ABI Monk

I of Danny Monk
Leo Croix
3rd Man Publications (2011)

Rating: ★★★★★
crime, mystery, nightmares, politics,
Tags:
sex, state police, thriller, violence

Danny Monk is an investigator for the Alabama Bureau of

Investigation (ABI), a former U.S. Naval Intelligence officer and Secret
Service special agent, unwaveringly committed to justice. And no one,
no matter how powerful, will stand in his way or stop him from finding
it.

Helena Vail is a controversial upstart candidate for the governor's

office who many see as a bright hope for Alabama's future, while
others see her as the destruction of all they hold dear. Alabama is no
stranger to bare-knuckles politics or the political violence that
sometimes accompanies it, but as the second decade of the 21st
Century begins, the Yellowhammer State would like to leave its
checkered past in the past and forge a new path toward the future.
Unfortunately, not everyone is willing to let that happen. And some are
even willing to kill to see that it doesn't. Enter Alabama's top
troubleshooter, Senior Special Investigator Danny Monk.
ABI Monk

A Novel

Leo Croix
 Copyright © 2011 by Leo Croix All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or
by any means without the prior written consent of the
Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
institutions or events is entirely coincidental.
Author's Note: In January 2015 the Alabama Law
Enforcement Agency (ALEA) was created and this
resulted in a major reorganization of the state's law
enforcement apparatus. The Department of Public
Safety became a subordinate division of ALEA and ABI,
which had been a division within DPS, was renamed SBI
(State Bureau of Investigation) and became a separate,
non-uniformed entity of ALEA, headed by a civilian
director who reports directly to the Secretary of Law
Enforcement. This book was written in 2011 before any
of those changes took place, therefore DPS and ABI will
continue to be used. In the future, there are plans for a
sequel to this work, appropriately titled SBI MONK.
Additionally, as this book was written in 2011, a
number of societal changes have taken place in the
intervening years, please read with that in mind.
Novels by Stellen Qxz:

Principal Target
Compulsive
Criminal
Inactive
Vicious
Deadline
Extraction
Purity
Reciprocity
Blackball
Retrograde
Fearless
ABI Monk
 Chapter 1

Danny Monk was a patient man, and in his line of work, that was a
good thing. Patience and stamina, and an ability to amuse himself with
very little outside influence.
He was in Birmingham at the moment, had been there for three
days now, following up on a tip from an informant. A registered sex
offender from Montgomery had gone missing two weeks ago, missed a
scheduled appointment with his parole officer and a session with his
court-ordered shrink. Deputies from the Montgomery County Sheriff’s
Office had been dispatched to his listed residence to check on him,
make sure he wasn’t dead, etc., but they didn’t find him, and none of
his neighbors, three other registered offenders in the group, could say
that they had seen him at all in the last week. Not a good development.
Raymond Gilbert Cowls’ victims of choice were girls between the
ages of eleven and fourteen and he had been known to be rough with
them. He’d served a seven-year sentence in the state pen—should have
done a lot more—and was supposed to be under close supervision. But
with state budget cuts and less caseworkers to supervise more
offenders, things slipped through the cracks. Raymond Gilbert Cowls
should not have been one of them.
Danny Monk is a senior special investigator with the Alabama
Bureau of Investigation, officially assigned to the Major Investigations
Unit, but in reality acting more as a statewide troubleshooter for the
Bureau’s assistant division chief, Captain Russell Rowland. When
Rowland was notified that Cowls was missing and read the highlighted
file, he immediately pulled Monk from a case he was working on up in
North Alabama and told him to do whatever he had to do to locate
Cowls fast. That was a ten days ago.
Now Danny Monk was pretty sure he had just found Raymond
Gilbert Cowls, and was ready to pounce as soon as he had
confirmation.

THE AMERICA’S BEST INN AND SUITES hotel in the Roebuck

neighborhood of Birmingham is located just off I-59 North on
Parkway East, set on the same lot as a Waffle House restaurant and
across the street from a Super Center Wal-Mart. Danny had been told
by a usually reliable informant that Raymond Gilbert Cowls was
staying in one of the hundred rooms at the hotel, although he did not
know which one.
The first thing Danny did after receiving this information was to
call the hotel and ask to be connected to Cowls’ room, but was
informed that there was no one by that name staying there. Of course,
this didn’t mean the tip wasn’t valid, it just meant he might not be
staying under his own name. Which meant he wasn’t that stupid. Too
bad.
Danny didn’t believe he had enough evidence to get a judge to sign
a warrant giving him authority to go door-t0-door in the hotel to find
out if Cowls was in fact staying there, and the hotel would probably be
reluctant to allow such a search without one. So this left him with but
one option: Surveillance!
Thus the patience, stamina, and the ability to amuse himself with
very little outside influence. And it looks like all three just paid off
because as Danny sat in his dark colored SUV in the far south corner
of the rear parking lot of the hotel on a cold mid-November night, he
observed a lanky gentleman with stringy blond hair and a half-assed
goatee coming down the stairs from the third floor and going to the ice
machine in a small room behind the lobby. The parking lot was very
well lit near the building and Danny had no problems making out the
man’s features, and comparing them with the photographs on his
phone.
No doubt about it.
He’d located Raymond Gilbert Cowls.

A CURIOUS THING ABOUT THE LOCATION of the hotel is that

behind the Super Center Wal-Mart—not actually visible from the hotel
—is the East Precinct of the Birmingham Police Department. Cowls
probably didn’t know this, or else he was dumb. This pleased Danny
though because it meant he didn’t have to wait all that long for local
backup to arrive. Especially once he mentioned he was after a sex
offender (who liked young girls) who had violated his parole.
Three units from the Birmingham Police Department were rolling
into the back parking lot within five minutes. Danny had already had a
quiet word with the hotel’s security guard and found out the name of
the person renting the third floor room he’d seen Cowls enter a short
time ago. A twenty-six year old female by the name of Frieda Jones.
The guard couldn’t say for sure if Ms. Jones was in the room with
Cowls, saying that the only person he had seen go in or out of the room
in question since his shift began was a man, and that man matched
Cowls’ description. Danny thanked the guard, asked if he could get a
key to the room, thanked him again, and asked that he keep an eye on
the security camera monitors and make sure all the other guests
stayed in their rooms as best he could until the police were done with
their business. The guard said he’d do his best, clearly excited by the
prospect of participating in some small way in the capture of a wanted
fugitive.
Danny was in the back parking lot when the police cars pulled in,
waiting on the opposite side of the breezeway down from where Cowls’
third floor room was located. A total of five officers climbed out of the
cars, including one female sergeant, a stout black woman about forty
who looked like she could handle herself in a fight.
Hopefully, Danny thought as he moved to identify and introduce
himself, that won’t be necessary tonight.

