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Noah remained in the shadows until the vehicle drove away, then he picked up the burner phone. A weight lifted off his shoulders. Not many people had that much money and therefore that option, but it was worth it.
He had spent an entire day working with the lawyer to liquify the properties and investments on the computer. There were losses as he accumulated the payment, but he could afford it in the end. Noah wasn’t bankrupt by any means. Quite a few contracts could not be closed so easily, and he left them alone. They would still generate a profit down the road.
Noah crossed the baseball field and headed toward the back fence, where he met Dickinson.
“I’m guessing everything went as planned?” She held a 300 Win Mag over one shoulder and a collection of pistols in her left hand—two were tucked into her waistband.
“All good. That should be the last of them. Although, I didn’t get a receipt.”
Angie grinned. “There’s probably no refund anyways.”
Only one field had a good position for distant observation, and they had guessed correctly. Noah took his only advantage and chose the meeting place. The military had trained him well—ground dictates the situation.
“Do you want to drive first or second?” Noah wanted to arrive in Washington by morning. Angie placed the rifle across the backseat and the pistols on the floormats. Noah struggled to get the ballistic vest off, and he needed help.
“You can drive first. I think I could sleep.” She piled the vests on top of the weapons and covered them with the backpacks. “What do you want to do with this?”
Noah had been transporting Leslie Taylor’s pack across the country. A brief inspection revealed survival gear, rations, and a change of clothes, with no weapons or electronics. He shrugged. “It’s all she has left. We’ll keep it for now.”
Within a minute, they were heading north to the interstate. Paying off the hit team was the easy part. What was coming next made Noah nauseous when he thought about the many things that could go wrong.
*****
AMANDA GREW AWARE OF a jagged stone digging into the side of her face as a warm liquid dripped across her lips and into her mouth. The metallic taste of blood made her stomach roll, and she struggled to spit it out. Sharp pain from the broken ribs on the right side made her grin as the memory of the fight flooded back.
She still managed a front snap kick to the woman’s groin when the beating started. As her attacker groaned in pain, Amanda laughed. The second kick to the throat would have ended the fight had her leg been an inch longer. Fifteen years in judo and six years in karate had paid off. She knew how to maximize damage with priority targets. However, being handcuffed to the post was her downfall.
In the end, Amanda tried to protect her face and torso from her masked abductor’s barrage of strikes. Balaclava notwithstanding, she believed she would recognize those hazel eyes if seen again. They were cold with black specks and were permanently engraved in her memory. Every five-foot six-inch woman would be subjected to scrutiny.
Bitch.
Amanda struggled to open her eyes, but both were swollen shut. It was then every nerve ending began to scream, and she groaned once before blacking out.