Snapped (36 page)

“Means I don’t like you.” Sean eased forward and lowered his voice. “If anyone else gets hurt in this, I will personally track you down, to a place where there aren’t any cameras. And I will rip your goddamn head off.”

The Rolling Hills Motel sat twelve miles outside of town on a state highway. The one-story building was old, rundown, and concealed from the road by a grove of oak
trees. Jonah could see why someone might choose it as a place for a covert meeting and a deadly “electrical” fire.

Ric stood outside the smoke-blackened door of Room 119, which had been sealed shut by investigators. He was interviewing a Spanish-speaking maid whose statement sheriff’s deputies had somehow failed to include in their report. Ric had been talking to her for a while now, and Jonah hoped he was having some luck.

Jonah sure wasn’t having any. He’d been trying for over an hour to reach Wolchansky at Fort Benning, but the man was in the midst of a training exercise, and the woman who’d answered the phone at the base had been unable to track him down.

Jonah scrolled through his mental list of military contacts. There were plenty of people he’d have an easier time reaching, but none were special ops, with the exception of a SEAL he knew who was currently overseas. He could try his former CO and see if—

“Wolchansky.”

Jonah snapped to attention. “Hey, she found you.”

“Just got in. What’s up? She said it was urgent.”

“New lead in the case. Another military connection.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I know. You ever heard of Project Shadow Tracker?”

A pause on the other end, and Jonah’s pulse picked up. He’d expected a flat, “Nah, man, never heard of it.”

“It’s been a while.”

“So, you’ve heard of it?”

“Not recently,” Wolchansky said. “Although I’m not even sure it’s the same thing you’re talking about. You
said
Project
Shadow Tracker? I don’t remember it being called ‘Project.’”

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing concrete, really. This was just a rumor circulating awhile back in spec-ops circles. I didn’t even think it was true.”

Jonah pulled out his notepad. He could tell he’d hit pay dirt. “What was the rumor?”

“Some new technology being developed by, like, the Pentagon or someone. You know, black-ops kind of stuff.”

“What was the big secret?”

“Well, supposedly they were piloting some project where Special Operations guys—Rangers, SEALs, think it was across the board—were having these chips implanted.”

“Chips?”

“You know, computer things. At the time I heard about it, I remember thinking it was like my dog. He had one of those, where if he ever got lost, the pound could just scan his chip and find out where he lived. It was like that, but with GPS capability. I remember it supposedly worked off a battery, like a pacemaker or something.”

“Soldiers were being implanted with these?”

“That’s the thing—it was a rumor,” Wolchansky said. “I never heard of anyone actually doing it. Most guys I talked to were kind of paranoid about it.”

“How come? I can think of some benefits. Lot of those teams operate behind enemy lines. Mission goes south, they risk getting taken prisoner or killed before we can find them and pull them out.”

“Exactly,” Wolchansky said. “And yeah, some people thought it sounded good. But me? No way. I mean, it’s too much like the Matrix or something.”

“So, was it temporary? Permanent?”

He paused. “I haven’t heard about this in a couple years. I’m thinking it was removable. Yeah, that’s right, because I remember a guy—one of those paranoid types, but he had a point—he was saying how they put you under to implant the chip. So then how do you know, say, that they didn’t put in more than one? You’ve got Uncle Sam tracking your every move for life.”

“When did you hear about this?”

“Let’s see …” Heavy sigh. “I was just back from Iraq at the time. Had to have been ’07? Like I said, it’s an old rumor. Far as I know, the program never got off the ground.”

Maxwell had told Sean that the government had pulled the plug on the funding. But if the thing was shut down, why all this interest?

And it sounded expensive. If the program
had
been shut down, wouldn’t the technology be worth something, at least on the black market, where Eric Emrick supposedly would have tried to sell it?

But how would some college kid—a very bright college kid, but still—realistically believe he could find a buyer for that sort of technology? It would have to be a government buyer, some intelligence agency or spy operation. Jonah’s brain clicked with possibilities. Project Shadow Tracker—sounded like a LoJack for the government’s most highly trained operatives, every one of whom represented a significant investment. It was the kind of thing that could be good if used by the
right people for the right purposes—such as retrieving a wounded soldier from behind enemy lines. But that same technology in the hands of the enemy could be disastrous.

“You there?”

“I’m here,” Jonah said.

“I need to go. Was there anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it. Unless you think of something relevant, and in that case call me.”

“Will do.”

“And don’t mention this—”

“Goes without saying.”

Jonah ended the call and stared out the windshield. All sorts of scenarios were running through his brain now, and none of them was good. They all involved big dollar amounts, and highly sensitive information, and the sort of nasty people Jonah didn’t like to think about even operating within American borders, much less right in his own backyard. He had the impulse to call his dad and check on Sophie.

He felt a strong surge of protectiveness. He wanted to lock her up somewhere and lose the key until Sharpe was six feet underground. The fact that someone like that had her on his hit list was bringing out some visceral, violent urges … along with some softer ones that made him just as uneasy, for different reasons.

This
was why he shouldn’t have let it get personal. His feelings for Sophie were messing with his brain, and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

Because much of what Maxwell had told Sean had sounded like bullshit. He’d paid some guy five K to
talk
to Emrick? That kind of sum didn’t ring true—not by
a long shot. What
did
ring true was the other part: that Sharpe had wanted up-front payment and been paid in full before the job even got done. If that’s what happened, it meant there was a price on Sophie’s head, and even with Maxwell neutralized, she was still in danger. She was an unfinished job, or worse, a
botched
job. And a guy like Sharpe wouldn’t want it getting out that he couldn’t get the job done. He’d be seen as impotent, in every sense of the word.

