Naked Risk (Shatterproof #3) (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen –
Watts

Catherine fe
ll back asleep shortly after we made love. It was no longer just sex. Not that time, anyway. It was different than all our other times. Different than any other time in my life.

I
couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten and I was starving, but I didn’t want to leave her and there was no room service at the mid-priced hotel we were in.

I texted
Spencer, asking him if he was awake, and he replied almost immediately.

We met in the hallway.

“I have Catherine in there,” I said.

“No need to brag, mate,” he said with a laugh.
“Yeah, you’re in there getting your brains fucked out, and I’m over in my room wanking myself to sleep.”

I put my hand up. “Too much.”

“What’s going on? You look serious, which isn’t all that strange for you, but….”

I shook my head. “
Long story. I’ll tell you in a little while. I don’t want to leave her, and I’m starving. She might be, too, when she wakes up. Will you go get us some food?”

“If you’re paying, I’m going.”

I handed him some cash. “Yeah, get whatever you want.” I told him what I wanted, and he was off down the hallway to make the food run.

I went back into the room. Not wanting to disturb Catherine, I didn’t get back on the bed. Instead, I sat in
the chair and watched her sleep for a bit until I remembered I hadn’t heard back from Justin.

I got my phone and checked to see if I had missed any texts or calls. Nothing. I stepped out into the hallway and dialed his number. The call went to voicemail. It was strang
e for him not to answer, but the few times that had happened he usually called me back a short time later.

Back in the room, I sat in the chair again, this time watch
ing the parking lot. I waited until I saw Spencer pull up and then went out in the hallway to meet him.

“Want to eat in my room?” he asked. “Don’t want to wake Catherine.”

“No, I don’t want her to wake up alone. Plus, I have something to take care of. Well, I hope so, anyway.”

I gave him a brief rundown of what had occurred earlier in the day.

“Jesus Christ, I slept through all of that,” he said, reaching into the bag and pulling out some fries. “Anything I can do?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe later tonight.”

“Let me know.” He took a step toward his door, the room adjacent to mine. “I’m sure I’ll be up all night after sleeping all day. Have to call Stephanie, anyway. Maybe she’ll have phone sex with me.”

“Good luck with that.”

When I got back into the room, Catherine was just waking up. “You got food.”

“Nothing good, but it’ll have to do,” I said.

We ate, mostly in silence, and then she asked, “What are we going to do?”

I knew what was next. I was just waiting for the phone call. It was what would come after tonight that would be the difficult part. There was no need to bring that up now, though. It could wait until tomorrow.

My mind was singularly focused on tonight. If Justin would only call back.

And he did, thirty minutes later.

“I’m going to take this in the hallway,” I said.

Catherine just nodded.

I stepped outside and answered the call. I didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation—not Spencer, not Catherine, not anyone behind the thin doors of the hotel. So I went down to where the vending and ice machines were located, their motors whirring up enough noise to drown out most of the conversation.

“I got into the site,” Justin said. “Tracked down the username in the database and got the guy’s information—credit card number he used to pay for his membership, which of course gave me acce
ss to his home address; got his phone number; and found something very interesting.”

He paused, as if building suspense, which I didn’t need right now. I had built up enough of it on my own waiting for his call. “Well?”

“I was able to get into his cell phone records. His phone pinged a tower not far from Catherine’s apartment late in the morning.”

“Jesus.”
That was right about when the break-in would have taken place.

“
There’s more. Dude’s not a lawyer. He kills bugs for a living. He’s an exterminator.”

Justin stopped there. I didn’t say anything. It was sinking in, and I knew there was more to come. In fact, I knew what Justin was going to tell
me, but I had to hear him say it.

He started by naming the company that the guy worked for,
then said, “They have a contract with the property management firm that owns Catherine’s apartment building.”

That would explain why there were no signs of forced entry. I knew that apartment complexes frequently gave exterminators a master key to all the units. He had used it to get into Catherine’s place. “Goddamn. It was
him.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Justin said. “
Dude’s guilty as hell. So, what do you want? I have more information on him than he probably has on himself.”

I thought about it for a moment,
then said, “Three things. His home address, whether he has any registered guns, and whether he lives with anyone.”

Chapter Seventeen –
Catherine

Watts came back into the room, looking like he was in a rush. He moved throughout the room swiftly, gathering his things.

