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Authors: J.D. Cunegan
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the guy five million large and she almost lost her job.”
“Let me guess... same benefactor as Carter?”
“You got it.” Brian reached for a garlic breadstick, breaking it in half before dipping it in his marinara sauce. “I almost quit when we announced there wouldn't be any charges.”
“Well, if I have my way,” Jill said, grabbing a breadstick of her own and biting into it, “they won't walk this time.”
“Just be careful,” Brian warned. “If you're right, the blowback from downtown will be huge.”
“Then I guess it's a good thing I've got a trick downtown doesn't know about.”
CHAPTER 15
Just as Jeff Downs regained consciousness, he felt two sets of hands tugging on his suit and tossing him into the back of a van. By the time he gathered his bearings enough to notice the rust and the dried blood strewn about the metal floor, the double doors slammed shut and he could hear the rattling of chains being run through the door handles. Downs took a moment to catch his breath, wincing when the simple act of sitting up sent a burning, throbbing pain along the back of his head. He reached behind himself, feeling a small cut mark behind his ear, and he could feel the dried blood caked into his skin.
He heard the front doors slam shut before the engine roared to life. It briefly sputtered as whoever was behind the wheel forced the vehicle into gear, but before Downs could reach up to grab one of the metal bars along the partition, the tires squealed in protest and the van violently lurched forward. The force of the acceleration threw Downs back, and he skidded along the floor before his back slammed into the rear doors. The blow knocked the colonel onto his side, and though the throbbing in the back of his head had intensified, the pain in his lower back and the panic of the unknown were of greater consequence.
He scrambled to his knees, only to lose his balance again when the van lurched to the left. His shoulder popped upon impact with the floor. Downs yelped in pain, and he could hear laughter through the partition. He tried pushing himself back up, but the jolt of pain in his shoulder sent him crumpling back down in a heap. A hard right sent the colonel rolling along the floor of the van, smashing nose-first into one of the bars on the side.
His nose broke, blood gushing.
“Stop!” he yelled in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, given the pain. “Stop this van right now !”
The laughter on the other side of the partition grew louder, and several voices had joined in on the fun. Downs couldn't tell how many there were, only that the van sped up even more. The motor vibrated so much that the entire vehicle shook, and Downs couldn't believe this van was capable of such speeds. Not that he could tell exactly how fast they were traveling, but it felt far too fast. The van rocked from side to side every time whoever was behind the wheel jerked into another lane. Downs staggered and clutched for anything he could reach. The acid was churning in his stomach. Downs squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his gut, but every sudden movement sent bile trickling up his throat.
“BPD!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, though his voice cracked. “Pull the van over!”
A shotgun blast tore through the partition, the deafening boom sending Downs scrambling as the bullet zipped inches away from his ear and punctured the double doors. One of the masks peered through the makeshift hole before sliding the barrel of a handgun through the opening. “One more word,” the muffled female voice, the same one from his office earlier, warned, “and the next one's in your forehead.”
The next time the van lurched to the right, it seemingly cut through several lanes of traffic. Horns blared and motorists shouted, a cacophony of annoyance and road rage ignored by whoever was in the front of the vehicle. The van accelerated, even as it motored down what appeared to
“Let me guess... same benefactor as Carter?”
“You got it.” Brian reached for a garlic breadstick, breaking it in half before dipping it in his marinara sauce. “I almost quit when we announced there wouldn't be any charges.”
“Well, if I have my way,” Jill said, grabbing a breadstick of her own and biting into it, “they won't walk this time.”
“Just be careful,” Brian warned. “If you're right, the blowback from downtown will be huge.”
“Then I guess it's a good thing I've got a trick downtown doesn't know about.”
CHAPTER 15
Just as Jeff Downs regained consciousness, he felt two sets of hands tugging on his suit and tossing him into the back of a van. By the time he gathered his bearings enough to notice the rust and the dried blood strewn about the metal floor, the double doors slammed shut and he could hear the rattling of chains being run through the door handles. Downs took a moment to catch his breath, wincing when the simple act of sitting up sent a burning, throbbing pain along the back of his head. He reached behind himself, feeling a small cut mark behind his ear, and he could feel the dried blood caked into his skin.
He heard the front doors slam shut before the engine roared to life. It briefly sputtered as whoever was behind the wheel forced the vehicle into gear, but before Downs could reach up to grab one of the metal bars along the partition, the tires squealed in protest and the van violently lurched forward. The force of the acceleration threw Downs back, and he skidded along the floor before his back slammed into the rear doors. The blow knocked the colonel onto his side, and though the throbbing in the back of his head had intensified, the pain in his lower back and the panic of the unknown were of greater consequence.
He scrambled to his knees, only to lose his balance again when the van lurched to the left. His shoulder popped upon impact with the floor. Downs yelped in pain, and he could hear laughter through the partition. He tried pushing himself back up, but the jolt of pain in his shoulder sent him crumpling back down in a heap. A hard right sent the colonel rolling along the floor of the van, smashing nose-first into one of the bars on the side.
His nose broke, blood gushing.
“Stop!” he yelled in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, given the pain. “Stop this van right now !”
The laughter on the other side of the partition grew louder, and several voices had joined in on the fun. Downs couldn't tell how many there were, only that the van sped up even more. The motor vibrated so much that the entire vehicle shook, and Downs couldn't believe this van was capable of such speeds. Not that he could tell exactly how fast they were traveling, but it felt far too fast. The van rocked from side to side every time whoever was behind the wheel jerked into another lane. Downs staggered and clutched for anything he could reach. The acid was churning in his stomach. Downs squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his gut, but every sudden movement sent bile trickling up his throat.
“BPD!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, though his voice cracked. “Pull the van over!”
A shotgun blast tore through the partition, the deafening boom sending Downs scrambling as the bullet zipped inches away from his ear and punctured the double doors. One of the masks peered through the makeshift hole before sliding the barrel of a handgun through the opening. “One more word,” the muffled female voice, the same one from his office earlier, warned, “and the next one's in your forehead.”
The next time the van lurched to the right, it seemingly cut through several lanes of traffic. Horns blared and motorists shouted, a cacophony of annoyance and road rage ignored by whoever was in the front of the vehicle. The van accelerated, even as it motored down what appeared to
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