AFTER A QUICK RUNDOWN OF THE situation and a sketch of

his plan, Danny and the officers deployed. Their target room was
number 314 on the back side south end of the third floor. All the
rooms were outside so there wouldn’t be much concealment for them
as they approached, but Danny intended to move fast to limit their
exposure.
They went in two teams, the sergeant leading two officers up the
front stairs on the south end and approaching the room around the
corner from the south, and Danny leading two more officers up the
back stairs and approaching the room in a direct line from the north.
All the officers were uniformed and wore protective body armor as a
matter of course. Danny had been dressed in jeans, a blue sweatshirt,
and black steel-toed tactical boots. After the local PD arrived he added
the tactical vest he always kept in back of his SUV, black leather
gloves, and a pair of tactical glasses to shield his eyes.
He was in the lead as they approached the room carefully,
weapons drawn. According to Cowls’ file, he wasn’t known to carry a
weapon, but nobody was going chance that he hadn't changed his MO
since that file was last updated.
The two groups arrived at almost the same moment, the sergeant
poking her head around the corner of the breezeway just as Danny
stopped to the right of the door to Room 314. She nodded at him and
then came around, the other two officers following her, one hanging
back a little to cover the breezeway from the direction they came, not
wanting to let anyone approach them unseen from behind.
Danny held a SIG Model-1911 in his right hand and the plastic
cardkey the guard had given him in his left. The sergeant took a
breath, nodded, then pounded her left fist on the door, yelling: “Police!
Open up the door, now!”
She pounded two more times and then Danny slid the cardkey
into the lock. Since it was a master key, despite the fact that the
deadbolt had been thrown, the lock opened anyway. However, as he
had expected, the chain was on the door.
Not to worry, Danny Monk was a solid two hundred pounds of
fierce determination. The flimsy chain was no match for him.

THE LANKY BLOND MAN DANNY HAD seen down at the ice
machine a short time ago (now definitely identified as Raymond
Gilbert Cowls) had been sitting on the bed drinking coke from a paper
cup when he heard the cops pounding on the door. The room was
small, only a bedroom and bath in the back, and no windows other
than the large double pane one next to the door that didn’t open.
There was no place to hide or escape.
Nonetheless, Raymond Gilbert Cowls made a run for it. Sort of.
As the chain tore loose from its screws and Danny Monk led the
way into the room, Cowls hopped up off the bed and sprinted toward
the bathroom. He was almost inside, closing the door, when Danny got
there and shoved his shoulder into the middle of that door. It was even
flimsier than the chain on the main door (and that door had not been
flimsy at all) and gave way immediately, slamming hard into Cowls’
back and knocking him forward into the tub.
Danny reached inside and grabbed Cowls by the hair, pulling him
up and out of the tub and then dropping him hard on the tiled floor.
Two other officers were there now, one pointing her weapon at
Cowls while the other, a young blond male with a crew cut, knelt down
with his knee in the middle of Cowls’ back and began to cuff him.
“Don’t move, dickweed,” the officer said as he secured both wrists.
“Dumbest thing you could do was try to run. Where you gonna go?
Down the toilet?”
This brought a chuckle from the other officers and Danny even
smiled; now holstering his weapon as he stood in the doorway of the
bathroom.
The cops got Cowls to his feet and moved him into the shabby
room. Danny stepped out and looked around.
“No one else here,” he said to no one in particular, then looked at
Cowls as he stood shaking between two officers, looking like a
frightened deer. “Who is Frieda Jones? Room’s in her name.”
Cowls shook his head.
“Don’t know man. Just some broad I picked up. She got the room
for me.”
“How old is she?” Danny asked. “Because according to your file,
you like ‘em too young to legally rent a room.”
No response. Danny shook his head.
“No matter. We’ll run her down, see if maybe she’s somebody we’d
like to charge with aiding a fugitive. In the meantime, Mr. Raymond
Gilbert Cowls, you are under arrest for violating your parole. You’ll be
transported back down to Montgomery and held in County Jail until a
hearing.”
 Again no response.
The sergeant looked at her officers and told them to take Cowls
down to her car.
When they were gone, she looked around again, then up at Danny.
“You gonna transport him back yourself or you want us to hold
him?”
Danny shook his head, removing the tactical glasses.
“Nah, I’m gonna have troopers from here come get him in the
morning and take him down. I was working a case up in Madison and
need to get back up there without another detour. If you’d be good
enough to place him in lockup for the night…”
“Not a problem,” the sergeant said, smiling. “Always glad to do the
boys at the ABI a solid.”
Danny grinned.
“I’m sure,” he said. “And when you need the favor returned…”
He gave her his card, and after another quick look around, they
left the room, shutting the door behind them. He’d stop downstairs
and tell them about the busted door chain, and pay for it out of his
pocket. Wasn’t worth the paperwork it would take to have ABI pay for
it.
Besides, his per diem for the day would probably cover it.
All in a day’s good work.
By eleven that night he was back on the road and heading north,
another piece of business to wrap up, and hopefully before
Thanksgiving.
 Chapter 2

Danny had originally been summoned to Madison because local

police were having a tough time breaking a high-profile murder case,
despite the fact that they were pretty sure they knew who was
responsible. Due to the local political connections of the main suspect,
the sheriff had requested help from the ABI, and the commander of
the Major Investigations Unit had assigned her most enterprising and
least intimidatable investigator to the case. That, of course, being one
Daniel Xavier Monk, a man well known for not giving one little damn
about politics or influence or bullshit. He just wanted the truth.
Daren Dennison was forty-eight and had been married three
times. His first two wives had survived their relationships with him
and had managed to do very well in their divorce settlements. So well
in fact that Mr. Dennison had nearly gone bankrupt after both of them.
This was probably one of the leading motivations behind his decision
not to try for divorce number three, opting instead to off Mrs.
Dennison number three. Or rather, have her offed.
He was a real estate developer and had done really well despite the
downturn in the market. Or maybe because of it because once the
police started looking into his financials, they discovered that he had
been heavily involved in a number of credit default swaps and several
other high-risk, high-reward schemes that ensured he’d make money
no matter which way the market went. However, he apparently did
slightly better if the market went down. Go figure.
Anyway, late in September, Carolyn Dennison had been leaving
the art gallery in Huntsville where she worked as a senior sales
associate and had been on the way to her car in the parking lot when a
late model dark sedan barreled into the lot and ran her down in mid-
stride. She was killed almost instantly and witnesses later stated that
the vehicle that hit her never slowed down, not even when turning at
the exit to the parking lot before roaring away on the street.
It was no accident, obviously deliberate, and when sheriff’s
deputies found the car a day and a half later in some woods off County
Road 8 south of Redstone Arsenal, it had been wiped clean of any
physical evidence that would lead to the driver/killer. The car itself
had been stolen in Decatur the day of the murder, reported to local
police. The owner had an alibi for the time of the murder and was not
considered a suspect.

WHEN SHERIFF’S DETECTIVES questioned Daren Dennison

about his wife, they were immediately bothered by what one would
later describe as his contrived concern for his late wife. He claimed
that they had a happy marriage, no kids, but happy, and a good life. He
had no idea why someone would want to hurt or kill her, however, and
could be of no real help.
When detectives started questioning her friends and coworkers
they came away with a different impression of the Dennison marriage,
almost to a person claiming that it was far from happy and good. A
couple, including Mrs. Dennison’s cousin in Morgan County, claimed
that the marriage was on the rocks, that Mr. Dennison was believed to
be cheating on Mrs. Dennison and that she was looking into filing for
divorce.
It wasn’t long before detectives were able to track down the
attorney Carolyn Dennison talked to, confirming her intention to file
for divorce, but she hadn’t done it yet. Motive, thought the lead
detective, but no real evidence.