“What’s going on?” I said.

He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on my knee. “I’m going out for a little while. Just need to take care of something
.”

I didn’t want to be away from him. “Can I go?”

He shook his head. “I need you to stay here. I won’t be long. Maybe just a few hours. I’ll have my phone with me, so if you need anything, call.”

There was fire in his eyes again, but this time it wasn’t sexual. It looked like…anger, I thought.
Actually more of a fury. As calmly as he spoke, I could see that there was something intense burning inside of him.

“What are you doing?”
I was sure that I knew, but I still asked, even though I expected no response, which is what I got.

He shook his head. “You don’t want to know, and I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why?” I pleaded. “I know so much now, what’s a little more? I just want to know because I worry about you. I have no idea if you’re going to do something totally safe or if you’re risking your life, or what.”

“
I’m sorry,” he said. “I just can’t, and I need you to trust me on that. All of this will make sense very soon.”

I looked down. I couldn’t keep eye contact with him. It was an odd mixture of
resentment at him not sharing something with me, and a strong fear that I’d never look into his eyes again. “Be careful,” I said.

He
reached out and placed a finger under my chin, turning my head toward him again. He leaned over to kiss me, holding it for longer than he usually did before pulling away. “I’m always careful.”

As he was leaving, I was struck by a fear almost unlike any I’d felt before in my life. He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing, but whatever it was, I knew it was dangerous. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him. Then again, Watts had been through a lot of dangerous situations in his life and he’d always come though without so much as a scratch.

I wished I had some of my books with me. They’d always provided an escape, and that’s exactly what I needed at the moment. I couldn’t imagine going back in my apartment, though. I wouldn’t have tried, anyway, wouldn’t have gone there alone just to get a book, but I wished I had some of my own things with me.

The second best thing, I figured, was watching a sitcom or a romantic comedy—something light and not at all serious to take my mind off of missing Watts and worrying about his safety.

I turned on the television. The first image I saw was a map, pinpointing a place not too far from where we were, in Alexandria. A woman was speaking, detailing the events that had taken place in the very early hours that morning.

Then they showed video footage of the street where the house was located, and the woman introduced a terrorism expert. They began to talk about terrorists, specifically Chechen terrorists, and I knew immediately that Watts had been there.

But they were talking about federal agents having raided the home. So maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Watts.

The reporters explained that there were two similar situations in two different towns in Maryland
, and that the feds were now investigating possible links to the group that was arrested earlier that day. But there were no raids at the other scenes. The people there had been killed, their houses set on fire.

Because Watts had been so secretive, I had no way of making sense of it all. I had no clear picture of what exactly was going on and whether he was involved, and if so how much.

But I knew he had to be, on some level. And if federal agents were digging deeper into the two previous incidents, that meant Watts was potentially on their radar.

Watts had to know this. There was no way he didn’t keep up with the news, and no way he wasn’t receiving information like that from the people he worked for.

So much for trying to relax.

All I could do was wait.

Chapter Eighteen –
Watts

After leaving the hotel roo
m I stopped and knocked on Spencer’s door. He opened it, looking like he’d just woken up. His hair was a mess and he had pillow lines on his face.

“Were you sleeping again?”

“Took a little nap after talking to Stephanie.” He smiled.

I thought back to his joke about phone sex and realized he hadn’t been joking at all.

“Come in,” he said. “Have you been watching any more of the news?”

“
No. Anything new?” I stood in the doorway, holding the door open, as Spencer went back and sat in the chair.

“They’re going to make the connection, Watts. This isn’t looking good.”

Fuck. I knew he was right, and I knew it meant we had little time. “We could call McDowell. Find out what he knows.”

He
laughed, picking up on my sarcasm. “Fuck that slimy bastard. I’m getting out of town tonight, picking up Stephanie, and we’re out of here.”

“Does she know yet?”

“Of course not. But I did prep her a little before I left to come here. Laid the groundwork, as they say. It’s not going to be a problem. What about Catherine?”

“I haven’t told her.”
I lowered my voice. “But Catherine is why I came over. She’s next door. I need you to make sure she’s okay for the next couple of hours.”

“Why? Where you are you going?”

“Justin found the guy’s information.”

He
stood. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” I said. “I’m going alone. And I need you to be here for Catherine.”

