Dead Burn Read online

  How could she have been so careless?

  Would she be able to find Rick?

  What about Jordan?

  She hobbled back toward the bedroom where she had emerged a half hour earlier. There were white bath towels, miscellaneous toiletries, including a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and as well as her shoes and jacket laid out on the bed.

  “You have fifteen minutes to take a shower and get ready.” Red spoke and stared directly at her.

  Emily knew that she couldn’t challenge the assassin, especially in her condition. She didn’t have any other choice but to grab everything, limping toward bathroom.

  Red followed.

  “I think I can handle this by myself.” Emily said as she tried to shut the door.

  Red blocked the door. “Fourteen minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  Emily undressed as Red stood guard at the doorway. He didn’t look at her directly, but she knew that if she tried to escape, or got the upper hand, he would do whatever was necessary to stop her. She used her time wisely and mindfully examined her available options.

  She hoped that time was on her side.

  * * * * *

  Jordan drove down the main boulevard to his next security meeting with an up and coming rock musician, and his wannabe, supermodel girlfriend. So cliché, he thought. He had been referred by another one of his other clients, sworn to secrecy, and promised a hefty fee for the job.

  As usual whenever Jordan was stuck in traffic, annoyed by bad drivers cutting him off, or wasn’t focused on the security layout of a home or business, he thought of Emily. It was stupid to think that she would drop Rick and run into his arms. He knew it would never happen, but still, it made for nice mini vacation during his boring days.

  With roadwork up ahead, he sat in a lane directed by an inept flagger.

  Jordan pushed one of the memory buttons on his cell phone.

  The phone rang three times, then an electronic voice said, “Please leave a message.” Beep.

  “Hey Em, just touching base. I had some more thoughts on the burn scene that I want to run by you. Also had a chance to look at the black box too. Call me, or text me. Bye.”

  Jordan was disappointed, but knew he would hear from her soon. Out of curiosity, he pressed the cell phone tracking app to find out where she was at the moment. The software still had a few glitches and updates needed, but it eventually directed the smiling face icon to the vicinity of the intended target. It zeroed in on the closest location.

  The software locked onto a position and gave the closest address.

  Jordan erratically pulled his car to the side of the road and stopped. He ignored the honks as a couple of ticked off motorists gave him the middle finger, and then drove on through the busy intersection.

  He double-checked the address again. He punched a few more keys. It produced the same result.

  “What the hell?” Jordan’s heart rate increased, hammering in his ears. He actually felt sick in the pit of his stomach.

  His new phone application clearly read out the address of Mr. Bishop’s estate, where he had been earlier in the week.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Friday 1245 Hours

  Emily sat in silence as Red drove toward the downtown area. She felt much better after a hot shower, but her spirits still plummeted as she watched the occupants of the cars pass by on the freeway. She wondered about their lives, friends, family, what they did for a living, and how they most likely did not realize how lucky they were to have structure and security – sanity without imminent danger.

  It was the first time in Emily’s life that she experienced real defeat when lives were at stake, not only Rick’s life, but the unsuspecting target. If she weren’t so outraged by the entire situation, she would break down and cry, and probably wouldn’t be able to make the tears stop for days. But, she maintained her composure and kept calm, mind alert.

  Emily glanced at Red. Quiet, severe, hands perfectly placed on the steering wheel as he weaved in and out of traffic. Her handler looked in his mid-fifties, lean, no doubt an expert in weapons and hand-to-hand combat, extremely focused to the point of obsessiveness, and he obviously hated his current assignment of babysitting her. He was capable of killing a person, probably in mere seconds; this man now had Rick’s life in his hands. He would look for any excuse to kill her.

  As a guess, Emily mused over in her mind that this man hated Mr. Bishop too. Taking orders from a man that looked down upon most of society. She saw a few subtle twitches when Bishop asked him to do something. She had to figure out a way to play one against the other.

  She tried to gain more of a personal profile on the assassin to find any weakness that would benefit her situation. His extremely subtle actions, clenched jaw, few words spoken, showed that he believed in strong convictions. He had some integrity too, in that he didn’t ogle her naked body in the bathroom.

  Emily searched him from her peripheral vision and ran familiar profiles in her mind, but found nothing that proved hopeful in her experience.

  She didn’t know where they were headed, only that it was her first killing assignment. At least she had some time to figure out how to save the intended target, and find out where Rick was held captive.

  The simple fact was if she didn’t complete the assignment, Rick was dead.

  The delicate balance of lives weighed on Emily’s every move.

  Red eased the car into the far right lane, carefully merging in front of cars, then exited, and made a left under the overpass, heading west.

  Emily noticed a sign indicating the Amtrak train station with additional parking about a mile up ahead.

  Red parked.

  For the first time since the drive, he looked at Emily. Cold grey eyes without an ounce of fear or uncertainty behind them, scrutinized her actions. The man behaved like a well-practiced killer, and he had the resume to prove it.

  Emily asked, “Where are we going?”

  “San Diego.” He replied flatly.

  It surprised Emily that they would take a train instead of driving, or flying.

