling."

She stepped to the front of the room. She would have to trust that the metal detector they'd installed at the door after the bomb threat had kept any guns and knives out of the building. "If you'll all return to your seats, we'll continue on with the second half of our program."

The crowd shuffled around, jockeying for seats, a good showing of maybe a couple dozen parents, most of whom seemed genuinely concerned. Except for the one flirting with Eli. The young mom had more bling than interest in the meeting, perhaps somebody too caught up in the successful lifestyle she thought g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ging could bring.

Focus. Breathe. Shay gripped the podium. "We appreciate your interest and partic.i.p.ation in the process. As you already know, things have reached a critical point for the youth in our neighborhood. They've moved beyond beat downs and drive-by shootings to planting bombs. Obviously, everyone on staff here feels deeply for the safety of your children."

She trained her eyes on the crowd to keep from looking over too often at the spider. Or Vince. Or that freaking young mom who was now digging in her designer purse and punching numbers into her cell phone. "We want you to understand we know this isn't easy. These kids are tough. Some of them are dangerous. Some of them are hurting. I hear them, and I understand, because I was there. I suffered from a litany of teenage issues, even flirting with crime."

The mom with her too-perfect nose and what looked like an overdone b.o.o.b job brought the cell phone to her ear.

Rage swelled deep, pus.h.i.+ng up her throat and demanding release. Before she realized the words were forming, they tumbled out of her mouth. "I emotionally hit the wall and tried to take my own life."

She stole a moment to catch her breath and keep her eyes steadfastly off Vince until she could tamp down her anger. Still, Shay could feel Vince's presence growing, emotion swelling from him. Maybe it hadn't been fair to spring it on him this way. Okay, it definitely wasn't fair.

And she needed to get her brain in gear again rather than stand around like an idiot. Time to improvise. "I survived only because my parents found me in time. I got a second chance, thank G.o.d. We need to find a way to give our youth a second chance."

She risked a glance at Vince, currently studying her through squinted eyes.

"Here with us this afternoon is someone from my old neighborhood who found his second chance through a new group, a new gang if you will, the type of positive option we would like to implement here. But I'll let him tell you about that. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Major Vince Deluca, a pilot in the U.S. Air Force and a combat veteran."

She gave him a wide berth to take the podium, not sure of him or herself. Didn't they have enough to worry about just staying alive? She grasped her wrist, twisting the wide green polka-dot watchband around and around over her faded scar.

Searching the room for those clues to collect, she realized it wasn't just anger at the mother pimped out on the drug-dealing lifestyle who p.i.s.sed her off. It felt like the whole neighborhood was boiling over in a pressure cooker, ready to blow. Everything was coming to a head, from suicide calls to the FBI's presence in town.

Would Brody call her again? Was he out to get her or seriously thinking of taking his own life because of what the gang was forcing him to do?

A part of her balked at the phone tapping that she knew would happen from now on, but they weren't breaking any laws, and people's lives were at stake.

Vince stepped in front of the podium, no barriers between him and his audience. "The Civil Air Patrol is an all-volunteer organization with an air force affiliation. The uniforms are almost the same, as is the ranking system. The opportunities kick b.u.t.t. It's not just about learning how to march. Teens will have the chance to partic.i.p.ate in everything from learning to fly to search-and-rescue missions."

He paused, leaning back against the podium and crossing his biker boots at the heels. "You can tell by my appearance I'm not your run-of-the-mill clean-cut guy."

Laughter rippled through the crowd, taking the tension down a notch.

"I was a member of a motorcycle gang as a teenager-not the good kind, either. I did things that should have landed me in jail. If not for Shay Ba.s.sett's father and his openness to taking on h.e.l.lions like myself, I would be in jail. Instead, by seventeen I was on board a flight that located a missing father and child who'd gone off the road in a snowstorm. Today, I pilot multimillion-dollar aircraft. There isn't an easy quick fix here. But I'm sure glad no one gave up on me."

He reached for the gla.s.s of water beside him and took a long swallow before continuing, "I could ramble on for hours about how freaking cool my job is, but I imagine my time is better spent answering questions you may have about Civil Air Patrol and my own journey off the streets."

Shay scanned the crowd, while mumbling a litany of observations for the surveillance device. She watched the parents, listening to their questions and watching their reactions. Some interested. Some skeptical. A few frowning with outright disapproval. For that matter, the young mother with the bling and b.o.o.b job had just left the building, making her wonder why these parents couldn't be more supportive.

Could one of these adults be involved?

She'd just a.s.sumed an older teen, a high-ranking member in one of the gangs, was calling the shots to increase power and establish dominance over other gangs. The possibility that one of these parents could be orchestrating their own child's life into crime shouldn't surprise her, but it did. She could only think of one reason why an authority figure would get involved in this juvenile level of violence.

Money.

Her eyes gravitated to Brody's grandmother sitting with his sister. Lord knows they didn't look like they were rolling in any surprise windfalls, but many got sucked into the criminal activity before realizing that gangs rarely brought much to anyone other than those at the very top of the chain.

Why would they risk notice with something as high-profile as disrupting a congressional hearing?

She tried to pull her thoughts together, making mental notes for later when she could speak more freely. Thank goodness Jaworski was here to keep the peace if need be.

To make sure Vince didn't throw himself in front of a bullet for her a second time.

Webber jogged down the cement steps leading to the cellar below a condemned brownstone, his ponytail slapping his back. He whistled the preselected top ten song of the day. He didn't want his buddy in the cellar jumping him.

The late afternoon sun beat on his head like a powerful fist. Only twenty-four more hours, and this would be over.