THE CASE PROGRESSED ON through the end of September and

into October. Small leads developed, but nothing significant. Daren
Dennison had an ironclad alibi for the time of his wife’s murder, in the
company of a dozen witnesses, including a Huntsville City Councilman
and two bank presidents. Each of them vouched for him, adding that
Mr. Dennison was a man of fine character and absolutely above
suspicion.
The subtext to that was that he was a man with powerful friends
who owed him favors and would be willing to repay them if push came
to shove. The sheriff was an elected official and needed to keep
powerful people in the county happy, or at least not to make enemies
out of them. Word came down to the detectives that they had to be
more careful, more circumspect, and to build a solid case before
making formal accusation against a man of Daren Dennison’s stature.
The problem was, the SOB was smart, knew how to cover his
tracks. They knew he did it, but couldn’t find anything solid to tie him
to it. No paper trail, no money trail, no physical evidence, nothing
other than speculation by friends and family. And this would do
nothing in the face of the high-priced attorneys Dennison had on the
payroll, not to mention his powerful friends in local government.
Frustrated, the lead detective went to the sheriff and told him that
his team was stymied. They didn’t have enough to make an arrest,
despite being nearly one hundred percent positive that Dennison was
their guy. And unless they could go at him hard, push him, intimidate
him, they weren’t likely to get anywhere. The case would remain open
and unsolved.
The sheriff thought hard about the case and what his detective had
said, then sighed deeply, picked up his desk phone, and called the local
area commander of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, making a
formal request for assistance.

THE REGION A, AREA 2 ABI commander could sense a political

firestorm coming his way if his office got involved in the case and
botched it. So, being politically astute and having eyes on
advancement to the upper ranks of ABI and the Department of Public
Safety, the lieutenant passed the request up the line to Montgomery
where it wound up on the desk of the lieutenant in charge of the Major
Investigations Unit.
And she, being someone with eyes on a brighter future as well, but
also wanting a job done right—bad guys in cuffs and all that—had
assigned Danny Monk.
Good thing, too, because he actually did solve the case. It just took
a lot longer than anyone would have liked, interrupted by his ten day
sojourn to look for a missing child molester. But he solved it, made
arrests, and didn’t even blink each time a politician or prick with
money threatened to have his job taken away from him.

TEN DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, armed with irrefutable

evidence compiled by a most skilled forensic accountant in
Birmingham, Danny invited Mr. Dennison and his lawyer to one last
interview at the headquarters of the Madison County Sheriff’s Office
on Northside Square in Huntsville. The lawyer initially refused the
interview, but once Danny mentioned recently uncovered financial
records and calls to the IRS, Dennison insisted on the meeting, saying
that he wanted to clear this matter up before any more damage was
done to his reputation.
Danny’s investigative strategy had been quite different from that
of the local detectives originally assigned to the case. He came in and
talked to everyone, didn’t bother to tiptoe around what he was doing,
asked blunt questions, pissed people off, got them to talking to one
another, speculating. Before long there were stories all around town
about Daren Dennison and his business dealings (some of them not so
up and up), about his friends, and about other women.
Dennison hit back through his lawyer and through his friends.
Calls were placed to the sheriff’s office but it was made clear that
Investigator Monk was not a member of the Madison Sheriff’s Office
and thus they could not control his actions or his investigation.
The next calls went to the Region A, Area 2 ABI commander, and
once again the callers were told that Investigator Monk was not a
member of their office and not under their jurisdiction. The Area 2
lieutenant actually smiled after hanging up from one of the calls,
realizing that he had deftly dodged a bullet by passing the buck to
Montgomery.
Calls then went to Montgomery; however, the folks up in Madison
County didn’t have nearly as much influence that far south, and the
head of ABI MIU never even bothered to take one of their calls. One
political hack in Dennison’s pocket did manage to get in touch with his
old college roommate, now a lackey in the current governor’s office.
However this effort wound up being fruitless because the governor was
not extremely popular these days and could look forward to facing a
tough bid for reelection next year. The last thing he needed was to be
seen interfering with a murder investigation on behalf of someone
with very little influence.

WHILE ALL THIS WAS GOING on, Danny continued his

investigation, continued stirring things up. Also, he was having the
forensic accountant in Birmingham, an old friend from way back who
consulted for ABI sometimes at his behest, go back over all the
financials that Madison County had looked at, see if they missed
anything, no matter how minute.
She did.
And they had.
So he made the call and arranged for the interview.
It took less than an hour.
The lawyer sat next to Dennison and advised him to keep his
mouth shut. However, as Danny calmly laid out his case, his eyes
never leaving Dennison’s, not even when he reached for yet another
document from the stack to his left and passed it across to Dennison,
the suspect just couldn’t hold it together. He denied everything,
babbled from time to time, but everyone in the interrogation room and
everyone watching from the observation room next door knew the
denials were false, and they were fading.
“You were very clever,” Danny said with just a touch of admiration
in his deep voice, his eyes steady and unblinking. “Very careful in
hiding your slush fund. But the problem with a slush fund, especially
when the money you put in it is from largely legal enterprises, is that
there is always a record of it somewhere. Even if you move it sixteen
times over the course of five years, there’s still a record. And the
forensic accountant I hired is very good at her job. She found the
record. All of them, actually.”
He paused, stared at Daren Dennison who was looking as if he
were on the verge of a breakdown. His lawyer had a hand on his
shoulder, urging him to end the interview. But Dennison shook his
head violently, loosening his tie, and Danny continued.
“You had a total of one hundred seventy five thousand dollars in
that slush fund stashed in a small bank in Arizona under the name of
Andrew Cramer. Two weeks before your wife was murdered, you
withdrew twenty-five thousand dollars from that account. One day
after the murder, you withdrew another fifty thousand dollars. Both of
those transfers have been traced, with supreme effort, to an account in
the Caymans. Now I’m sure you’re aware of how difficult it is to get
banking records from those people, and I admit that it might be
impossible to identify the account holder. But that really is
inconsequential. I think we have enough to convict you for your wife’s
murder without the hitman you hired. It’ll be lonely on death row, but
hey…”

DANNY PAUSED AGAIN, glanced at the clock on the wall over the
door to his right, then back at Dennison.
“However, if you were inclined to help us out, it might be possible
to get the DA to take the death penalty off the table, go for life without
parole. If you give us the hitter.”
It only took another five minutes to wrap up, and Dennison
cracked completely, although he didn’t know the hitter’s name or
where he lived, saying that he was somebody he had met through a
business associate. That name he did give up.
Danny turned and nodded at the one-way mirror behind him and
a couple seconds later, two Madison detectives came in and formally
placed Daren Dennison under arrest for capital murder, making sure
to carefully explain each of his constitutional rights to him in the
presence of his attorney.
Next stop was the business associate who had put Dennison on to
the hitman, a construction contractor (of course) in Atlanta. Danny
contacted a friend with the Atlanta PD and asked if she’d mind putting
the squeeze on the guy, and she was delighted to do so.
Two hours later she was back to him with the name of the hitter.
Bryce Bender, resident of Rome, Georgia, a part-time welder and part-
time gun-hand (or car-hand if the situation called for it).
 Danny thanked his friend in Atlanta, asked that she hold on to the
construction contractor until he could get back to her on whether or
not Madison County would be extraditing him as a material witness or
co-conspirator.
Then he made another call. Two, actually, the first being to his
boss in Montgomery to let her know that he’d finally cracked the case.
Call number two went to another old friend in Atlanta.

