Page 49 of Always Been Mine (Always #2)

*Harold Baxter/Frank Wilkes

Harold Baxter stared at his nemesis. Admiral Benjamin Porter had been a pain in his ass for the past four years, but Baxter had managed to stay one-step ahead of him.

Barely. It had been too easy snatching him in front of his house.

Baxter had no doubt Porter deliberately let himself be captured.

The man must have a death wish because no way was Baxter letting him get out of here alive.

“I trust you’re comfortable?” Baxter asked. The admiral was tied to a chair.

Porter shrugged. “Can’t say I admire your hospitality.”

Baxter chuckled, but quickly turned serious. “You finally surfaced and made yourself an easy target. Why? You know I’ll only kill you.”

“Should I call you Baxter or Wilkes?”

“Baxter is fine.”

“My daughter. Most of my enemies were wise enough to leave her alone, Baxter, but you’ve made your biggest mistake going after her.”

“I let her go.”

“You don’t have children, do you?”

“You know I don’t. They’re a weakness,” Baxter said. “You’re proof right here. Tell me, Porter, how can you protect her when you’ll be dead?”

The admiral didn’t answer, but Baxter quickly corrected himself. “Ahh … I see it now. You think Gabriel Sullivan is all she needs to keep her safe?”

Still no answer. But the chilly expression in Porter’s eyes momentarily had Baxter doubting the prudence of bringing the admiral to his hideout.

“You cut her,” Porter finally said. “She’s innocent of this war between us. Avoiding collateral damage was never one of your strongest suits. The moment you’d taken her, you made it personal. And yes, you should be very afraid, Baxter. You keep on forgetting who Gabriel Sullivan once was.”

“You’d have someone so ruthless be with your daughter?

One could question your parenting skills,” Baxter scoffed, but cold sweat beaded his forehead.

He’d seen Dmitry Yerzov kill a man with chilly precision when Baxter had met with Zorin on one occasion.

His assassin dragged one of his enemies in front of them.

Zorin simply nodded and Dmitry sliced the man’s throat.

No hesitation. Stone-cold eyes. Hard to believe this was the same man who seemed desperately in love with the admiral’s daughter.

“She was born to survive a ruthless world,” Porter said proudly. “My daughter is tough enough to handle one Gabriel Sullivan. I can’t imagine either of them settling for less.”

“You’ve always been a grand manipulator, Porter,” Baxter said. “But a matchmaker?”

“Are we done with the niceties?” the admiral cut in abruptly. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing selling bioweapons on the Black Plane? Selling firearms is one thing, but you’ve gone too far this time, Baxter.

“The virus I’m selling to the bidders is inert.”

“What?”

“Contrary to what you think of me, Porter, my only purpose is to help with this fight against ISIS.”

“I have no time for your riddles. Spit it out, Baxter.”

“There’s an ISIS operative looking for a bioweapon.

We’ve confirmed he’s a high-ranking member of the Islamic State.

He’ll be a fountain of information if interrogated correctly.

Several people died an ugly death to give us his identity and the method of how to track him on the Black Plane,” Baxter said.

“As much as I want to protect the homeland, our citizens live in a bubble. They think because the crisis is a world away, it’s not going to touch them.

They always realize this too late. Look what happened with 9/11.

Even now our people’s image of terrorists is that they live in caves or in mud huts.

This new wave of jihadists is well-funded, and their computer networks are sophisticated.

We have to concentrate our resources on ISIS, not getting involved in Russia’s war with Ukraine. ”

“So your answer is to help the Russians suppress the Ukrainian government by providing them a virus?”

“A means to an end, Admiral.”

“You’re sick, twisted,” Porter growled with so much vehemence, Baxter nearly flinched.

What did he expect? That he could sway the admiral to his agenda?