He looked disappointed, like he was eager to go along and help me out. I didn’t need help from anyone, and even if I did I still wanted to take care of this myself.

“Do you want me to go sit with her?” he asked.

“No, she doesn’t even know you’re here.” I glanced at the door that adjoined the two rooms. I knew it was locked on my side. “I don’t think anything’s going to happen. I can’t imagine how it could, actually. I’d just feel better knowing you were next door. Just in case.”

“Whatever you need, Watts. You know you can count on me.”

. .
. . .

Jim Udall was his name, and he lived just a few miles from Catherine’s apartment, so I was parked down his street less than twenty minutes after leaving the hotel.

Catherine’s part of town was nice, but Udall lived in an old neighborhood. Not the quaint kind of old, but the rundown and neglected kind of old. His company truck stood out among the drab color
s of the houses and old cars. His was yellow and had the company logo on it, as well as silhouettes of different kinds of bugs.

It was still relatively early in the evening
, so there were still people about in their yards, on their porches, walking dogs on the street. I felt a bit conspicuous sitting there in my car, but considering this didn’t seem like the kind of place where neighbors looked out for each other, I felt little concern about being confronted or reported.

As night fell and the neighborhood’s outdoor activity gradually quieted down, I decided it was time to make my move.

I attached the silencer to my pistol and slipped it into the back of my pants. It was too warm and muggy to pull off the jacket look, even a light one. I walked quickly toward his house, like I had a purpose and knew where I was going.

Up the driveway, to the front porch.

Knocked on the door.

Saw a guy approaching. He opened the door.

“Mr. Udall?”

“Yes.”

Pushed through the door, kicking his knee so it snapped the wrong way and made a crunching sound as it broke. He fell to the floor, letting out a scream.

I closed the front door, quickly glancing up and down the street. No one was out there. No one heard
his yelp.

I
took my gun out and knelt beside him. “Scream again and you die. Simple as that.” I lifted him off the floor and dragged him to his kitchen, where I sat him in a chair and duct-taped him securely to it.

I leaned on the counter, just feet in front of him. “You kill pests for a living.”

He nodded. “Yeah?”

“So do I.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

He didn’t say anything, but struggled against the tape.

I decided to toy with him, torture him a little, let his mind run through all of the worst possible ways this could play out.
I liked thinking he was probably coming up with worse things than I had planned on doing.

Jim Udall’s physical appearance was unremarkable, except for his height
, which had to be at least 6’4”. That was the first thing I’d noticed when he had opened the door. It made his knee an easier target. Otherwise, he was just an average looking guy, no one you would look twice at, for good reasons or bad.

He’d make a good stock character villain for one of the crime shows—the kind who blends in among the masses, goes unnoticed and rais
es no suspicions, until he’s finally caught and faces his day of reckoning.

Just like Udall was now.

“Look, take whatever you want. I don’t have much…” He looked around. “But you can have whatever. My wallet and phone are right behind you on the counter.”

“I’m not here for your money or your belongings.”

“Then
what
?” He tried to lean over, but couldn’t. He looked at his knee, all fucked up and twisted and swelling up. “Goddamn…” he whispered.

“I’m here,” I said, reaching for my gun and showing it to him, “for you.”

He looked up at me and his face crinkled up, turning red, like he was about to cry. “Why? What have I done to you?”

I paused for a moment, before saying, “You crossed one of my lines.”

He looked confused. “Your lines?”

“Yes,” I said, pushing away from the counter and walking toward him, then behind him. “I have lines—boundaries, really—around the things I value most.”

He was moving his head left and right, trying to keep me in his vision as I stood behind him. When he looked left, I moved to the right a little. When he looked right, I swayed to the left.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
he shouted.

“Didn’t I tell you not to yell, Jim? If I were you, I would take that advice. I’ll give you a second chance because I’m feeling a little generous right now. And…” I stepped out from behind the chair and returned to lean on the counter in front of him again. “And if you’re wondering if this is what I look like when I’m being generous, the answer is yes. This is the best it’s going to get for you. Think about that for a few minutes.”

I turned around and grabbed his wallet, flipping through it, finding nothing interesting, and very little money.

He started to grumble, something about me having the wrong guy.

