Read Online Wounded Animals (Whistleblower Series Book 1) by Jim Heskett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jim Heskett
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thoughts since finding the note on the back of the toilet, but it seemed natural that what Thomason and his people wanted somehow connected with Kareem. Or Muhammed Qureshi, or whatever his name was.
“I can see that the name Kareem Haddadi does mean something to you,” Thomason said. “I’m not surprised.”
Haddadi. Kareem Haddadi. There was something about that last name that seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.
“You want to tell me about Mr. Haddadi?” Thomason said.
“No. I want you to tell me what’s going on here, who you people are, and what you want from me. I want to know where my wife is, and why there was a dead tech support trainee in my bathroom. If you know something, you need to tell me.”
Thomason’s eyes narrowed. “You need to take that venom out of your tone right now, boy.”
“You need to answer my damn questions. I’m tired of your games.”
“When you’re ready to cooperate,” Thomason said, “we’ll talk. But not so long as you’re still doing silly things like calling the cops about your wife.”
I felt the driver’s hand grip my shoulder, and I reacted. Grabbed his hand, dropped to one knee. Then I pulled with all my might so he flipped forward, landing on the ground in front of me. I straightened my fingers and stiffened my hand, then jabbed it into the driver’s throat.
His hands rushed to his neck, gasping and coughing.
I looked up as Thomason was digging in his inner coat pocket. He was only five feet away, so I rushed him, barreling into his chest and driving him toward a tree near the edge of the drop-off.
He swiped at my back as I lifted him and a sharp blade sliced through my jacket. I felt something warm drip on my back.
Legs churning and feet slipping on the hard-packed snow, I thrust his body against the tree. The force whiplashed his head backward, and I heard a crack as the back of his head smacked against the tree trunk.
I leaped back and he slumped to the ground. Eyes closed.
The air changed and I turned around just in time to dodge the driver as he swung a vicious right hook. He missed me by inches.
I blinked, trying to get my bearings. I could feel the blood running down my back and collecting at the base of my spine. But my adrenaline had spiked and I had no sense of how deep the cut was.
The driver put up his fists in front of his face, ring-boxing style. He wore brass knuckles on both of his hands, and a good swipe from either hand might break my jaw.
But I could see from his stance and posture that he was nothing but a brawler. I knew what to do about that. Wait for him to get close, to get off balance. I’d sparred against these guys in judo many times before.
He grinned as if he knew something I didn’t. Inched toward me. I stayed firm, not moving at all.
He jabbed, and I took my chance. With his weight forward, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward me while I stepped out of his way. As he fell, I jabbed him in the ribs. When he hit the ground, I slammed a knee into his back. He cried out.
I flipped him over, then grabbed his wrist and bent it backward. He screamed in pain as I pushed it within an inch of breaking. I moved closer to his face. “Where is my wife? What do you people want from me?”
Driver said nothing, only grunted.
I applied just a little more pressure to break his wrist, and he mewled, a screech worse than anything my cat had ever made. I let go and he turned on his side and morphed into the fetal position, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. He panted, gasping for air.
Fifteen feet behind me, Thomason moaned and stirred. I took a figurative step back and thought about what was going on here. I had attacked these men, and now stood alone on a mountaintop. What was I going to do, kill them? I’d surprised them, but I couldn’t survive forever as one against two. No, I needed to get away.
Inspiration struck and I dug a hand into the driver’s pocket. My finger felt the poking of car
“I can see that the name Kareem Haddadi does mean something to you,” Thomason said. “I’m not surprised.”
Haddadi. Kareem Haddadi. There was something about that last name that seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.
“You want to tell me about Mr. Haddadi?” Thomason said.
“No. I want you to tell me what’s going on here, who you people are, and what you want from me. I want to know where my wife is, and why there was a dead tech support trainee in my bathroom. If you know something, you need to tell me.”
Thomason’s eyes narrowed. “You need to take that venom out of your tone right now, boy.”
“You need to answer my damn questions. I’m tired of your games.”
“When you’re ready to cooperate,” Thomason said, “we’ll talk. But not so long as you’re still doing silly things like calling the cops about your wife.”
I felt the driver’s hand grip my shoulder, and I reacted. Grabbed his hand, dropped to one knee. Then I pulled with all my might so he flipped forward, landing on the ground in front of me. I straightened my fingers and stiffened my hand, then jabbed it into the driver’s throat.
His hands rushed to his neck, gasping and coughing.
I looked up as Thomason was digging in his inner coat pocket. He was only five feet away, so I rushed him, barreling into his chest and driving him toward a tree near the edge of the drop-off.
He swiped at my back as I lifted him and a sharp blade sliced through my jacket. I felt something warm drip on my back.
Legs churning and feet slipping on the hard-packed snow, I thrust his body against the tree. The force whiplashed his head backward, and I heard a crack as the back of his head smacked against the tree trunk.
I leaped back and he slumped to the ground. Eyes closed.
The air changed and I turned around just in time to dodge the driver as he swung a vicious right hook. He missed me by inches.
I blinked, trying to get my bearings. I could feel the blood running down my back and collecting at the base of my spine. But my adrenaline had spiked and I had no sense of how deep the cut was.
The driver put up his fists in front of his face, ring-boxing style. He wore brass knuckles on both of his hands, and a good swipe from either hand might break my jaw.
But I could see from his stance and posture that he was nothing but a brawler. I knew what to do about that. Wait for him to get close, to get off balance. I’d sparred against these guys in judo many times before.
He grinned as if he knew something I didn’t. Inched toward me. I stayed firm, not moving at all.
He jabbed, and I took my chance. With his weight forward, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward me while I stepped out of his way. As he fell, I jabbed him in the ribs. When he hit the ground, I slammed a knee into his back. He cried out.
I flipped him over, then grabbed his wrist and bent it backward. He screamed in pain as I pushed it within an inch of breaking. I moved closer to his face. “Where is my wife? What do you people want from me?”
Driver said nothing, only grunted.
I applied just a little more pressure to break his wrist, and he mewled, a screech worse than anything my cat had ever made. I let go and he turned on his side and morphed into the fetal position, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. He panted, gasping for air.
Fifteen feet behind me, Thomason moaned and stirred. I took a figurative step back and thought about what was going on here. I had attacked these men, and now stood alone on a mountaintop. What was I going to do, kill them? I’d surprised them, but I couldn’t survive forever as one against two. No, I needed to get away.
Inspiration struck and I dug a hand into the driver’s pocket. My finger felt the poking of car
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