  Red unhooked Emily’s seatbelt. He ran his hands down her left leg. As a reflex, she grabbed hold of his hand and began to struggle with him.

  “Do you want your ankle cuff taken off or not?” He snapped with annoyance.

  Emily stopped reacting. “What do you think?” She scoffed at him.

  “Give me your foot.”

  Emily complied. She pushed her foot in his direction. Red quickly used a special key device, releasing the anklet. Instantly, her leg felt better without the tight restraint. She massaged her tender ankle and her entire leg actually felt lighter.

  Red leaned close to Emily. She felt his breath on her neck. “If you try to escape or do anything that I don’t like, he’s dead. Understand?”

  His voice reflected a monotone that hit all her senses at once, down to her primal core. She knew he wasn’t threatening her; he would kill without any hesitation due to years of expert practice and conditioning.

  “Understand?” Red said again. He waited for her answer.

  Emily’s heart sank at the mention of Rick. “Yes.”

  “Get out.” He grabbed the device and opened his door.

  The wind had picked up, sending a chill down Emily’s spine. The coldness in the air with the combination of her damp hair made her shiver. She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. Her fingertips touched the cool silver pendant that Jordan had given her at dinner. She gently wrapped her fingers around the piece of jewelry like a lifeline. Of course, she thought to herself, Jordan would know something was wrong when he couldn’t get a hold of her or Rick. Jordan’s clever tracking device would eventually force him into some type of plan to action.

  Emily’s optimism rose.

  She watched Red take one small carry on suitcase and a metal briefcase from the trunk, before slamming it shut. He walked briskly toward the Amtrak entrance, not bothering to wait for Emily, or explaining anythin
g further. He expected her to follow.

  The electric doors whooshed open as Emily trailed the assassin inside where people patiently waited on uncomfortable benches. Most were lost in newspapers or electronic e-readers, and didn’t pay any attention to the unlikely couple.

  An uneasy pang rose in Emily’s fight or flight response, which caused her muscles to twitch and an unsteady dizziness to emerge. Her vision dimmed making the angled corners of the room appear warped. It took every ounce of courage and determination not to turn and run. It had deadly consequences.

  Emily stood next to Red as he retrieved two tickets from inside his jacket, ready for immediate boarding.

  A printed sign on a silver stand next to the exit door read: Coast Starlight departing 1:00pm.

  Emily had never been on a train before and it made her situation seem more surreal. As she casually glanced around, she noticed commuters and vacationers. Everyone busy with their own itineraries. No one bothered to look in Emily’s direction, but she felt conspicuous to everyone around her.

  The conductor looked at their tickets. He politely directed Red and Emily to the designated area, which occupied the private sleeping cars.

  Red motioned for Emily to climb the steps and board the train ahead of him. She felt his eyes surveying everything around them, and then his gaze settled on the direction of the narrow hallway ahead. To the left and down below were for some travellers and handicapped passengers. They moved steady through the car that occupied several sleeping rooms, with two or four seats facing one another.

  People settled into the cramped quarters and chattered incessantly.

  Red took Emily’s arm, guided her to compartment #16, and gently pushed her inside the room. Immediately shutting the door, he secured the two small pieces of luggage.

  “Sit down.” He ordered.

  Emily took a seat to gaze out the window at the flatness of the land, which had only slight rolling hills of a dry and brittle landscape. It was difficult to believe that during the rainy season the same area would be green and lush, and full of native wildlife. For now, it resembled how Emily felt inside, lost, forgotten, and in desperate need of a miracle.

  Red checked everything inside the quarters, every compartment, and every amenity from coat hangers to the daily newspaper. After he was satisfied, he sat down across from her.

  Emily fidgeted in her seat. Her knees barely inches away from her captor, moved from side to side. The room’s already tight depth shrank, the generous length of six feet seemed to morph into a coffin-like facade. Her covert work and demanding investigations had turned into something she had never imagined, a tomb aboard a train, heading to a murder assignment.

  The train lurched. It settled into a slow mode as it left the station. The engines grinded before it caught the correct gear, quickly building momentum. The ride was surprisingly smooth and the vista looked more inhabitable when they moved away.

  Emily interrupted the silence, “I’m thirsty.”

  Red stared at her, but remained quiet. She couldn’t get a read on his reaction, eyes cold and without lack of any expression, or a facial muscle movement. Her advantage and chance for escape rested on being able to read him.

  “I’m dehydrated. I need to get some juice or water, or something.” She persisted.

  He looked out the window as the train gained speed. “Go ahead.”

  “I need some money.” She held out her hand.

  Completely irritated with Emily’s request, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of five-dollar bills. He finally showed some emotion, which lent to the distaste of babysitting.

  “Thanks.” Emily rose to leave the compartment. She was surprised that Red didn’t attach himself to her, but rather, he continued to look out the window even as she closed the door.

  Once in the hallway, her feet glued to the floor, Emily didn’t know which direction to proceed. She figured that the dining car should be toward the front of the train. She willed her legs to carry her.