“Our little talk is over,” Baxter said coldly. “I thought we were the same, you and me. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“I may be many things, Baxter, but a mass murderer I am not,” Porter shot back. “One more question—”

“I am not accountable to you—”

“The Project Infinity files—”

“Have long been destroyed,” Baxter said with much satisfaction when a look of dismay flashed across Porter’s face. “You sentimental fool. You still want to help Travis Blake when the man all but shunned you when you were the one who facilitated the return of his wife.”

“I nearly got her killed as well.”

“Sarah Blake. She was a good agent and hacker,” Baxter said wistfully. “They all had to die, you know.”

“Are you still going after her?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Leave them alone, Baxter. Travis and his wife have suffered enough.”

“I hate loose ends. That includes you.”

As if on cue, a rap on the door heralded the entrance of one of his mercenaries.

“Kill him,” Baxter stated shortly. “Make it quick.”

“Not doing the job yourself?” the admiral asked.

“I abhor blood spatters,” Baxter replied cynically.

It was then that the situation deteriorated quickly. Porter surprised his goon as he shot up, chair and all, and rammed the back of his head against the man’s face. Then he sprung and flipped his whole body with the chair, feet coming up to push back into Baxter’s desk for momentum.

The edge of the table struck Baxter’s ribs, robbing him momentarily of breath. He heard a crash, a splintering of wood, and a grunt. He had already reached for his gun when Porter came into view, a sharp stake that was once a chair leg in his grip.

Baxter fired and caught Porter on the side, but the admiral just kept on coming.

Before he could squeeze off another shot, a blunt force struck his head, followed by an excruciating pain jolting up from his fingers to his arm.

The son of a bitch drove the stake through his hand! Baxter howled in agony.

Porter grabbed his gun and aimed it at him. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot you.”

“You’ve become careless, Baxter,” the admiral added. “Wooden chair, my legs untied, underestimating an old man like me?”

The admiral went to Baxter’s laptop and took it out of hibernation. He produced a jump drive. How his men missed it when they patted the admiral down, Baxter didn’t know. Apparently, this batch of mercenaries were imbeciles.

Goddammit his hand was killing him and his head was throbbing.

Baxter cursed all that was holy that his room was soundproof and his men in the outer rooms couldn’t hear the scuffle inside.

So much for paranoia being his eventual downfall.

If only he could reach the alarm under the desk.

But both hands were on top of the table and the edge was pushed so far into him with his chair already against the wall, he couldn’t wedge his hand easily to reach it.

The admiral premeditated his moves with calculating precision.

“There’s nothing on that laptop,” Baxter gritted through his teeth .

“I know. You’ve stored it in a cloud somewhere on the Black Plane.”

How the fuck did he know that?

“All I need is your private key, which I know you’ve stored somewhere .

. .” Porter’s voice trailed off. “Got it.” The admiral was in profile to Baxter, so he knew the man was keeping an eye on his movements.

The gun was pointed unerringly at him while his other hand flew on the keyboard.

“My, my, Baxter, you’ve been a busy man. ”

“You’ll pay for this,” Baxter snarled.

“Am I missing something here?” Porter’s eyes met his briefly. “Am I not the one with the gun?”

As the minutes ticked by and a ghost of a smile appeared on Porter’s face, Baxter knew he had to act now, and kill the man, because getting charged with terrorism was not his end game.

Fuck it.

Baxter shoved the table forcefully and dove under it, praying the wire of the alarm had not been severed.

He pushed it. He heard Porter curse and his footsteps retreated to the side door exit—another allowance to his paranoia that was backfiring.

Shouting and footsteps rushed down the hallway, and finally, the door crashed open, but Porter was gone.

His crew found him hiding under a table. The humiliation.

“Get him! He went out the side door,” Baxter roared, brushing off his men’s help and rising to his feet. He yanked the stake from his hand. Blood gushed, but he was too furious to care and wrapped his hand in a shirt his goon handed him.

Gunfire exploded outside, but subsided quickly. His man came back with his broken laptop, looking grim. The admiral must have used it as a shield. Without his mercenary telling him, he knew Porter got away. There was only one place the admiral could go that was a mere ten minutes away.

The safe house.