JASON POLIS LOVED HIS WORK very much, the only thing he
loved more being his wife of sixteen years. Jason was a deputy United
States Marshal and currently served as a supervisor on the
Southeastern Fugitive Task Force based in Atlanta. He and Danny
Monk went way back, to the time before Danny had joined ABI. They’d
kept in contact over the years, mostly through email and the
occasional phone call, each always knowing where the other was,
ready to ask for or call in a favor as needed.
Danny called Jason and explained the situation regarding Bryce
Bender and asked it the Marshals could help him out with local
support. Jason Polis had chuckled, then said that’s what we’re here
for…

ROME, GEORGIA IS APPROXIMATELY one hundred fourteen

miles from the Madison County, Alabama Sheriff’s Headquarters
(according to Microsoft’s map program), and it took Danny just over
two hours fifteen minutes to drive it, violating a few traffic laws along
the way, but he was on official business, in hot pursuit of a killer. And
that’s what he’d tell any cop who pulled him over.
But none did.
It was five minutes to eleven at night (Eastern Standard Time)
when he pulled his SUV into the parking lot of the Coastal gas station
on East 2nd Avenue in Rome, Georgia, about a mile south of the house
that belonged to Bryce Bender on West 3rd Street Southwest. Already
in the lot of the darkened stationed (closed for an hour now) were
three other SUVs, all black Suburbans, the kind favored by the feds.
Danny drove over and parked next to them and climbed out into
the cool night air. The tinted driver’s window on the SUV closest to
him rolled down and a smiling man with close-cropped dark brown
hair and dressed all in black stared out at him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” said Jason Polis.
“Ain’t it though,” said Danny Monk.
Polis gestured to the other’s sitting in the Suburban with him.
“Boys and girls, I’d like you to meet Mr. Danny Monk, the
toughest badass ever to come out of Alabama. Danny, this is the team.
At least part of them. Other eight are in the other vehicles.”
Danny nodded, leaning against the driver’s door next to Polis,
glancing at the serious faces inside, two men and a woman in addition
to Polis.
“Good to meet you all, and thanks for coming.”
“So, Danny,” Polis said, adjusting the skintight black leather
gloves on his hands. “Let me tell you what we discovered on recon
before you got here, then we can talk strategy.”
Danny nodded and listened carefully as Jason Polis spoke clearly
and concisely in a low but understandable tone.

THEY HIT THE HOUSE ON WEST 3rd Street Southwest just

before midnight, a NO-KNOCK warrant having been issued by a
friendly federal judge in Atlanta, at the behest of the Marshals, for one
Bryce Hinton Bender as a material witness in a murder case in
Alabama.
They found Mr. Bender asleep in his bedroom, in the company of
a very frightened nineteen-year-old male prostitute who swore
profusely that he had never met Bender before tonight and also swore
that he had no knowledge of his business, whatever that was.
For his part, Bender kept his mouth shut, knowing that it was best
to keep quiet when the cops came busting in with a warrant. Especially
when you have several illegal weapons in your possession, two of them
converted fully automatic assault rifles.
The prostitute was immaterial and they eventually let him go.
Local PD were called and asked to take charge of the house, anything
else they found that was illegal, they could file charges later if they
wanted. Bender was in federal custody and would be escorted back to
Alabama by federal marshals, but the bust was Danny’s and he would
actually do the transporting, the deputies along for the ride.
At one-thirty in the morning, Danny and Jason Polis shook hands
out on the sidewalk in front of Bender’s house, promised to keep in
touch, and then parted company. Bender was in back of Danny’s SUV,
cuffed and attended to by a large deputy Marshal named Crawford.
Following in one of the Suburbans was another deputy, Creel, and
he’d drive his buddy back to Atlanta once the transport was over.
Danny climbed behind the wheel and checked his prisoner in the
rear view mirror. He still wasn’t saying anything and seemed to be
resigned to whatever fate awaited him. Karma?
Danny took a deep breath, then started up and pulled off, hoping
to get back to Madison before sunup.
Then there was someplace else he needed to be.
Actually, someplace else he wanted to be…
 Chapter 3

“And he was in bed with a male prostitute when you went in?”
“Yep. Asleep in his arms. Or was before we busted in.”
“Hey, isn’t that still illegal in Georgia? Two guys sleeping together
as man and wife, I mean.”
“Yep. As well as right here in the Great State of Alabama. Still on
the books, but not actually enforced. Much to the chagrin of the
Baptists.”
“Well the Methodists don’t much care for it either, let me tell you.”
Danny smiled, reaching for his glass of wine. “And the Lutherans,
the Catholics, the Jews, the Muslims, pretty much all the major
religions. At least on the surface.”
St. John Lukes took a deep sip of her wine and then set the glass
back down on the table.
“That’s why I’m a witch,” she said with a wicked grin, her soft
brown eyes riveted onto Danny’s. “We don’t care who you sleep with,
or how many.”
Danny stared back at her for a few moments, had another sip of
his wine, then put the glass back down on the table, too.
“Liberal!” he said in a tone of mock accusation.
“Fascist pig!” she shot back in kind.
They both laughed then.
“How’s your sushi?” he asked.
“Raw!” she said. “How’s your steak?”
“Warm and pink on the inside,” he said. “Perfect.”
Again, they sat and stared at each other across their table in the
back of the Japanese steakhouse, and again they smiled.
When they finished eating, their waitress came over and asked if
she could get them anything else, more wine, the dessert menu. St.
John (pronounced SinJen) asked for another glass of wine, Danny
asked for the dessert menu.
“I’m not eating another bite,” she said firmly, adjusting her silver
framed glasses as she did so. “So don’t even try to tempt me. I’m still
trying to lose that last stubborn five pounds.”
Danny looked up from the dessert menu and across at his diner
companion, taking in her petite frame as he did so. Then he shook his
head and went back to reading the menu.
“Can’t see any stubborn five pounds from where I’m sitting,” he
mumbled. “And it’s not like that top you’re wearing or those jeans are
concealing much.”
A cloth napkin came flying across the top of the menu and hit him
in the face. He picked it up, set it on the table to his left, then lowered
the menu slightly and stared at St. John across the top once more.
“Something I said?”
Despite herself, she grinned.
“And something you’re gonna pay for later.”
He raised the menu again.
“I sincerely hope so,” he mumbled.

