Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Durango

I chuckle to myself, thinking of Willow's text asking me to have someone walk with me. Thunder had to leave on an assignment, and no one else was around when I left. Honestly, I don't need a babysitter. Hell, I've escaped much worse than someone potentially following me.

As soon as I got in earlier, I called Harding to find out if anything new developed with the Belarus assignment. My gut says that's not resolved. Most likely, I'm being paranoid since Damien divulged so much information to me. Considering we still don't know who shot him or if someone with us was involved, anyone could have overheard him talking to me and want what he shared. Or what they think he shared.

But how would anyone find me here in New York? I don't use my real name on assignments.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I grab it. Harding. Finally.

"Hey—"

"Durango, I got your message," she cuts me off. "As I mentioned, the authorities in Minsk released Nancy and Sylvia. We have no idea where they are. Also, the weapons are gone. A team went to the coordinates you gave me, but there was nothing there."

I stop. "Wait, did they follow the instructions about going to the house and then going down into the basement?"

"They did. There was evidence someone had been there recently, but there were no weapons."

The hairs on the back of my neck go up. "I think I'm being followed again."

I spin around but only see a mother and her young daughter. They walk past me.

"Again? Is this why you sent me that photo? My search turned up nothing on him."

"I thought he was following me, but I could have been wrong. Did Nancy and Sylvia leave together?" I ask.

"That's what my contact told me."

"Huh. That seems odd to me."

"Me too," Harding says. "If some woman admitted to having an affair with my man and was pregnant, I wouldn't willingly go anywhere with her. Unless I was going to hurt the woman."

I move toward the building, place my back to the wall, and watch the people all around. The sense someone is watching me is strong.

"Why did they release Nancy and Sylvia?"

Harding sighs. "I was told there was no evidence either was in danger or responsible for Damien's death, so they had no choice but to let them go."

"Have you made any progress in figuring out who killed Damien?"

"No, and frankly, I don't need to. His boss is Stanvich, and the weapons are missing. That's what I'm focusing on."

Two men speed past on bicycles. No one has even glanced in my direction while I've been watching.

"But what if the person who killed Damien is the one who took the weapons?"

She sighs. "Okay, this is just between us, but my working theory is that Stanvich is somehow behind Damien's death. He wanted to take out any loose ends that could connect him to the weapons."

"Except Damien told me."

"Making you another potential loose end. But since the location has been compromised, you are likely safe."

"Depends on who took the weapons. It's possible the information that the location is well known didn't get to them. Also, how would anyone know what Damien told me? Or where to find me? I still feel like someone is watching me." As a test, I walk one block and then lean against the wall again, keeping my eyes on everyone who comes near.

Damien told me Sylvia wouldn't understand what he was saying in Russian, but what if that was a lie? She's free and perhaps behind what's going on.

"Look, I didn't want to bring this up, but you should be aware. I've been looking into everyone who was there with us in the woods. There is one person who not only understood what was said but also knows where to find you."

I roll my eyes. "It's not Moose."

"Are you really so sure? I did some digging. He's telling everyone he's some farm boy from Montana."

"Actually, he hasn't said that," I say.

"Well, that's the impression I got when I spoke to him. Anyway, he spent some time working on an undercover assignment where he had to blend in with Russian forces?"

What? "Are you certain?"

"Yes, I was able to get his records while he was a SEAL."

"Wait, I thought those were classified and only available to the highest level of security." Of course, someone could probably hack those records. Hell, they can hack just about everything these days.

"I am the highest level of security," she says.

While she's a damn good CIA agent, I guess I never realized just how high her clearance went.

"Oh." It's all I got as all of this sinks in.

"It's not unheard of for a SEAL to penetrate enemy forces," I say. However, those assignments are usually reserved for CIA agents.

"Penetrate, not assimilate with. There's something here. I'll be in town this afternoon and will be swinging by the office to talk to Moose."

"No one's at the office," I say.

"He's coming in to meet with me."

"Sounds like I'll miss you. I'm just trying to get home right now."

"You're walking home?"

"No, I'm leaning against a building. All my senses tell me I'm being watched and followed, but I haven't seen anything suspicious."

"Call the guys, get them with you. If it is related to what you know about the weapons, then they are only following you to eliminate you."

I chuckle. "Thanks. You always make me feel better."

She sighs. "Sorry, I think facts are important to have."

"Appreciated. Usually. As for the guys, the only one around is Axel, and he's with Willow, protecting her."

"Protecting her from what?"

A man wearing a baseball cap walks by, glancing at me. He continues to the end of the block and turns left around the corner.

"It's a long story, but she ticked off an ex who threatened to come here and hurt her."

"Perhaps he's following you. What's his name? I'll check him out."

"Trip already did. He's got a clean record, but his family, not so much."

The guy with the baseball cap comes back into view, but he's on the opposite corner from where he turned left. How did he get there so fast?

"Humor me, his name?"

"Tyler Bentley or Tyler Sampson. He went by both. Also, just an FYI, I finished my report and sent a copy to you."

There's some mumbling in the background. "Durango, I hate to do this, but I have to go. Please don't go straight home."

I laugh. "Not my first time being followed."

"Sorry, of course. I've been working with some inexperienced people lately."