  Moving through the cars, she glanced at the passenger’s faces, some serene and eager, while others were uncertain and questionable. Everyone had a story. Emily’s story unraveled more like a movie, than real life.

  A group of teenage girls, giggling while texting on cell phones, entered from the adjacent car, blocking the passage for anyone else. It took Emily a couple of steps to maneuver around the gossiping girls.

  Suddenly the train cut its speed rapidly and slowed down. All travellers who weren’t sitting, ended up thrown to one side, or in an unsuspecting passenger’s lap. Two girls lost their balance, tumbled to the floor, backpacks and purses with all of the personal contents rocketed to the other side of car. Pens, books, lipsticks and other items clattered with a musical tone in between the seats.

  Emily regained her balance and eyed a hot pink cell phone neatly tucked under an empty seat. She leaned down and covertly pocketed the phone. No one paid her any attention as the commotion ensued. She had some ammunition now, quickly moving on to find a quiet place to send a text to Jordan.

  Emily took the stairs leading toward the changing rooms, and swiftly shut the door behind her. Her hands shook as she pushed the buttons through all the messages and goofy photos of teenagers.

  As she began to punch in Jordan’s number, the door flew open, and all she could see at first was a black blur. No outline, just a force that didn’t appear to be human.

  The pink phone smashed against the barrier. Bits and pieces hit all four walls at once.

  The air seemed to disappear from Emily’s lungs as she found herself pinned halfway on the floor of the small room. Red expertly held her against the wall with his thumb at her throat. His eyes raged like a predator staring at his prey, just before the fatal attack. The assassin bore down and paralyzed her with his excessive strength.

  Red showed his own cell phone screen with a message directly at Emily’s view. He read the glaring words to her with conviction in his voice. “He’s dead.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Friday 0145 Hours

  His exhalations inside the hood made it almost impossible to breathe in a relaxed manner, the air restriction and stiltedness contorted in his lungs. The rise and fall of dizziness swept over him, and the general overall weakness of hunger made him fight even harder to concentrate.

  It had been an hour since Rick waited in a new holding area, hands and feet shackled, tingling numbness prevalent throughout his body.

  No sounds from his captor, no shuffling of feet or muffled voices, just the silence.

  He felt the room’s dampness, which penetrated deep into his bones, leaving a loneliness and despair in the pit of his stomach that inched up toward his psyche. Pushing any negative thoughts from his mind, he concentrated on his approximate location with every detail that his senses could muster.

  He fought the urge to sleep.

  The door opened with a crash, causing Rick’s adrenaline to surge.

  The barrel of a large caliber gun pressed firmly against his temple. He felt the captor’s hand shaking from anger, frustration, or having to kill someone.

  Helpless, Rick waited for his fate.

  The reluctance infuriated Rick. With a calm voice he stated, “What are you waiting for?”

  For the first time since the abduction, the captor spoke, “Looks like your girlfriend didn’t do what she was told.” There was a winded quality to the voice. He sounded young, which surprised Rick.

  The man tore the hood from Rick. He stared him in the eye. A monumental mistake for the captor and a brief reprieve for Rick, but now the job turned personal, instead of an order.

  The light burned Rick’s vision for a moment as he blinked rapidly. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the holding cell, everything still looked blurry.

  Rick pushed the conversation as he kept his eyes focused on the young man, “She knows what she’s doing.” His voice replied raspy.

  The man stepped backward and released the gun from the side o
f Rick’s head. He paced, raising the gun up and down, as he wrestled with his conscience. “Why can’t she just do what’s she’s supposed to do?” The question was rhetorical.

  Rick forced a laugh. “Have you ever had a girlfriend? Especially one that’s determined to get her own way?”

  The man stopped and stared. “What?”

  Rick estimated the guy to be mid-twenties. He still lacked the emotional wherewithal to handle deadly situations, or any type of stressful confrontation. It was obvious that he had never killed anyone before as the anxiety rose by his erratic movements.

  “Look, it’s some kind of misunderstanding.” Rick treaded lightly and didn’t want the young man to see right through his subtle attempt to diffuse the situation. “I’m sure that she’s just being combative.”

  The captor pulled a cell phone from its case; he read the instructions again. It was obvious that he knew what it said. From the desperation wiped across his face, he wanted it to say something different.

  Rick felt relieved that Emily was alive, but worried for her safety. He had no idea if she was captive, hurt, or what the intentional motive was for the kidnapping. It drove him crazy thinking about it.

  “Just ask whoever is with Emily to verify. No big deal.” Rick sounded casual, but he knew that it teetered on his swift execution.

  The young man studied Rick for a moment. Without warning, he swung the gun in a hook-like fashion and it landed squarely on Rick’s jaw. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He spat the words out in anger as his demeanor changed.

  Rick had considered that this wasn’t the same man who had beaten him, but that thought soon diminished. He watched the eyes of the man, dead, darting from side to side, almost that of a caged, starving animal.

  The room darkened.

  Rick knew his life could end in a dingy holding cell. For now, he ran out of ideas.

  As if a voice had willed the young man, he erratically punched the keypad on the cell phone.