Debra Webb - Missing

“Let me give it another go,” paddle punk pleaded. “He’ll talk.” He smirked at Foley. “They always do.”

Lennox shook his head firmly from side to side. “Not this one.”

“Sir.” The assistant dared to intrude into the exchange yet again. “You must hurry.”

Lennox ignored him. “I did my research, Foley. I know all about you.” He made a disparaging sound deep in his throat. “And you’re right, you won’t talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest then reached up and tapped his chin with a finger as if mulling over the situation. “I have friends in places you can’t even fathom. I’m aware of your military career, Major Foley.”

One corner of Foley’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Then you know it was over a long time ago.” Bits and pieces of images flickered through his brain. He banished the memories.

“You endured days of torture,” Lennox went on as if recalling documents he’d only just recently read. “Never uttered a single word while every member of your reconnaissance team was executed right in front of you.” A hint of respect flashed in the man’s eyes. “Still you remained strong. Loyal to the bitter end. Didn’t let your country down.” He gave another shake of that distinguished head. “No, no. You didn’t talk then. You won’t talk now.”

“Then what’s your point?” Foley looked him dead in the eye. He would have a point. A man who’d just been nailed for treason wasn’t going to hang around for anything without a compelling reason.

“After a few years of doing nothing significant, you joined a firm called the Equalizers,” Lennox explained, as if he had all night and wasn’t the slightest bit worried about the feds who no doubt had already turned Chicago upside down to find him. “Your most recent assignment was to do what no one else had been able to do.”

“That’s right.” Foley had gotten Lennox. Gotten him good. No one else had been able to penetrate the perfect shield he’d built around himself. No one had had a clue that it was the esteemed Victor Lennox who was selling out his own company, his own country. Now his crimes were bared to all. He could run, but he would never again possess the power he had flaunted. Checkmate.

Lennox leaned down, stuck his face in Foley’s. “Who sent you?”

“The head of the Equalizers.”

Rage tightened the features of the man’s face better than the Botox he likely used on a regular basis. “Three people were involved in that aspect of my business,” Lennox hissed. “Only three. Not one of them sold me out.”

Foley shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know for sure.”

“Oh, I already know. You see, every man has his breaking point. Each of the three broke eventually. Like you, they remained loyal until the end. Though I suspect they were motivated by fear rather than anything else. You,” he accused, “already knew coming in what you were after. All you had to do was find concrete evidence.”

Foley stared at him. He wasn’t denying or confirming that assertion.

“It’s not necessary for you to corroborate the statement,” Lennox assured him. “I know.”

“Mr. Lennox,” the well-dressed assistant interrupted again, “we must go. Now.”

Continuing to discount the warning, Lennox demanded, “Tell me who sent you.”

That ghost of a smile materialized fully on Foley’s lips. “I told you. My employer—the head of the Equalizers.”

“A name, Foley,” Lennox pressed. “I want a name.”

Foley could tell him that he didn’t know, because he didn’t. No one did. The man behind the Equalizers was a complete unknown. So Foley did what he did best. He said nothing.

“You’ve won,” Lennox fairly shouted. “I’ve been exposed. I’m on the run. Even I know that it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with me. What difference does it make now? I simply want to know the identity of the man who discovered what no one else could.”

Foley wondered if Lennox had any idea just how much satisfaction his sheer desperation prompted.

“Cut him loose,” Lennox ordered.

“What?” the paddle punk demanded.

“Sir!” the assistant declared, his panic clearly mounting.

“He’s going with us,” Lennox announced. “I will know who sent him.” He stared directly at Foley once more. “Every man has his breaking point. All I need is time to find yours.”

While the assistant argued with Lennox, the punk tossed aside the paddles and reached for the knife lying on the cart next to the controls. He grumbled curses under his breath but followed the order. His cohort passed a handgun to Lennox.

Lennox waved the weapon toward the rear door through which he’d entered. “Let’s go.”

Foley pushed to his feet, the pain radiating through his muscles and settling deep into his bones.

Lennox nudged him in the side with the weapon. “Move,” he commanded.

Foley had taken two steps when a cell phone blasted a familiar tune. He glanced over his shoulder at the phone lying on the table next to the portable defibrillator. His phone. He’d been relieved of his weapon, his wallet and his phone hours ago.

“Check the screen,” Lennox directed.

Foley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wouldn’t matter if it was his employer, the name and number would reveal nothing. A trace on the call would divulge the same.

“No name,” paddle punk reported as he scrutinized the screen. “Out of area call.”

A frown attempted to stretch across Foley’s brow but he schooled the expression. His employer’s number usually showed up as a local call. A different number every time.

“Accept the call,” Lennox instructed his torture technician, “and put it on speaker.” He glanced around the room. “Not a word from anyone.”

The creep holding Foley’s cell punched the necessary buttons.

Another waste of time. Foley’s employer wouldn’t leave a voice mail or speak into dead air. Maybe if Lennox wasted enough time, the feds would be waiting for him at whatever airfield where his Learjet waited on standby.

“Hello, Jonathan…”

Emotion exploded in Foley’s chest. Three years…three long years of sleepless nights and pent-up frustration leached into his blood. Haunting snippets of whispered words, the brushing of lips and the hot, smooth feel of bare skin against bare skin rushed into his brain.

It couldn’t be…

“I hope this is your voice mail…” A shaky release of breath sighed across the silence. “Call me, please.” She stumbled through a number. “I…I need your help. Please. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Silence reigned for three beats, then Lennox smiled. “Ah. Perhaps we’ve found the missing piece we need.” Certainty glinted in his eyes.

Foley’s mind churned with emotions. Why would she call him now?

Didn’t matter. He knew her inside and out.

Something was very wrong.

Lennox nudged Foley in the spleen with the weapon. “That sounded exactly like the sort of leverage I need to obtain the answer to my question.”

Ice formed in Foley’s gut. No way was he letting this ruthless monster learn her identity and use her.

“Bring me that cell phone,” Lennox ordered his underling. He reached out in anticipation of having it placed in his palm.

Foley whipped around and in one second had Lennox in a chokehold, the weapon he still gripped aimed at his proud brow. “Don’t ever let yourself be distracted when you’ve got a gun to a man’s back.”

Paddle punk’s cohort dared to reach for his weapon.

“Nobody moves,” Foley warned. He bored the barrel of the nine millimeter into Lennox’s temple.

Both men inched forward, testing the line Foley had drawn.