I'm curious how that happened, but now is not the time to ask her about it. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

She ends the call, and I still see no one out of the ordinary aside from the guy with the cap, who continued to walk down the sidewalk farther from me. I'll just take this block by block until I get eyes on someone. I walk, looking back over my shoulder every few steps. At this point, no one else is on this block with me. It's not unusual now that I've hit a residential area.

As I pass the end of the building and land on the corner, I spot a van parked against the curb to my left with its sliding door open. Two men jump out of the van and run toward me. I immediately cut to my right in an attempt to sprint across the street. If I can get some distance between them and me, then I can turn and defend myself better.

Once across the street, I turn to face them. I feel the prick in my neck and then spot a man holding a gun. But it's not an ordinary gun. I pull something out of my neck and stare at it.

A dart?

I feel woozy. It must have been a tranquilizer gun. I don't have much time. I glance around. Someone has to see what's going on. But there is no one nearby. I turn and try to make my way to another block where there are some shops. But with each step, my body becomes heavier and heavier until finally, I fall to my hands and knees.

The van pulls up to the curb next to me. Two men grab my arms, and a bag is placed over my head. I try to fight back, but I can't. I yell out, hoping someone sees and calls it in, but even my voice is weak.

It takes them no time to get me into the van, and it's moving. My lids grow heavy, but I don't fall asleep. I'm aware the ride is short. Or at least I think it is. The men in the van remain quiet. I have yet to hear them utter a word.

The van stops, and they shove me out onto the concrete. With this bag over my head, I can't tell if I'm on a sidewalk or in a garage. They drag me through an area that echoes. Finally, they drop me. The floor is cold. More concrete.

My eyes grow heavier. Whatever they gave me is only now fully kicking in. Footsteps back away from me as I feel sleepy. How the hell did they catch me off guard? I knew someone was following me. Although it's not like I thought I'd be shot with a dart. This can't be how I die. Not being caught like this. I evade men like this all the time. It's the last thought I have before I go under.

I struggle to open my eyes. It's dark. I sit up. I'm not dead. My arms and legs aren't bound anymore, and there is no longer a bag on my head. Why would they unbind me? As my eyes adjust, I see a door with what appears to be a three-inch slot that's closed. They plan to keep me here. No one intends to come into the room. That's why they untied me.

And it's doubtful they intend to let me go because I could hurt them as I leave. As this sinks in, I continue to evaluate the room for any potential escape. It's dark, and once my eyes adjust, I take in that there is no furniture in the room. A little light is coming through a small window in the upper portion of the door. It's not sunlight and is very dim.

I stand up and sway a little. My head hurts like a hangover. How long have I been out?

Slowly, I make my way to the door's window and peer out. There is a light just outside that barely illuminates the space. All I can make out is what appears to be a dark hallway. I can't see how long it is.

The light allows me to see the area near the door. I pound on the walls. Drywall. The floor is cement.

A door opens down the hall, and footsteps click and clack as they approach.

I move to the door, and a man steps up and stares at me through the window. He appears to be in his forties with dark hair and is unfamiliar to me.

"Damien told you where the weapons are."

It's not a question. He's stating it as fact. I don't respond. Now I understand why I'm here.

"Tell me what he told you, and I'll let you go."

He's lying. There is no way he'd open the door and allow me in that narrow hallway with him.

I need to buy time and find a way to escape. I grab my head and sway into the wall. "I don't feel good. I think I might throw up." I push off the wall but visibly sway. Okay, so I might be playing into it a bit. "Where am I?" I slur my words.

The man huffs and brings a phone to his ear. "How much did you give him? He's too out of it to question right now."

I slump against the wall again for effect.

"Fine. I'll wait till morning." He removes the phone from his ear and stares at me for a second.

I continue to hold my head. Finally, he spins and retreats down the hallway. About twenty feet away, he opens a door. Light streams in, followed by voices, the clanging of silverware, and the scent of pizza.

I'm in the back of a restaurant? Likely a pizza place. I pull on the door. Of course, it's locked. Checking the hinges, I'm not getting out without tools.

How does he know Damien told me about the weapons? I can't think straight, but I need to if I'm going to figure this out.

My head really does hurt, and I suddenly don't feel so good. I slide down the wall to the floor and lie on the cool cement. Maybe I'll just rest for a few minutes and then continue to search for a way out.

Car horns wake me up with a jolt. I sit up and grab my head because it still hurts. I need water to flush whatever they gave me out of my system. The room is no longer dark. More light is coming in from the hallway. I stand and go to the door. The side wall of the hallway has a window. I turn and take in the room I'm in. There is a sliver of light coming in through a hole in the wall.

A door slams shut, and there are footsteps. I spin around and spot a different man walking my way. Without even looking up at me through the window, he opens the metal slat in the door and pushes through a small bottle of water and a package of crackers.

"Hey! Why am I here?" I ask.

After the questions last night, there's no doubt why I'm here, but if I can get any more information, it might help.

"The man is coming to question you soon. The more forthcoming you are, the less painful it will be for you."

"Who is the man?" I ask.

No response. I glance through the window. He's walking away.

Great, so his job was to tell me to answer the questions or be tortured. I grab the bottle of water. The seal is broken, so I toss it aside.

My eyes move back to the hole in the wall. If daylight is coming through, there might be a window behind this drywall. I don't know how much time I have, so I get to work right away.