Page 46 of Signed, SEALed, Delivered

When I was standing with Kennedy in the hallway of the courthouse, the fear was rolling off her in waves. It had taken everything I had not to reach over and strangle him with my bare hands. Ignoring the possibility of her hating me for the rest of her life, or the threat of jail time, I had phoned Diesel for help. He had gotten his brother, Austin, and Reaper on the line. Austin was able to track Ethan down to a hotel not far from my aunt’s stables, which is where we were headed.

Reaper pulls into the parking lot of the one story motel. The dilapidated building has seen better days. Its neon sign missing several letters and there is a group of questionable guys standing outside one of the doors.

“A few bucks and I bet we can seal their mouths.” Reaper nodded to the guy with a beer in hand, laughing at something one of the others said.

“Austin said he was in number ten, the last one on the end.” Scanning the windows, most were as dark as the surrounding buildings, including the room in question. Austin had given us the make and model of the car he drove, but so far there was no sign of the late model Jeep.

“There’s supposed to be a window on the back of the building, we can do a scan and see if he is inside.” Sliding my night vision goggles into place, and my earpiece with Austin and Diesel already tuned in.

“Diesel we have a visual on the premises, no vehicle in the vicinity.”

“Roger that, Viper.”

Reaper is out of the truck and around the building before I can get to the edge of the property. Both of us check several times to see if the partiers have noticed our presence. “Window in the back is too small for a fucking Elf to get through.”

Redirecting my attention to the front door, I’m assuming with the age of the building, there won't be a computer reader to mess with. Falling to my knee, I use a tool Ghost gave me back when I locked myself out of my room back in Kabul.

Reaper is on my six as I push open the wooden door, careful not to draw attention from the guys out front. Removing my night vision, I pull my flashlight out of my pocket.

“Well, fuck me.” Reaper steals the words from my mouth. Covering every inch of wall space, are different pictures of Kennedy. Some are close up, while others show her riding a horse in the mountains. A few show her dining with a woman I know to be Caroline, her sister. “Fucker doesn't seem to care about you does he?”

Reaper has his light centered on the wall to the left, walking closer, I find a photo of Kennedy and myself, from the first time we met face to face. I have my arms around her, but my face is cut out.

“She is beautiful, good job, man.”

Chatter in my ear pulls me from the creepy photo. “I need visual, Viper.” Flipping the switch on my night vision, I let Austin and Diesel see what is going on in the room.

“Zach, there’s a computer to your left, open it and let me have a look.” Austin hasn't been trained like the rest of us, something we will have to rectify, if Diesel has his way. On the way over, Reaper had hinted the guys wanted to get together, forming a Mercenary for hire company. Evidently they had already done a couple of jobs together.

“Open the cover and let me see the drives.”

I do as he asks, disbelieving he will be able to do much more than order replacement parts. As the lid opens and the screen comes to life, the box in the center tells me we need a password. “Any other ideas?” I ask knowing he sees what I do.

“Type in exactly what I tell you to.” I listen attentively as he rattles off ten thousand letter and number combinations, my level of confidence this is going to work decreasing with each keystroke. “And hit enter.” Like something out of a movie, the computer screen flashes and changes to a wall of blue folder looking icons. “Thanks, Zach, you can move along now.” The mouse on the screen moves on its own, clicking on the first few folders.

“Viper.” I respond in a harsh tone.

“Excuse me?” The mouse hovers, but doesn't move.

“We don't use names, only call signs, mine is Viper.”

“Hey, Viper,” Reaper calls from behind me. “You might want to check the security of your house.” Illuminated by the light from his flashlight, is a photo of Kennedy and myself in my kitchen, she is sitting on my island, legs spread and wrapped around me. There are boxes in the background, which makes me think this was the first night I moved in.

“Reaper? Viper? We’ve got bigger problems than a sideshow peeper.” Diesel calls over my earpiece. “Get over here and see what Keys found.” I would laugh at the call sign Diesel has just assigned his brother, but the photo on the screen nearly takes my breath away.

“I’ve run her face through a recognition program I acquired access to.” The image is the body of a girl, lying on the floor, arms tied behind her back and throat slashed. “Layla Evans, nineteen, of Coopers Park, Montana. She was reported missing three years ago, on June sixth when she failed to show up for work.” Layla's eyes are wide open and, even in death, filled with fear. The mouse moves again and the photo of another girl fills the screen. “Marian Hope, twenty-two, of Deer Park, Wyoming. Reported missing six months later, also by her employer.” This girl resembled the first, dark hair and expressive eyes. “There are at least thirty pictures of girls in the same position, all dead and all with one thing in common.” Sweat began to bead on the nape of my neck, somehow knowing what he was about to say next. “They each worked with horses.”

During SEAL training, one of our instructors told us to always follow our gut. When I learned Ethan had moved across the country to see Kennedy, I knew this wasn't your standard crush. Ethan Porter was a serial killer and my Kennedy was slated to be his next victim.

“Your call, Viper. We can call the cops and have this guy arrested, or...”

“Oh, we’ll call the cops, but not until there's a conversation between Ethan and my fucking fist.”

“You could serve him a Havoc cocktail, but it's your girl, so it's your call.”

I’d already considered the many ways I could put an end to this motherfucker. Using a chemical cocktail formulated by Havoc was an option, but would minimize any gratification I would feel.

Headlights flashed the room, making a path across my face and blinding me momentarily. A late model Jeep, the same Ethan is known to drive, pulled into the lot. “Get ready, Reaper. Time to make him feel their pain.”

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