Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

S eated in a tufted leather chair before the fireplace built from river rocks more than two hundred years ago, the man now known as Quintus swirled the bourbon in the cut-glass tumbler, letting the firelight glint off the amber liquid. Methodically, he re-traced his movement after dealing with Zoe and her car on the rain-slicked mountain pass two nights ago.

He'd driven south to the outskirts of Bristol, on the Virginia side of town and in the opposite direction Zoe had been traveling on route 58, until he found a non-descript motel for the night. Paying cash, he'd kept the brim of his well-worn baseball cap pulled low to obscure his features. Not because he believed the motel's night clerk would be able to identify him, but just in case the owner of the motel had some kind of security camera that could be used to do facial recognition. In all his years working as a spook for the government and since, he'd gotten great at staying off the radar, hiding from everyone he didn't want knowing he was alive.

Everyone but Zoe.

Swallowing a gulp of the whiskey, instead of just taking a sip, he let the burn hit the back of his throat to match the anger he still didn't have in check.

Damn the nosy woman!

Why couldn't she just let his reported death be enough to satisfy her? No, she was like a blood hound after a rabbit when she got a whiff of something that didn't add up. She'd turn over every rock, examine any inconsistency along the trail. She'd do it quietly, keeping her cards close to her chest while she ferreted out the problem. And she didn't care how long it took her. The woman's picture should be in the dictionary next to the word persistence.

For three years, she'd been undercover as the bodyguard for the arms merchant Adrian Bricker to track down all his buyers for the illegal weapons he sold. It was an assignment he'd started then decided it was time for him to disappear using a trip in South America to fake his own death. He also knew that Zoe would want to step into the Bricker operation to find out what happened to him, only to find out taking Bricker down was imperative, which kept her busy. He'd even gone through several plastic surgeries to change his features enough to block facial recognition programs from identifying him as his previous persona. For most people, a reported death from the government would be enough.

He ground his teeth.

Not Zoe Edgars.

Despite the bad girl persona, she liked to show the world, even her strait-laced law enforcement family, she never hesitated to defend others. Of course, she'd want to see his remains. But there hadn't been a body—a mistake he never should've made. Acquiring a corpse in a third world country to match his height and build, then torching it beyond recognition would've easily done the trick, but he'd assumed no one would come looking in the jungle.

Two weeks ago, he'd begun to believe he had a tail when he crossed into Mexico from El Passo to meet with a drug cartel leader to discuss their demands were for the men he represented. He'd thought the shadow was some nosy border patrol guard or even a DEA agent he'd somehow tipped off, but before he could confront them, the ghost disappeared. It shook him so much he'd changed his plans. Heading west to Juarez, he posed as a tourist returning from the beach and crossed the border into California at the legal point of entry there.

At LAX he'd felt the whisper of the shadow again, but the crowded airport prevented him from locating it. It was hard to shake a tail on a commercial flight. If the ghost boarded with him, they'd simply follow him off the plane and continue to trail him. Since he'd bought the last available seat for his flight, that scenario didn't bother him. If, however, whoever following him had his flight number, they could simply take a non-stop and be waiting for him to step off the plane at Dulles. He never took non-stops anymore. Layovers always gave him options. This operation was too important, so he decided not to get another flight, but rented a car in St. Louis and drove the remainder of the trip back to Washington and stayed in one of his secret safe houses on that route, just to shake that tail.

Then three days ago, after no further feelings of being watched, he'd met with the other leaders of The Commission—not an official government commission, but a group of like-minded men and women intent to changing the country to a more controlled and profitable future. The meeting proceeded without incident. Plans to fund more candidates in the election from both sides that had ties to the cartels were in place. Just like the old Mafia Commission that divided the racketeering syndicates in New York and across the country, their new commission divided up the various money-making enterprises.

And just like that other commission, traitors or uncooperative politicians would be dealt with permanently. It was his responsibility that the problem not only go away, but send a message to anyone else not to get out of line. Plans to do just that were set in motion for next week at the energy summit. At The Commission meeting he'd briefed everyone on the details of his plans. A unanimous vote was taken to proceed.

After all the plans were set in motion, the group broke up. Each leader leaving the luxury cabin in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains thirty minutes apart. He'd been the last to leave. That's when he'd seen her.

Still lean as ever, dressed in black jeans and a bright blue jacket, her dark hair was now down to her shoulders instead of the spikey-do she'd worn as a bodyguard. Standing with her phone pointed at the cabin several yards from The Commission's enclave and partially screened by the overgrown evergreens, she'd somehow surpassed the security perimeter—which didn't surprise him, knowing her skills.

The moment he stepped out onto the drive, she ducked back into the trees.

He bolted into his car to cut her off. It was paramount that he confiscated that phone and prevent her from exposing his resurrection and the plans of The Commission. The harrowing drive deeper into the rural landscape in the pouring rain was treacherous. He'd almost lost her once or twice, managing to end her life in the end. The only thing that worried him was that damn phone.