ST. JOHN LUKES AND DANNY MONK had known each other for
nearly a quarter of a century. Both had grown up in the area of
Birmingham, but had come from very different backgrounds.
St. John was born and raised in the small municipality of
Fultondale north of Birmingham, the product of an early broken home
where one parent (the father) turned out to be gay after years of
unhappiness and deceiving himself and those he loved. Her early life
was marked by rebellion and experimentation with everything from
drugs to sex to rock and roll; everything in between, too.
She married young, age seventeen, and had a bun in the oven at
the time. Marriage number one (the guy was six years older than she
and not much for marriage) lasted just under four years and ended in
unhappy divorce.
Less than a year later (roughly six months), Sin (as many of her
oldest friends still referred to her) tried again. Hubby number two was
actually three years younger than she was, and quite timid when
compared to hubby number one. Pliant and doting, and only
interested in pleasing her. They had a child as well, another girl, but
this marriage didn’t last much longer either, and again, ended in
unhappy divorce.
Marriage number three lasted nearly a decade, no children this
time, but a lot of good years. Just not enough. Unhappy divorce
number three left Sin convinced that perhaps she should give up on
looking for happily ever after and settle for whatever made her happy
at any given moment. Of course, deep down she was still looking for
perfect bliss, but was a bit more circumspect in thinking that she had
found it with every guy she met.
Then there was the bisexual thing. Something she had discovered
in her middle twenties when, try as she might, she could not help
being attracted to a female coworker in the office where she worked.
And to her everlasting astonishment, the other woman made the first
move. Sin’s second marriage was on the rocks and breaking up fast,
and the possibility of starting something up with someone new had
never really occurred to her. And especially not with another woman.
Still, it did intrigue her. Actually it made her wet. So she gave in,
and never regretted it. Although this relationship, too, did not last.
Hell of a lot of fun though. As were the other women she tried over the
years. But for long term companionship, Sin really wanted a man.
Thus, hubby number three.
Thus, divorce number three.
As she had been living her life, drifting between relationships and
from job to job, Sin had been considering what she wanted to do with
herself long-term. She had two kids to raise (in conjunction with her
exes), and needed to find stable work that would allow her to support
herself and them. She had dropped out of high school to get married,
but had gotten her GED. From time to time, as extra money became
available, she took night school classes to help improve herself, but
none of them was going to lead to a worthwhile career.
Then she got an opportunity to temp at a local accounting firm,
and over the course of that two month assignment found that she
really enjoyed the work. For the most part her duties had nothing to
do with the actual business of accounting; she just typed memos,
arranged appointments, sorted mail, and made coffee. But as she did
this she began to absorb the tempo of the office, see how things were
done, and found herself imagining ways that things could be done
more efficiently.
Sometimes when she was helping one of the principals with an
account they were working on she would make a suggestion about a
particular point and was surprised to find that they actually listened to
her. Even more surprised when they told her that her idea was a good
one. This made her feel really good, bolstered her self-esteem and
personal confidence.
When the job was about to end, the managing partner of the firm
asked her to his office. Initially, Sin had thought she had done
something wrong and was very nervous as she took a seat before his
large desk in his larger corner office. But as it turned out, she had done
nothing wrong, in fact, she had done a lot right, and the managing
partner told her so.
He also told her that there might be a more permanent position
available for her at the firm if she were interested. However, it would
require her going back to school…
That was twelve years ago, and Sin had gone back to school,
obtained a bachelor’s degree in accounting, and later became a CPA.
Four years ago she completed the necessary coursework and passed all
the tests to become a certified forensic accountant, something that had
been a dream of hers for many years. Now she was her firm’s top CFA,
in constant demand by many of their clients who required expert asset
research and courtroom testimony.
And, because of a past association with a certain state special
investigator, for the last two years she’s also been a consultant to the
Major Investigations Unit of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation.

DANNY MONK WAS BORN AND raised on the western side of

Birmingham in a community known as Ensley. The area was
considered predominately black, but was in reality all black, maybe a
scattering of whites here and there back when he was a child, but not
many—certainly none now.
 His parents were both working-class, his father a mechanic, his
mother a nurse. He had three sisters, two older, one younger, and a lot
of friends to play with in the neighborhood. His parents lived all their
lives together, although there were struggles and rough patches from
time to time. And Danny grew up in a mainly stable home. Went to
school right in the neighborhood, first a Catholic elementary, then to
public.
After high school a lot of his friends went into the military, but
Danny decided to go to college first. He intended to go into the
military afterward; with a degree he could get a commission. He
wanted to join the navy like his father, only as an officer, and his
parents (his father actually) approved. The only problem was paying
for it.
Danny was an average student, although there were a couple of
subjects (history and social studies) where he excelled, and the
chances of him getting an academic scholarship were not great (zero
actually). So the only answer was a student loan.
His parents obtained it, but Danny assumed all responsibilities for
paying it back. He got a part-time job and devoted every moment he
could spare to working it so he could keep up with the payments, and
to have some extra pocket money.
While in college he made a few friends, one or two really close.
And it was one of these friends who, during the summer between his
junior and senior years, introduced him to a recently graduated high
school senior by the name of Stanley Lukes… brother of St. John
Lukes, then age fifteen.

STANLEY LUKES INVITED A BUNCH OF GUYS over to his dad’s

house (where he and his sister lived most of the time when they were
teenagers) in Fultondale to watch movies one Friday night in October
of that year. His dad was going to join the party, but his sister was
going over to her cousins’ house and was just leaving as Danny and the
others arrived.
Danny had just turned twenty-one and had no interest whatsoever
in a fifteen year old girl, no matter how cute she looked in her jeans;
she would turn sixteen in three weeks. That was the first time Sin and
Danny saw each other, but far from the last.
Their lives progressed in separate directions, Danny would come
over to the Fultondale house several more times before his college
days ended, and sometimes Sin would be there. They would talk from
time to time, although they didn’t really have much in common, and
from time to time he would get this vibe from her, which he promptly
ignored because sixteen is still pretty close to fifteen—and she was the
sister of a friend’s friend.
Back then, Danny was a lot more concerned about such things.
Sin got married, had her first child.
Danny graduated from college and got his commission in the
navy. Their lives solidly on different paths, probably never to converge
again.
But then there was that mishap almost four years later while
Lieutenant Monk was working as a counterintelligence officer for
[i]
ONI in the Philippians…
Life forever changed, a career ended.
But other opportunities presented.
One in the form of law school.
The other in the form of a reunion with St. John Lukes, by then on
her second marriage.

