Page 4 of Jager's Prey
“Disavow?” Jager asked. “This is a child! Were the parents involved in anything we should know about?”
“That, they say, is a need-to-know situation.” Swede muttered.
“Well, we’re putting our asses—correction, if I’m gonna put my ass on the line I need to know who’s gonna wanna set it on fire.”
Jager paused, took a visibly cleansing breath then licked her lips.
“Anyone know what these armed men wanted?” She asked. “I mean, unless it was a robbery they wouldn’t just pick out people at random.”
“No.” Montana interjected. “We’ve been trying to find out all we can, but we don’t even know who the attackers were. No one is claiming responsibility.”
“What are the parents into?” Jager pushed.
“The mother was a makeup artist.” Swede explained. “Her life reads like an open book. No hiccups. The father, on the other hand is a little sketchy. It’s hard finding much on him. It’s almost like he didn’t exist twenty years ago. No credit card. No filed taxes. Nothing.”
“It could be he changed his identity.” Montana pointed out. “And there could be a million reasons why he did that.”
“If that’s true.” Jager picked up the reasoning. “Why did he go to those lengths? Did the wife know? And could that secret have been the reason he’s now dead in a foreign country?”
I rubbed my brain.
“It could also be a government cover.” Jager pointed out. “They gave him a new identity for some reason—with a last name like Rinaldi—”
“He could have been Italian.” Swede was typing away at his keyboard.
“But why go back to that part of the world after you got out?” Montana questioned.
“The million-dollar question.” Jager replied.
“On the upside, we have some footage from the hotel.” I pointed out.
Swede snapped his fingers. “Right! Forgot about that—here goes.”
For some reason I couldn’t take my eyes of Jager. She leaned in to get a better look at the footage then frowned deeply.
“No colours.” She muttered. “Nothing to identify who these men are. Even the way they walk is generic. Either they are just random thugs, or they’ve had practice. It’s better for us if they are mercenaries or military. If they’re random thugs, there’s no tellin’ where they will be by now. Okay, so what do you guys want from me?”
“Cage is staying with some contacts of ours.” Swede explained. “We have a social worker that is being sent in to get him. We need you to be the muscle.”
“You expectin’ trouble?” Jager asked.
“Honestly?” Montana asked.
“No, hot stuff—lie to me.” She winked at him.
Montana groaned. “We just want to be prepared. Anything is possible and we would rather Cage get back home safely.”
Jager nodded.
She looked down at my sleeping dog and smiled—it was a softness I only saw in her when she handled Six.
“I’ll help with whatever you need.” Jager promised.
We talked shop for a while until Montana had to leave to check on a client. Swede contacted Mack Salazaar but we were told he was with a family, and we had to wait for him to call us back. While we waited, we ordered pizzas. Jager grabbed a slice, along with a can of soda and sat on the floor to eat.
Six found a ball from somewhere in the space and brought it over, dropped it at her feet, then panted with his tongue out until she laughed and rolled it across the floor. He happily ran after it.
I sat beside her with my food.
