Page 75 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

BECK

“ S omething’s not right.”

I whisper the words to Cal as we exit yet another empty building on the lot of the abandoned clothing factory, where Charlie told us to meet her.

There was no time to wait for backup, so it’s just us and the eerie quiet of our dilapidated surroundings.

We move slowly, our backs to each other, our steps in sync, our heads on a constant swivel, even though we’ve encountered no threats since we climbed over the gate we found Charlie’s car outside of.

The doors were open, the engine still running, but she was nowhere to be found.

We’d rushed our entry, fearing that someone had seen her coming and snatched her up.

So far, we’ve found no evidence of that.

Besides her car and the promise she’d meet us here, there’s no evidence that she’s here at all.

No one is.

Cal and I have cleared five buildings, all of them in various states of collapse and holding guns or drugs.

My assumption is that this is one of the places the Brothers are using as a stash house.

As far as chosen locations to conduct illegal activities go, this is a good one.

It’s a huge property in a rural area that makes it easy to see someone coming from a mile away, but that vantage point only works if you actually have bodies stationed around the perimeter to keep an eye out, and Jacob doesn’t.

“It’s too quiet,” Cal agrees, pausing with his back to the exterior wall of the building we just cleared.

He lowers his weapon, allowing it to hang at his hip from the strap around his shoulders so he can pull out his phone and call Charlie again.

I step in front of him, sweeping cautious eyes and a loaded weapon over the empty stretch of road ahead to make sure we’re both protected.

The line rings and rings before rolling over to voicemail. Frustration rolls off of him in palpable waves as he pockets the phone and picks up his weapon again. He taps my shoulder, signaling that he’s ready to move, and we head for the last and largest building.

“Maybe she didn’t hear it,” I offer, shifting my focus to my left as we prepare to walk through a second set of gates that are wide open. “You know she keeps her phone on silent.”

It’s a habit she learned during years of undercover work. One, she continues to use even when she’s not working a case.

Cal’s gaze is pinned to our right side, and we’ve both slowed down significantly, taking half steps to make sure we’re not missing anything. “Or they saw her coming and took her down.”

“There’s no one out here, Drake. Who would have done that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Harris?” He sighs, and our eyes meet briefly over our shoulders. He reads my skeptical gaze with ease. “You’re right. If she’d encountered trouble, Charlie wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.”

I nod my agreement, and neither of us speaks to the fact that there are no shell casings on the ground and the air is free from the acrid smell of freshly discharged weapons.

There’s just us standing steps away from the set of doors that will take us inside the building where Selene has to be, and the question of whether or not Charlie is in there, too.

There’s just the weight of the tactical gear on our bodies and the weapons in our hands, we’ve yet to use.

There’s just the alarm bells ringing in my head and then the disembodied voice of Jacob Marsh coming through speakers I can’t see.

“Don’t be shy, boys. Come on in,” he sneers while a woman laughs in the background.

It’s not Selene. I know that much, but I don’t think it’s Charlie either. Not that I’ve ever had many occasions to hear her laugh. I start to ask Cal if he has, but the thought is interrupted by a loud buzzing and the sound of the doors parting to let us through.

My fingers tighten around my gun, and Cal and I both take a step back, prepared to be ambushed. Jacob laughs over the intercom. “There’s no welcome committee, I promise. All of our partygoers are in one place, waiting for you. Isn’t that right, Selene?”

He pitches his voice low when she says her name, and the whimper that follows makes it clear to me that he’s hurting her.

I picture the gun pressed to her temple, and red floods my vision.

I shake it away, knowing I can’t go to that place, that I can’t surrender to my rage because I have to depend on my training.

That’s what Selene needs from me right now.

Cal is half a step ahead of me, and the resolute set of his shoulders tells me his mind is in the same place as mine. He’s expelled all thoughts of loving her, all memories of holding her and kissing her, every desire to comfort her, trading it for the skill needed to save her.

“Turn to your right, Agent Drake.”