DANNY DIDN’T REALLY WANT TO BE a lawyer, but since the

navy had agreed to pay for any additional schooling he wanted
(compensation for that mishap) he thought he’d give law school a try.
His recovery took about six months, and the physical therapy restored
most of his mobility within that time, although he walked with a limp
for most of the next year and there was a recurring pain in the middle
of his lower back that he would carry for life. But by and large he was
okay.
He enrolled at the Cumberland School of Law in Birmingham and
buried himself in coursework for most of that first year, rarely going
out, rarely seeing old friends or family, living up to his last name in
spades, referred to by some as The Monk.
 However, this would all change during his second year when he
ran into Sin Lukes at a movie theater in Riverchase, she'd just recently
returned from New Orleans where her second daughter was born. Sin
was in her twenties then and Danny had no problem admiring the cut
of her jeans—not to mention that of her fine shapely ass.
They exchanged numbers, promised to keep in touch, and parted
company after a short time and Danny didn’t think much would
develop beyond that. However, a week later Sin called him and they
talked. Then every few weeks after that they would talk more. Danny
began to realize just how unhappy she was and that she needed
someone to talk to. He wasn’t doing much else besides school work, so
he became her ear, listening as she told him everything about her life,
the state of her marriage, her relationship with her first daughter (then
in the custody of her first husband), even the budding attractions she
began to feel for other women.
Danny listened as a friend, offered encouragement when he could,
never judging. A few times they met for lunch and talked in person,
enjoyed one another’s company. She asked how he was doing and he
told her he was okay, school was good, but he didn’t know what he’d
do afterward. He still didn’t want to be a lawyer, but wasn’t sure what
else to do.
There was a growing attraction between Sin and Danny, both
realized that from the start, but neither of them acted on it, despite
both of them wanting to, they stayed friends, the occasional erotic
fantasy or dream not withstanding.
Sin’s second marriage ended, Danny graduated from law school
and took the bar, passed it on the first try. He was considering what to
do then, private practice, DA’s office, but neither really appealed to
him.
That's when an unexpected opportunity presented itself to him
after he was asked to attend an interview at the local office of the
United States Secret Service. Curious, Danny went to the interview.
Following that, for the next ten years Danny Monk was a Secret
Service special agent, working a variety of assignments ranging from
criminal fraud and money laundering investigations to dignitary
protective operations. He worked in all the major domestic sectors,
D.C., New York City, Los Angeles, Miami, and overseas postings in
London, Paris, Bonn, and Madrid, finding great use for his legal
training as well as the training he had received as a Naval Intelligence
officer, and acquiring a good command of Spanish, French, and
German along the way.
Nevertheless, after ten years—not to mention all the changes
following 11 September 2001—Danny had had enough. He resigned.
And for reasons still unknown to him to this day, he came back to
Alabama.

ABI WAS GLAD TO HAVE him when he showed up at their

Montgomery headquarters five years ago. The then head of the newly
formed Major Investigations Unit, Lieutenant Russell Rowland, said
that he could definitely use a man with his talents, training, and
experience. And because of his background, Rowland was able to get
special permission from the Chief of ABI as well as from the Director
of Public Safety to hire Danny directly without him first having to
apply to be a state trooper. However, as a result this, he could not be
put into the civil service ranks and would never achieve regular
promotion up through the command ladder. He also could not be
given the traditional title for civilian investigators (special agent)
because he had not attended a state police academy. Therefore, he was
designated a senior special investigator (the only one in the entire
ABI) and assigned to the Major Investigations Unit with wide-ranging
investigative authority, as directed by the head of MIU.
When Rowland was promoted to deputy chief of ABI, Danny
continued to work for MIU, but there was an understanding with the
new unit commander that he was still Rowland’s man, and could be
pulled to handle special jobs whenever the captain needed him.
It was one of these special jobs a couple years ago that had put
Danny in contact with Sin Lukes again, by then one of Birmingham’s
top forensic accountants. He was investigating a suspected link
between two members of the Jefferson County Commission and a
fraudulent financial scheme involving a business syndicate in
Montgomery with alleged ties to organized crime in Mississippi.
Danny hired Sin to review the financial records he had obtained with a
subpoena, hoping that the answers he needed to make the bust were
concealed within the mounds of documents.
The task was daunting because there were literally thousands and
thousands of pieces of paper, and a lot of what was there was pure
bullshit. However, Sin was tireless, and she just loved to dig and dig
until she got to the bottom of a problem. And she kept digging until
she got to the bottom of this one.
The answers were there, and those that weren’t, Sin found a way
to get them, too. Nothing was hidden for very long, and eventually the
whole house of cards fell down. Danny made the bust, several big
arrests, scandal from Birmingham to Montgomery and beyond, and it
was due in large part to the efforts of a most brilliant forensic
accountant named Sin...
By way of celebration, Danny took her out for dinner at the most
expensive restaurant in Birmingham. After dinner, full of fine food
and expensive wine, they found themselves back in Danny’s hotel
room just off Highway 280.
They didn’t leave that room for almost two days…

THE DRURY INN ON HIGHWAY 280 is still in operation, and is

still the place Danny stays most often when in Birmingham. It’s
relatively inexpensive, clean and convenient to most places he needs to
go when he’s working there. And Sin’s place is only a couple miles
away.
The weekend before Christmas, Danny came to thank Sin once
again for her assistance with one of his cases. He brought her a check
from the state’s treasurer, paid for dinner out of his own pocket, and
then brought her back to the Drury Inn so they could fuck each other’s
brains out.
They always started out the same way—unless they were too
worked up when they got to the room and just went for it as soon as
they came through the door—Sin on her back on the bed, Danny lying
between her legs taking her with his mouth. This was quickly followed
up by a reversal of positions, maybe a sixty-nine if they were both in an
oral fixation mood.
From there it was anything goes. They weren’t shy. Each liked sex,
knew the other liked sex, and didn’t see any need to hold back. They
couldn’t shock or intimidate the other, relished each wicked little thing
they did, and experienced a pleasure that neither could ever recreate
with any other human being.
Sin was sitting astride him, grinding her hips, pressing her pelvis
against his, her hands on his chest, her long brown hair hanging down,
covering her face, her body slick with sweat.
Danny’s knees were raised and her butt was pressed against his
thighs. He held her waist in both hands, but occasionally reached up to
cup her breasts, to stroke her nipples. Her eyes were closed but his
were open, and he was watching her intently, knowing that she was
just seconds away from yet another startling orgasm, and this time he
intended to go with her.
He slipped his left hand between her legs and started stroking her
clit. This caused her to open her eyes and mouth at the same time, a
small gasp escaping her lips. Her hips moved faster, pressing harder.
She leaned down closer to him, sweat dripping from her chin onto his
chest.
She was panting loudly, then moaning… then screaming!
About five seconds later, Danny was doing the same.

