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The traitor is silent, meaning he has no interest in bragging to me that I’m beaten. Instead of lashing out like I want, I settle into a different role. “Where are we?” I ask softly, glancing around the simple, clean kitchen.
“You don’t recognize your husband’s home?” he taunts. “I would act surprised, but we both know you’re not his wife. Any idiot could have looked up Bennett’s record and seen that he never married.”
“Harding didn’t, and I’m pretty sure he was an idiot. Isn’t that why you picked him to do your dirty work? I bet the dumbass only thought you were sharing stories of tragedy and negligence. He had no idea you were the one responsible for the death of those men.”
My theory is met with more silence, but I’ve only just begun to piss him off. “Oh, come on. This is bad-guy one-oh-one. The damsel is in distress. The hero is down. This is the part where you brag about your brilliant scheme and leave me in a precarious situation.”
The traitor dips his hand into a bag, coming out with two medicine bottles and syringes. “No, this is the part where you commit suicide after killing a decorated SEAL. The same way you killed the congressman.”
My heart stutters in my chest, but I refuse to show fear. “That’ll be kind of difficult with my hands tied.”
Now, the man snickers. “I’ll help, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get all the credit.”
“So…how did I kill the congressman?”
The man ignores the question, but then all hell breaks loose when a knock sounds at the door. The unexpected visitor fills me with hope until keys rattle in the lock and a voice like a younger Jackson calls out. “Dad. Captain was going apeshit. I had to bring her home. Please don’t be naked.”
My first instinct is to call for help, but this is Jackson’s son. I would never forgive myself if I let something happen to him. I have to try warning him away. Sensing I’m about to yell, Harding’s mole shoves a forty-five-caliber barrel pistol to my temple. I have maybe seconds before Caleb finds us. I expect it’ll take Captain even less.
As I feared, Captain’s growl precedes her nose around the corner. “Captain, what’s wrong?”
Caleb walks into the kitchen behind Jackson’s boxer. Captain’s head is lowered, and she’s still growling. “What the_oh shit.”
“Well, Chelsea. Looks like you’ll get to take credit for three murders.”
I throw my head back, hoping to give the younger Bennett a shot. “Caleb, run!”
The traitor fires behind me, but it’s not the big blast from the forty-five. Caleb takes off, and a second shot is fired. The younger Bennett rounds the corner, so I know he’s not dying yet. Captain charges the bastard planning to kill for her family, but the boxer’s back legs fail when she tries to jump.
Whatever she was hit with is working fast on her much smaller body. I can only hope it’s not a lethal dose, whatever it is. Regardless, if I don’t get us out of this, it’s only a matter of time before we’re all dead. The traitor takes off after Caleb. I begin frantically searching the room, but even if there was an M16 on the table next to me, I couldn’t get it, trussed up like I am.
I shift my upper body, testing the binds. They’re too tight to move my arms any which way but further behind my back. As I check my range of movement, I notice the other chairs. These are straight ladderback chairs. If I can lift straight up, I might be able to slide off. I’ll still be bound, but the straps should be loose enough to work my arms out.
The rest of the chairs have leg stabilizers across the front, so I lift one foot, planting a heel on the bar. It takes a bit of shimmying and muscles burning to inch my way upward. My heartbeat thunders in my ears like a countdown. I don’t know how far Caleb ran before passing out. I’m hoping the bastard is taking the time to tie him up and will then carry him inside. That would give me more time. Of course, he could have just killed him and is on his way back right now.
I keep pushing, shifting my foot on the floor to the seat. A few more inches, and I should be off.
My legs scream from the prolonged power squat and balancing my unsteady heels on the chair cushion. The first band clears the top, making each subsequent one more manageable. When the last one slides off the chair back, I nearly topple onto the floor. I manage to correct my balance and immediately work to free my arms from the straps.
My priority now is finding a weapon. I check the mole’s bag, striking out for a gun. Spotting a magnetic knife strip on the wall, I grab the biggest blade and set it on the counter near Jackson.
I drop to my knees beside him, checking for a pulse. He’s alive. I shake him, smacking his cheek and whispering, “Jackson! Jackson, wake up!”
His eyelids flutter, but that’s all I get. There’s nowhere to move him that would be protected. All I can do is eliminate the threat and see about signaling for help.
Grabbing the asshole’s bag of chemicals, I peek around the dining room wall down a hallway to the back door. I don’t see Caleb or the mole, so I race through the room, looking for a phone. There’s one on the floor in the hallway. It’s probably Caleb’s.
I activate the screen, knowing I can at least make an emergency call if I can’t unlock it. The call goes through, and I cut off the dispatcher. “A man is trying to kill me and two other people. Trace my location. Please hurry!”
I shove the phone beneath the couch cushion and keep moving. The first door in the hallway is to a half bath. The second opens to a large bedroom. This has to be Jackson’s.
A door closes somewhere in the house, telling me the mole is finished with Caleb. I carefully close and lock Jackson’s door and tear through the room, searching for his service pistol or any other weapon I can find.
Hurried footsteps tell me the assassin has noticed my absence. I’ve got precious few seconds before he finds me, and there are no weapons to be had. Jackson appears to be a responsible gun owner, keeping everything locked up. Damn.
The bedroom door jiggles, indicating my time is up. The only thing I could do now is escape through a window, but leaving Jackson and Caleb won’t save me. The mole plans to kill them and pin it on me. He’ll do that whether I’m here or not, and I have no intention of letting the Bennett boys die.
I open the bag in my hand, reading the labels on the glass bottles.