The smugness in Jacob’s voice sets fire to my blood. It burns hot and bright inside of me as we follow his directions to the letter, but it threatens to turn into a searing white flame every time he speaks to Selene.

“Agent Beckham doesn’t look too excited about seeing you,” he tells her as we climb a set of rusted metal steps that place us on a platform with another door he has to buzz us through.

“Why do you think that is, Selene? Are you difficult to work with? Do you think he’s dreading having to come here and die for you? ”

For some reason, it gives me a sense of relief to know Jacob isn’t aware of what we are to each other. It’s not much in the way of upper hands, but maybe we’ll be able to use it to our advantage. God knows we need every bit of leverage we can get.

“The only person dying here today is you, Marsh,” I growl, making him the same promise I made his father about ending his life.

We’ve climbed another set of steps. According to the faded signage in the hallway, we’re now on the production floor.

There are no more locked doors or buzzers, just two sets of swinging doors at the left and right ends of the hall.

Cal moves down to the right, and I take the left.

“Oh, this is adorable,” Jacob muses. “You know I can see everything you’re doing right?”

We ignore him. I look to Cal, signaling my preparedness to enter with my hand.

He nods, squaring his shoulders and adjusting his hold on his weapon.

I do the same, and we step through the doors at the same time.

The first thing I notice when I enter the space is that I can no longer see Cal.

The second thing I notice is that the machinery and work stations haven’t been removed.

Large cutting tables with fabric stacked high are to my right, blocking my view of the rest of the room and my partner.

Partner.

I’m intentional in my use of the word, knowing that just like Selene, Cal is depending on me to be everything but the man who loves him.

In this moment, all I am is a weapon. I’m decades of training and lethal focus.

I’m sharpened senses and unhurried movements, clearing my side of the room and then making my way to the enclosed platform that sits above the production floor and spans the length of it.

As I make my approach, climbing up yet another set of rusted metal steps, I look to my right to see if Cal is there.

He’s not. My heart sinks, and the familiar fear of losing him rises up in my chest. I have no choice but to push it back, though, to quiet it with reassurances about what I would have heard if he were gone.

A struggle of some sort, the pop of gunfire, a cry for help.

Focus, Beckham.

I push all those thoughts away, stopping on the last step before the small landing outside of the platform’s wide-open door.

I strain my ears but don’t hear anything except for my own pounding heart and the sharp inhale of resignation I take before approaching the entrance.

The barrel of my gun enters the room before I do, and I ensure there’s no one waiting behind the door on my left before I press my back against it and swing my gaze to the right.

What I find waiting for me is enough to steal my breath and make my trigger finger twitch.

“Aht, aht,” Jacob says, wagging the index finger of the hand not holding a gun to Selene’s head in my direction. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The years haven’t been kind to him. His features are scarred with hatred.

His ruddy skin buckling under the weight of intolerance to form wrinkles that make no sense on a man his age.

His hairline is receding as well, and several of his teeth seem to be decaying right in front of my face.

For all intents and purposes, Jacob Marsh is an unattractive waste of space, and yet it doesn’t change the fact that he has Selene tied to a rolling desk chair with duct tape over her mouth.

It also doesn’t seem to have any bearing on the way the woman standing a couple of paces behind feels about him.

She’s beaming at him even though he hasn’t once looked in her direction, green eyes swimming with emotion.

I recognize her instantly from the red light camera photo we got from the police back in Houston.

She’s the blonde who accosted Selene, the one whose hateful remarks were recited verbatim on the social media post that created the link between Jacob and the online harassment.

She’s also the person standing over Cal’s kneeling form, the one with the muzzle of a gun trained at the back of his head, her finger on the trigger even though his hands are up.

I can’t breathe.

This moment, this scene, it’s the stuff of my nightmares. It’s every fear I’ve beaten back with Selene and Cal’s love turned into the most horrific reality. It’s the last thing I wanted when I let myself have them, and yet, it’s exactly what I expected to come to pass.

“It’s going to be alright, Beckham.”