LATER THEY SAT UP IN BED, both bedside lamps turned on low,

Danny with is back to the headboard, Sin facing him, both of their legs
crossed Indian-style. Sin liked using that term because she herself was
part Cherokee. It was late, they were both exhausted, but neither was
ready to sleep. So they talked.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked. “Or should I ask?”
He grinned, stared at her for a moment before responding.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he said.
“Liar,” she said, then smiled. “You already know, but you don’t
want to tell me.”
“You know me so well,” he said. “Actually, I really don’t know. No
big plans. Not working this year, but beyond that, I have no clue.
Something will turn up. What about you?”
“Gonna be with both my girls and my mom this year,” she said
with a genuine smile. “We’re gonna do some baking, watch lots of old
movies on DVD, and enjoy being together.”
“Sounds great,” he said. “Glad for you.”
“And you’re just gonna spend the holidays alone, aren’t you?”
“Probably the best thing, babe,” he said. “Not really big on
holidays. But if I were gonna ask Santa to bring me one thing for
Christmas this year, it would probably be your delightful little body
with a big red bow on it.”
Sin snickered and then started laughing.
“Well you already got your wish then,” she said. “Minus the bow.
Feel like opening it again tonight, or do you need to wait till in the
morning? If you’re tuckered out.”
Danny’s face suddenly took on a lustful tint as he took in Sin’s
body. The spider tattoo just beneath her right collarbone, the two
dozen small dark stars covering the upper part of her right arm, and
the dozen piercings in both ears.
He uncrossed his legs and placed one foot on either side of her.
His cock was already stiffening and his eyes were locked on hers.
“What do you think?” he said.
Sin stared down at his erection and smiled herself.
“I think somebody’s about to get his cock sucked again,” she
replied, uncrossing her legs and coming up on her knees. “And I think
that somebody is you.”
And it was.
 Chapter 4

Danny headed back down to Montgomery following his weekend

in Birmingham. The weather had turned rainy and much colder and
there was a significant chance of snow during the week, continuing on
through Christmas. Unusual for Alabama this time of year, but not
unheard of. Didn’t really matter to him, Danny didn’t like the cold, but
could deal with it. Just as long as he had the right clothing and central
heat at home.
He only stopped briefly in Montgomery to check in with his
immediate boss, Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater, head of MIU, and with
Captain Rowland, the person he really worked for. Both were pleased
with the work he’d done up in Madison County, passing on a letter of
commendation from the Sheriff. Since there was nothing pressing and
he had the time off coming, Danny was told to go home and not think
about coming back before the first of the year. He did not need to be
told twice.

AFTER JOINING ABI, Danny decided to move out of

Birmingham. He didn’t really want to live in Montgomery either, and
after his first case for MIU took him down to Mobile, he found he
really liked the area and decided to move there.
Finding a place wasn’t all that hard, and within a month he was
moving into a condo on Wall Street off Hillcrest four miles west of
Airport Boulevard. It was in a woodland setting, cozy and isolated.
There was even a small lake out back of the complex that he could see
from his deck and the master bedroom. The rent was reasonable and
all the modern conveniences available, including satellite TV and
internet. Danny was a simple man with simple tastes, and the place
worked for him.
Five years later and he was still there, having just signed a two
year extension on his lease in October. However, as much as he liked
his home, he decided not to spend Christmas there, opting instead for
some place where he’d be anonymous.
No place better for that than a hotel on a Pensacola beach in the
off season. Therefore, that’s where Danny was from 23 December until
the second day of the new year, and he had had a good time, in his own
way. Pensacola was a place he had spent a lot of time as a child, this
being the spot his family most often traveled to for vacations. As an
adult he hadn’t spent that much time there, and it was a new
experience to rediscover the place.
There had been cousins who lived there when he was younger, and
some of them probably still did, but he didn’t look any of them up.
Anonymity.
On the morning of the Second of January, a Monday, Danny
packed up his car and headed back to Alabama. Tuesday would be the
official start of the business week back in Montgomery and he
intended to drive up and see if there was anything that needed his
attention. If not, there were some things he could work on around the
office, and a couple of training programs he could tinker with.
Always something to do when you were ABI’s troubleshooter-in-
chief.

NO RAIN, NO SNOW, JUST cold on Tuesday, 3 January in the

state’s capital. Danny pulled his dark blue state-issued Yukon XL into
the OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY parking lot at the Criminal Justice
Center on Ripley Street at two minutes after nine and found a space
three rows from the west side entrance.
Security checked his identification, despite the guards at the
entrance knowing him on sight, and then he went to the left, down a
long corridor, taking the second right and walking down a not so long
corridor to a bank of elevators. The building was bustling this
morning, everybody back from long weekends or vacations and eager
to get back to work. Well, maybe not eager, perhaps anxious. Lots to
make up for.
Danny got off the elevator on the fourth floor and turned left,
taking a right and then another left.
The Major Investigations Unit of ABI has its home in a suite of
offices in the southwest corner of this floor and is accessed through a
secured door with a card reader and punch keypad. Danny slid his
card and punched in his code, hearing an electronic click a second
later, then reaching out and turning the knob on the door.
The bullpen was nearly full, most occupants probably having come
in by eight, some perhaps even earlier. Well most of them didn’t live a
hundred seventy four miles away from the office.
Since Danny didn’t spend that much time here he didn’t actually
have a desk, so when he was in the office he usually used the small
interview/conference room next to the unit commander’s office in
back. As he moved through the bullpen, several people spoke to him
and he spoke back, stories exchanged about the holidays.
Before going into his office, he checked with the C.O.’s
administrative assistant and learned that Lieutenant Atwater was in a
supervisor's meeting and wouldn’t be available for a couple of hours.
Danny told the assistant that he really didn’t need to see her about
anything urgent, just checking in, then he went into the
conference/interview room and shut the door.
He took off his jacket, opened his briefcase, and took out his
laptop. The only office he actually needed.
Sitting down with his back to the wall and facing the door, Danny
booted up his computer, signed in with his password, then opened his
email file to see who loved him; who just liked him as a friend.
Great, he thought, seeing the number of emails in his inbox.
“Well, at least I know how I’m going to spend my morning.”

HE WAS STILL IN THE interview/conference room at noon, only

having been out for one bathroom break and two trips to the snack
area to get cups of tea.
Lunch was on his mind because his stomach had been growling
since the end of his second cup of tea half an hour ago, but he wanted
to finish what he was doing before going out. Of the one hundred
seventy-eight emails in his official inbox, only seventy-one of them
were of any consequence. Each required a response, but most of them
not a detailed one.
Twenty-two did require details.
He was just finishing number twenty-one when the door to the
conference room opened at a blond woman in her mid-forties wearing
the dark blue shirt and bluish gray pants of the Alabama Department
of Public Safety stepped inside holding a steaming mug of coffee. On
each side of her collar were the shinny gold bars of a lieutenant.
Danny glanced up as Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater entered the room
and shut the door behind her.
“Afternoon, Lieutenant,” he greeted, his fingers still flying across
the keys of his laptop keyboard. “Good meeting?”
Bobbi Atwater sipped her coffee and pulled out a chair on the
opposite side of the battered oblong table.
“No meeting is good the first day back from a long weekend,” she
said heavily as she sat and sighed, arching her back to work out a kink.
“Especially when you’ve got to account to the brass. What are you
working on?”
“Answering emails,” he responded.
“Been out of the loop for a while and things have stacked up.
Mainly just wrapping up some loose ends on past cases. Got a notice
about that Palmer thing in Gadsden next month. Might have to go out
and give a deposition.”
Atwater nodded absently, blowing on her coffee before taking a
sip.
“Palmer?” the lieutenant mused. “Construction fraud, right?”
“Yep,” Danny said, still typing. “He turned down the DA’s plea
deal so they’re gonna go at him full out.”
“Your evidence is solid,” she said, setting her cup down on the
table and resting her hands on either side of it. “They’ve got a strong
case. Guy should take a plea.”
“Doesn’t want to do the time,” Danny said, now reading what he
had typed. “Thinks he stands a better chance with a jury. He doesn’t.
Juries don’t like construction contractors who cut corners and risk
people’s lives by putting up substandard houses and apartment
complexes. I suspect that if they could, they’d put him on death row.”
 Atwater nodded, waiting until he finished reading.
When Danny was done, he made a couple of minor revisions, then
sent the email. Staring across the table, he saw something in Atwater’s
eyes, something he recognized well.
“What?” he said after a minute.
She sighed, smiled.
“When you get a minute, Russ wants to see you.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “It’s like that, huh?”
“It’s like that,” she said, then picked up her mug and took another
large sip of her coffee.