“Wrong guy?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure I have the right guy. I would wager that if I were to search your house, I’d find some women’s panties and bras, wouldn’t I? Don’t answer that. We both know the answer is yes.”

His eyes grew wide and he shook his head back and forth rapidly.

“No?” I asked. “You didn’t go on a date with a woman you met on a dating website, and didn’t later use your master key to get into her apartment?” I lowered my voice, coming across as calm. “You didn’t do that, Jim? I have it all wrong?”

“I did!” he yelled, then quieted down. “But I’m telling you, you have the wrong guy.”

I watched him for several seconds. “Explain.”

“Someone paid me to go into her apartment. They wanted…information on her. Anything I could find out about her work.
Files or something. Jesus, man, I don’t know. That was months ago.”

I froze, processing what he was saying as fast as I could.

“Who paid you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“Think,” I demanded. “Describe him.”

His answer made my face, neck, and shoulders tense up. His description of the guy fit Howard McDowell.

“English accent?”

Udall shook his head. “No…American. He was an American.”

McDowell had disguised his accent, no doubt.

“Did he ever call you? Give you a number? Anything?” I asked.

Udall let out a heavy sigh. “One time. He called me and asked me to follow her.”

My blood ran hot. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I needed to get all the information I could, because this was a much bigger deal than some loser panty-thief entering Catherine’s apartment.

“When did you follow her and where?” I asked.

“Nowhere,” he insisted. “I didn’t do it.”

I looked at his face. It was red and sweat poured down from his brow.

“Don’t bullshit me. I know you’ve been in her house.”

He dropped his chin to his chest.

“Did you do that on your own?” I asked. “And why the roses? Did the man tell you to do that?”

Udall lifted his head quickly, a look of confusion on his face. “What roses?”

I paused for a couple of seconds. “You didn’t leave roses on her front porch?”

Udall said, “What? No. I didn’t leave any roses.”

His facial expression and the tone of his voice told me he was telling the truth.

That left one possibility: McDowell had put the roses there. It made sense, considering what I knew about his ruthlessly sadistic nature. He was trying to further scare Catherine.

“The number,” I said. “I need the guy’s number.”

Udall tilted his head toward the counter. “Over there.”

I picked up his phone
, swiped to the home screen, and looked through his call history. I realized that this was probably a waste of time. The call would have happened months ago, Udall might have deleted it, and McDowell probably had used a pre-paid phone anyway, so I gave up looking for the number.

I had to decide what to do with Udall at that point, so I stood there looking through his phone. I’m not sure what I had expected to find in the “Pictures” app, but I touched it anyway.

What I found was something I hadn’t expected even though I had run through all kinds of scenarios about how this would play out.

There were hundreds of photos, many of them appeared to be pictures taken from the Internet. Pictures of women and young girls in various stages of undress and some engaging in sex acts.

The most recent pictures, the ones at the top, contained things I recognized.

Catherine’s kitchen. Catherine’s den. Catherine’s bedroom.

Pictures of her underwear drawer.
Pictures of Udall holding her underwear. Even so-called selfies of him holding her panties up to his face.

And as I scrolled down, anger rose in my core and spread throughout my body, making my face flush and my extremities tingle with adrenaline.

Udall had been in her apartment at night.

He had taken pictures of Catherine as she slept in her bed.

I looked up from the screen and stared at him for a moment.

“What are you going to do to me?” he whimpered.

He was the stereotypical bully under duress. They act boldly and arrogantly, taking advantage of other people, but it’s all out of weakness. And when they are put in a truly weak position, they’re some of the most pathetic creatures that ever roamed the earth. Almost worthy of sympathy.

Almost.

I had thought of shooting his other knee. Maybe even shooting him in the balls. Drawing out the torture, making him feel the kind of fear that Catherine would have felt if she had awakened to find a strange man in her bedroom.

I could have done all those things, and more. Instead, I shot him twice in the forehead and left.

. .
. . .

It was the first time I had killed anyone since the raid in Chechnya ten years prior. Directly and personally, at least. I was responsible for many deaths in the years between, but had not literally pulled the trigger on any of those.

I had vowed to myself years ago that while I wasn’t wavering in my mission of justice and retribution, I would only kill in self-defense. I held fast to that promise for a decade, never even coming close, never putting myself in a position where I’d have to use deadly force.

But this was different. It was personal. It was for Catherine.