Kathleen Brooks - Secrets Collide

“How many women did they supply you with and where did they get them?” Cole interjected.

“I pled guilty to twenty-three counts,” Bruce shrugged.

“I’m not going to charge you. I’m just trying to find out how the cycle worked and maybe a common location. Besides, as you said, you’re a dead man,” Cole said so harshly that Gemma shivered. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning? When did you meet the boss?”

Bruce took a breath and Gemma could see he was debating what he should tell them. But then the look of utter hopelessness came across his face and he focused on the back wall. “It was twenty years ago. I was a local attorney who had just won a big case in North Carolina when I decided to run for Congress. A man approached me with promises of a big supporter. So I went to this meeting. It was in a deserted sawmill. A limo pulled up and the window came down three inches or so.

“The man inside asked if I wanted a blank check. He’d pay for every election and reelection. I asked what the rub was and he just laughed. He told me information was the rub. That, and every now and then he would need support for certain legislation. The driver of the car got out and handed me a check for $5,000,000. I stupidly agreed.

“The first year, I was only contacted a couple of times, but more importantly, I was introduced to very important and influential people. The second year, I was appointed chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee and that’s when the phone calls started, needing information or telling me which countries I needed to push for sanctions.” Bruce took a breath and shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.

“It never occurred to you that this was above your normal Washington corruption?” Cy asked.

“At the start of my second term, the requests became more frequent and more intrusive. He wanted me to plant bugs in other congressional offices and embassies. One of those embassies was blown up three months later.”

“Why didn’t you stop? Turn him into the FBI?” Cole leaned forward and laced his fingers together.

“I thought about it. But the money started coming. He knew my weakness—gambling. The money came with private invitations to big-stake games. He funded my gambling for years. He collected all my markers and I knew it. But I couldn’t stop. I could try to pawn it off as an addiction, but it wasn’t. I was just having too much fun. I was being flown to Monaco for a weekend of gambling with some of the richest and most powerful men in the world. I didn’t want to give it up, so I kept accepting the cash that showed up at my house every two weeks and decided to do whatever the hell I felt like doing.”

Gemma gasped and Ahmed nudged her. She hadn’t been expecting that. She had been expecting the sob story about a gambling addiction. But what he had was a power addiction. He tasted power, rubbed against it every day, and wanted more and more.

This time, Cy leaned forward. “When did the women start?”

“Ah, the women. I loved poker night,” Bruce said wistfully. “A small group of us started that almost ten years ago. The boss set up the first one. There was Judge LeMaster, an ambassador to Syria, a British ministry official, and me. The goatee man came with a submissive woman one night dressed in nothing but a big red bow. He said she was a gift to the winner. That’s when they started. We met every month. Sometimes it was the same group and sometimes others came, but always an equally powerful group. A new woman was dropped off each time.”

“But why kill them?” Gemma silently nodded in response to Cy’s question. She wanted to know the answer, too.

“At first, we just dumped them in a bad part of town and left them. But then one night, we got a woman who had been a stripper before she was taken from the club. The damn bitch was stripping to put herself through law school. She knew who we all were and wouldn’t shut up about it. We had no choice. I shot her and dumped her in some alley. It was just a precaution after that. I talked to the goatee man and he said he’d fix it. Two days later, I was attacked on the floor of the Congress. That afternoon, four men showed up and said they were my security detail. I didn’t question them—no one did. They were real handy in cleaning up my messes from then on. I knew where they came from and knew they wouldn’t be squeamish so I didn’t bother being a gentleman any longer,” Bruce sneered with what Gemma could only describe as joy.

“How many?” Cy simply asked.

“Too many to possibly count. Strippers, escorts . . . who knows where they all came from? Some spoke English, some didn’t. It didn’t really matter.” Bruce shrugged.

“And you never investigated your boss? Never tried to learn about him?” Cole asked in mock amazement.

“Sure I did. The only reason I’ve lived so long here is because I found out one juicy bit of gossip that could ID him. See, you asked me the wrong questions. You asked if I’d met him. You never asked if I knew his identity.”

Gemma jumped as the alarm above her head sounded. The door was thrown open by a concerned-looking warden. “I see my time has come early. Who knew women would be all our downfalls?” Bruce said as he stood.

“There’s a riot. Somehow the prisoners got loose. I’ve got to get you all to safety.” The warden grabbed Bruce and waited for the group to stand up.

“Who is he, Bruce?” Cy demanded as he burst from his seat.

“He’s . . .” In one quick motion, Warden Cummings slashed Bruce’s throat.

Gemma stood frozen as she watched Bruce’s body fall to the floor, blood gushing from his neck. Ahmed shoved her back as Cy rocketed himself across the table and onto Warden Cummings. Cole was by Bruce’s side with his hand pressed against his throat trying to slow the bleeding.

“Do something,” she screamed as Cy and Cummings wrestled on the floor.

“Come on,” Ahmed grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the door.

“We can’t leave them.” Ahmed didn’t say anything as he shoved her behind the door and went to Cole’s side first. Cole shook his head and stood up just as Cy delivered a staggering blow to Warden Cummings. The warden’s head slammed back against the concrete floor, stopping his fighting.

Cy stood up and looked down on him. “Why?”

“I got a letter with a picture of my wife and daughter at the playground two hours after Bruce was imprisoned here. I was told to call a number if anyone came to see him and I’d be given instructions. If I didn’t follow them, they'd kill my family slowly,” Cummings said as he slowly sat up. “Tell them I love them.”

Before Cy could move, the warden reached out and grabbed the guard’s gun and shot himself. Gemma choked back a sob as she stared at the destruction in the room. Then the sound of gunfire snapped her back to reality. The prison was rioting and they were not safe.

“We have to get out of here. Cy and I will take point. Cole, make sure she gets out of here alive.” Ahmed and Cy pulled out guns from everywhere.

Cole looked down at his service weapon. “Well, I sure feel inadequate,” he said in such a dry voice that Gemma actually let out a nervous laugh in the middle of all this chaos.

Ahmed pushed out the door first, followed by Cy. The interview hallway was empty, but the sounds of the riot were growing closer as they hurried toward the exit. Pounding erupted beside them as they passed the visitors’ section. It sounded as if the prisoners were trying to knock down the strong door separating the meeting area from the hallway leading to the cells.

With a final bang, the door was pried open and men rushed through it, past the small tables, to another door leading to the hallway where Gemma and her group were. Cole pushed Gemma, forcing her to start running again, but when she turned back toward the entrance, she froze as she faced a wall of guards in riot gear.