Raw Talent. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
She stood behind her desk, that atypical uncertainty haunting her expression once more. “You’re certain you feel comfortable with this?”
He wasn’t entirely surprised by her question. It pained her to ask. That much was clear. Also very clear was her reasoning, elaborating was in no way necessary. “I’m one hundred percent certain, ma’am.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded once, banishing the uncertainty he’d seen in her expression. “Very well then. Based on your experience and your objectivity in the matter, I am of the opinion that you are the best man for the job. However, if you feel the need for backup, all it takes is one call. I’ll leave that to your discretion.”
“I understand.”
“Of course it will be best if I can contact Sloan ahead of your arrival,” she went on, apparently only then deciding to mention this part. “In the event that doesn’t work out, tell him that I’m trusting him to do the right thing on this. Even pure evil can occasionally spawn something good. He’ll know what I mean.”
A.J. left Victoria’s office with only a vague idea what her message to Sloan meant, but he felt no need to question her orders. He had learned well from his career in the military that there were times when a soldier didn’t need to know every detail about a mission. He simply needed the know-how and the determination to carry out the assignment.
Knowledge was a very powerful tool, no doubt. But, at times, knowledge could be a stumbling block to achieving the greater good.
This was one of those situations.
He appreciated that Victoria practiced what she preached. She had complete faith in his ability to get the job done. To his relief, much of that faith was based on his word. He strongly believed that a man was only as good as his word. It pleased him that his new employer shared that belief.
Just another reason he couldn’t allow any personal feelings he’d foolishly allowed to develop to get in his way of doing his job. He needed his work, needed that kind of focus in his life. There wasn’t room for anything else. Not anymore. He had to keep that truth in mind and stop permitting wishful thinking from overriding good sense.
A.J. considered his plan of action as he stopped by his town house for his bags and drove to the airfield where the Colby Agency jet would be waiting.
Picking up Jordan’s trail wouldn’t be difficult. Florescitaf was a small village and an attractive young urban woman would stand out. Since she didn’t know the location of Sloan’s private residence, she would have to ask questions or go on a grid search of the surrounding area. Either way would be time-consuming as well as risky as far as keeping a low profile.
Once on board the agency jet, he used his time to brush up on his Spanish. He hadn’t used the language in ages, but getting his point across wouldn’t be difficult. An hour later he felt confident with his spotty vocabulary so he took some time to consider his target.
Gabrielle Jordan was very young, only twenty-two. She’d spent eighteen months of that young life in prison. The first six months of that time she’d made a fuss about being innocent, including writing several appeals herself, none of which were taken seriously by her court-appointed attorney. So she’d shut up and done her time.
She’d gotten out only a few months before applying for a job at the Colby Agency. Her ability to create a false identity was commendable if misguided. She hadn’t missed a trick. Case in point, she’d fooled one of the top private investigation agencies in the country.
He had to smile. The woman had herself some real brass ones, that was for sure. He closed the door on that line of thinking. From what they’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, she was the only child of an alcoholic mother who claimed Gabriel DiCassi as the child’s father. DiCassi had been Trevor Sloan’s arch enemy and an international assassin. A standoff between the two men had ended in DiCassi’s death.
Apparently, Gabrielle held Sloan responsible for her father’s death. Victoria had estimated, based on comments Jordan had made to coworkers at the agency, that she believed her father to have been a great man. She’d spoken highly of him and her wistfulness related to his death had been apparent during those conversations. Of course she hadn’t once mentioned his name. Now she was apparently out for revenge.
A.J. closed the folder and relaxed into the aircraft’s luxurious leather seat a little more deeply. He found it difficult to understand how a parent could lie to their child, or neglect their offspring for that matter. By all accounts, Gabrielle fell smack into the category of the abused and neglected. That sort of childhood twisted a person’s thinking. He could only imagine how it felt to have no one in the world to depend on. He wondered if that was the reason she’d worked so hard to be the absolute best she could be. She’d had no one to count on but herself.
Though his father had been a strong disciplinarian, A.J.’s formative years had included a secure and loving environment. He’d earned his hard knocks as a military man. He’d jumped in at age seventeen and then spent the next fifteen years proving what he was really made of. An injury and the life-threatening infection that followed during his time in Afghanistan had ended that career. He didn’t talk about it. He shifted in his seat. Victoria was the only person at the agency who knew about it. His physical shortcoming prevented him from future military service, but it didn’t stop him from being a damned good investigator.
Being chosen by Victoria Colby-Camp as one of only a few new hires was proof enough.
A.J. Braddock wasn’t down for the count by a long shot. He still had some good years in front of him.
With his experience in the desolate mountains of Afghanistan, tracking one misguided young woman in Mexico would be a piece of cake. He would not fail in this mission. Victoria was counting on him. And he needed his work at the Colby Agency to give him something to look forward to, to hang on to. He wasn’t ready to give up on being all he could be. No matter what the doctors said.
He wasn’t dead yet.
Chapter Three
The Sierra Madre mountains, washed in green forest, jutted upward around the desolation of the desert and were a sharp contrast to all that surrounded it. The desert scrub and cacti of the expansive terrain she’d traveled for miles after leaving the village had given way to the rugged landscape at the foothills of the mountains, but the Jeep she’d rented had handled the drive easily.
Her patience and persistence had paid off. A kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, who’d made a delivery to the Sloan residence from the local market had given her directions.
For a price.
She hadn’t haggled with him. At least, not once she’d seen a sort of kindred soul in his eyes. This kid hadn’t needed any more grief in his life. From what Gabrielle had deciphered from the conversation, his mother was ill and he drove the broken-down truck his father had left behind when he’d deserted the family years ago. The kid helped put food on the table for his three brothers and sisters.
Life sucked that way all too often, Gabrielle decided. But the kid…he reminded her of herself. He wouldn’t let it get him down. Instead he’d do what he had to. No matter the personal cost.
She focused a little more closely on the house in the distance. She’d decided that getting too close without sizing up the situation wouldn’t be a smart move. Instead she’d driven around it, parked at the base of the mountains and then climbed for a while. Just long enough to find a decent position for scouting out the property.
“Some digs,” she muttered as she surveyed the massive residence once more.
A fortress. A ten- or twelve-foot wall completely surrounded the property, which included a monstrosity of a house and sizable grounds, as well. A large iron gate allowed entrance from the front, if one possessed the proper credentials. Probably a numeric code at the very least. Another gate provided a secondary exit at the rear of the property. She could see a pool and what could be a detached garage or rather large workshop.