Ric jerked open the door and slid inside. “I got a vehicle.”

Jonah looked at him as he started the car. “I take it it’s not a black Dodge pickup.”

Ric cut a glance at him. “Think we’ve determined our guy’s too smart for that.”

“And too well-funded,” Jonah added. There was some big money involved here, which made him worried about how this was going to go down. The stakes were higher than he’d ever imagined.

“White Ford Explorer, tinted windows, missing hubcaps,” Ric stated.

“Maid see the driver?”

Ric slid his copy of the suspect sketch into the file as Jonah pulled out of the lot. “No luck there. But the vehicle’s a pretty good lead. Especially since Sharpe might not know we know about it.” Ric glanced at Jonah and frowned. “What happened?”

“I got ahold of my contact. He’s heard of Shadow Tracker.”

“And?”

“It’s worse than we thought.”

Jonah heard his dad before he saw him. He stood near the fire pit just south of the camper, taking potshots at a line of cans on a distant fence. Sophie stood beside him. She turned to look as Jonah pulled up the road, and the sight of her very intact, very healthy body reduced at least some of his stress.

Jonah parked under an oak tree and went inside to change his work clothes for jeans and boots. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he popped the top and brought it to his mouth, but stopped mid-sip as his gaze landed on the sleeping bag sitting in the corner.

It was his goddamn Cub Scout sleeping bag, and she’d dug it out from some cabinet and left it there, no doubt to piss him off with a hint about where she planned to sleep tonight.

Not happening.

He’d spent the better part of last night listening to her tossing and turning on that floor until his head was about to explode, and he was damned if he’d listen to it again.

He strapped on his holster and went outside.

Now Sophie was shooting. He studied her form as he
approached from behind. She had a wide stance, a two-handed grip, and a steady aim. She fired off a round, and the aluminum can flipped off the fence post thirty feet in front of her.

“Not bad.”

Jonah glanced at his dad. Sophie didn’t know it, but she’d just received Wyatt Macon’s highest compliment when it came to target shooting.

He nodded at Jonah. “I lent her the nine-mil.”

Again, Jonah was surprised. It was the pistol his mom had always used.

Sophie fired another round, and another can went sailing. Now that the sun was lower, she’d taken off her sunglasses and hooked them in the V-neck of her T-shirt. A little crease formed between her brows as she squinted at the fence again.

“Relax your shoulders,” Jonah told her.

She ignored him, and his dad gave him a stern look.

She squeezed the trigger, missed, and mumbled a curse.

His dad smiled. “Ah, let’s call it a day, Sophie. You been at it two hours now.”

She turned around and huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She glanced at Jonah, but only for a second. “I’m going to get a drink. You want a beer or anything?”

The question was obviously not directed at Jonah, as he was holding one already and she had yet to acknowledge him.

“I better be getting back,” his dad said.

Sophie looked concerned. “You’re not staying?”

“Can’t do it.” He pulled off his John Deere cap and
wiped his brow with his forearm. “Got to get home, take the dog out. I’ll be back tomorrow, though. We can get out the long gun, if you want.”

She gave him one of her rare genuine smiles. “I’d like that, Wyatt. Thanks.”

“You hang on to that pistol now.” He nodded at it. “It’s yours until you get your other one replaced.”

“Well, thanks. That’s really sweet. See you tomorrow, then.”

She turned to Jonah with a dim imitation of the bright smile she’d had for his father. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She walked off toward the camper, and Jonah watched her go.

His dad slapped him on the back. “You got your work cut out for you, son. I’ll be back at eight.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for his truck. The beer he’d refused, along with the spring in his step, told him his dad had a date tonight.

Jonah sighed. “Thanks for coming.”

He waved without turning around and climbed into his truck. As his taillights faded down the road, Jonah heard the camper door open and shut again.

Sophie walked up beside him. She swigged her beer and then rested it on the ground at her feet.

“Want to shoot?” she asked.

“You go ahead.”

“Suit yourself.” She lifted the gun and aimed it. “So. How was your day?”

How was your day, dear?
The question was so June Cleaver, and it sounded strange coming from a woman in tight jeans and strappy heels, who was holding a pistol.

She turned to look at him and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Busy.”

She sighed and shook her head, probably miffed not to be let in on all the details. She returned her attention to the target.

Squeezed the trigger. Can was history.

“Who taught you to shoot?” he asked, impressed.

“My father.”

“He give you the LadySmith?”

She took aim again. “I bought it for myself.”

“Here.” Jonah moved behind her and rested his hands on her hips. “Wider stance.”

She moved her legs apart without complaint, and Jonah let his hands drop away.

She fired. Hit.

He whistled.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. She was still really pissed, and he felt guilty.

“It was the cuffs that set you off, wasn’t it?”

She turned away and pretended not to know what he was talking about.

“Sophie?” He took her arm and turned her to face him, then carefully slipped the pistol from her hand.

“Hey, I’m not finished.”

“Never argue with a woman holding a loaded gun.” He smiled down at her. “Personal rule.”

She plunked a hand on her hip. “I didn’t realize we were arguing.”

“Next time you want to hit a cop, hit me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hit you.”

“Yeah, you do.” He flipped the safety and tucked the pistol into the back of his jeans. “Come on. I deserve it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”