At the bottom of the stairs, he pumped the handle, the heavy metal door squeaking on its hinges. His mouth dry, he licked his lips and kept whistling. The cooler air underground stank like mold and rotten food.

The slice of light from outside combined with the beams of a fat flashlight glowing in the corner. No shadows. Just one person.

Brody rolled to his feet. "Dude, I owe you." He jogged across the cement floor and gave him a light one-two slug on the shoulder. "You really saved my a.s.s out there. It was like something out of a movie the way you drove up just in time before those whacked out Apocalypse dudes laid into me."

"No big thing." He knelt to jam a brick against the door, propping it open. "I happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"Funny coincidence."

Not funny and not a coincidence. He'd been tracking Brody.

Webber stood, grabbed Brody's hoodie, and slammed him against the concrete wall. "Who did you call?"

"What?" Brody squeaked.

"Come on, brother." He twisted the sweats.h.i.+rt tighter. "Speak up, or there's nothing I can do for you."

"Just Lewis," he whispered.

"I know that much. He told me about the call." Lewis had actually set up the whole thing to see if Brody would take a used cell phone. Webber was supposed to pretend to use a phone, toss it in the trash in clear sight of Brody, then wait and watch. Lewis was always looking for weak links, and Brody had already used up his second chances.

And now he'd forced Webber to betray his friend. A test for Webber, too.

He was walking on the edge here, trying to keep Amber and his mom safe. Shay Ba.s.sett, too. "You're not supposed to call him. Only I am." He was even keeping Brody alive. "Lewis wants to know who else you called and what you did with the phone."

"No-n.o.body," he stuttered, the lie written on his face.

Webber released his hold long enough to dip his hand in the front pocket of Brody's sweaty hoodie. "This phone, I'm guessing. We're supposed to toss 'em after we talk. You know that."

"I will." Brody reached to get the phone back, but Webber was quicker.

"It's all old." He turned it over and over in his hand. "Scratched up like. Used." He knew, because he'd marked it ahead of time. "Where did you get it?"

"I found it." He looked away.

"You just found it? Be straight with me, man. If I can tell, then Lewis is going to know for sure." He squeezed his friend's shoulder hard. "I'm trying to help you."

"Just don't tell him then." Brody bucked up.

"The only way you're going to survive this is to tell the truth." A fact that scared him snotless, since he'd told his own lies to Lewis. Except Brody wasn't smart enough to pull it off. Selfish lies showed most.

His foot sank into a soft pile of trash as he stepped closer. "Come on, brother, own up. You can trust me."

Yeah, he was learning to lie well.

Brody dipped his head and whispered, "I saw you throw it away. It seemed like a waste."

"What did you do with the money Lewis gave you?"

"Bought some food and stuff."

Bull. He looked into his friend's eyes, and yeah, Brody had done exactly what Lewis suspected.

"You bought blow." Webber pinned him to the wall again, arm across his neck. He wasn't risking Brody going ape s.h.i.+t on him. "Only question is, did you snort it or shoot up?" c.o.ke or heroin, bad news either way. "Lewis is going to kill you if you don't get yourself under control. I wouldn't be surprised if somehow he already knew and sent those Apocalypse bada.s.ses to finish the job for him."

"He wouldn't do that." Brody shook his head, his pupils wide, even for a dark cellar. "He's with us."

Webber wasn't as certain.

He leaned in nose to nose. "Are you that much of a pin-head you don't see he's playing all sides, whatever brings him the biggest payoff?"

Brody started shaking. Hard. Worse than the time ten years ago when they'd gotten stuck in a snowdrift trying to sled down the drainage ditch. A long time ago.

They weren't kids anymore.

Webber eased the choke hold and reached into his own deep pocket, his fist curling around bra.s.s warmed from his body. His throat hurt like when he used to get strep all the time, but he had to be a man and see this through. It was Brody's only chance at staying alive.

That's all he could do now, try to keep the people around him alive. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd grown a set of b.a.l.l.s and decided to do something other than just roll over and die. He only wished he didn't feel so alone in seeing this out.

Webber waved his free hand out the door and snapped. Three long shadows stretched down the stairs. Drawing up in the entrance. Two brothers and a peewee looking to blood-in with the Mercenaries. All wearing the same bra.s.s knuckles he pulled out of his pocket.

Webber thumped Brody on his chest, lightly for now. "You know we have to put you in check."

Tears pooled up in Brody's eyes. "I won't do it again, man. I'm your brother. You can trust me."

Not anymore.

"Lewis has to see we take care of business, or he won't be respecting us. You need to remember you ain't nothing but a soldier." He tapped Brody on the chest again with the bra.s.s knuckles: thump, thump, thump. If he didn't lead this, someone else would do it. Much worse. "When you disre spected him, you dissed us all."

Webber threw the first punch.

Before his fist met flesh, he shut down. He blocked the whimpers, the flailing, the pleading. He blocked it all. He was two people right now. Like two halves of a brain. Or two sides of nature. He had logic, the part that told him what he had to do, no matter how much it made him want to puke. And he had rage. Years of it bottled up with nowhere to go.

He let the fury pour out of him now, used it in a way that could bring some good. Brody would hurt like h.e.l.l, but he wouldn't end up with a bullet behind his ear. That counted for something. His fist slammed in time with the other arms pumping up and down, driving Brody to the floor.

Then it was over.

Brody lay limp on the ground, eyes closed. Webber knelt down to be sure, and yeah, his friend was still breathing. And groaning. They knew how to deliver a beat down that didn't damage internal organs.

He swallowed back puke.