SINCE NEITHER OF THEM had yet eaten lunch, when Danny

came to his office just before twelve thirty, Captain Russell Rowland
suggested they go to Hamburger King three blocks away from the
Criminal Justice Center over on Decatur Street. It was a favorite
cholesterol saturation dive for local and state cops, and anybody else
who liked taking their lives in their hands.
They sat at the counter because all the tables were full. Rowland
ordered a double cheeseburger (well done) on sourdough with a large
side order of fries. Danny opted for a grilled turkey burger (medium
rare) on wheat and onion rings on the side.
“You know, I personally think this place started its decline the day
they started serving ground turkey,” Rowland said as he watched
Danny take the first bite of his sandwich.
Danny chewed delightedly, swallowing before responding.
“Nah, Captain. That’s the day they started their climb into
respectability.”
Rowland shook his head, then tucked into his own meal.
As they ate, they made small talk, mostly about things personal,
what each had done over their holiday off time. Rowland told him
about visiting with his wife’s family in Montevallo, and a quick trip
they took over to Atlanta for New Year’s.
Danny gave a brief rundown of his time down in Pensacola and
Rowland shook his head.
“Danny, when the hell are you gonna settle down and get married?
You can’t keep spending all your off time alone like that. It’s just not
healthy. Proven fact that married men live longer.”
Danny chuckled, eating an onion ring dipped in honey mustard
sauce.
“Or maybe it just seems like it,” he quipped.
Rowland tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t, and was soon
chuckling right along with Danny.
When lunch ended, they headed back to the Criminal Justice
Center, but instead of going up to Rowland’s office on the fifth floor,
he led Danny down to the basement. With the exception of storage
space, there was only one other thing in the basement, the five lane
DPS indoor firing range, a place Rowland usually suggested the two of
them talk when he was about to give Danny an assignment he was sure
not to want.
Kind of brave on the captain’s part, seeing as how well he knew
Danny could shoot.

ROWLAND CARRIED THE STANDARD issue Smith & Wesson

.40 caliber and was no slouch with it. Which was as it should be
considering he was a certified weapons instructor and personally
handled the recertification of all the supervisors in ABI. He shot
“expert” every time he was at the range, and a couple of times in real
life earlier in his career when he’d been a deputy in his native of
Louisiana. Today was no exception, an almost perfect score.
However, Danny Monk still out-shot him, and with an apparent
effortlessness that would have pissed off the ABI deputy chief had it
been anybody else.
“You know I’m gonna start thinking you and that thing have some
kind of unnatural relationship,” Rowland said as he pulled off his ear
protectors, watching as Danny popped the empty magazine out of the
butt of his .45 Caliber SIG-Sauer and set it on the shelf in the stall he
was standing in. He took off his ear and eye protectors and grinned,
turning to face Rowland.
“Define unnatural, Captain.”
Rowland grinned, pulled off his shooting glasses, dropped them
on the shelf in his booth, glanced around. They were alone now, the
two troopers who had been shooting when they came in had left five
minutes earlier.
“Danny, I’ve got a job for you.”
“Kind of figured that when you bought lunch,” Danny said, setting
his weapon down next to the spent magazine. “What’s up?”
Rowland paused, sighed, then leaned back against the wall next to
his shooting stall. He appeared to be weighing something and this
made Danny a little uncomfortable because in all the time he had
known Russell Rowland, he could never remember a instance when he
had hesitated. So something really big must be up, or really bad.
“Danny, I know you don’t keep up with the news much,” he finally
said. “But do you know the name Helena Vail?”

DANNY STARED AT HIM FOR A few moments, then smiled.

“Well it’s true that I don’t follow the news much, Russ, but yeah, I
know the name. Even saw her in person a couple of times. State
senator from Birmingham. Republican. Currently working hard to try
and unseat the incumbent republican governor before the next
election. Probably doesn’t have much of a chance, given the fact that
she’s a social moderate in a state that still has a significant portion of
the population that believes women shouldn’t be allowed to wear
pants.”
Rowland nodded, smiled a little.
“Time has marched on for the south, but not as much as we’d like
to believe, huh? Yeah. Anyway, it looks like Senator Vail is in this for
the long haul. Despite the stiff opposition, and the current governor’s
political war chest, she’s got backing and support all over the state.
Some even national. She may not succeed in taking the governor out,
but she isn’t going away either. That is, unless certain other forces
have their way.”
Danny caught the hint in Rowland’s voice, his left eyebrow arching
as he waited for more.
“I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you that Senator Vail has
received numerous threats against her life over the past few months.”
 “I’d be surprised if she hadn’t,” Danny said.
“Yeah, well the volume she has been getting lately is staggering.
Letters, phone calls, emails, even faxes, if you can believe that.”
“Capitol Police on it, I take it?”
“Yeah, their intelligence section has been made aware and is
keeping track as best they can, but they’re stretched thin right now,
just like everybody else.”
Danny stared at Rowland for a minute and then started shaking
his head.
“Russ, you aren’t about to suggest…”
The ABI captain held up a placating hand.
“Danny, Major Danforth got a personal request from the governor
for ABI’s assistance with this. Senator Vail may be a thorn in his side
and he'd probably like nothing better than to have her drop dead,
however, if that were to happen, and if it were learned that he didn’t
do everything in his power to prevent it, he’d be crucified in the press.
Probably lose the election anyway. Maybe even to a democrat.”
“So this is about politics,” Danny said derisively. “The governor
just trying to cover his ass and using ABI to that end. Thought the
major had bigger balls than that.”
“Normally he does,” Rowland admitted. “But I think he believes
that there might be something to this. He’s reviewed some of the
threats that Capitol PD Intel are working over. So have I. Some of this
shit is pretty sick.”
“No doubt,” Danny said. “And the Capitol PD are all over it. So
why should we get involved?”
“Short answer is because we’ve been ordered to, Investigator
Monk,” Rowland said, trying for his most officious tone of voice.
Danny stared at him hard for several moments, neither man
blinking.
“Danny, come on,” Rowland spoke first. “I know this seems like
ass-duty, but it isn’t. If it were that, I can think of a dozen others in
ABI I’d give the job to. I’m picking you because I know how good you
are, and I know that if there is something in those threats that leads to
a real problem, you’ll be the one to find it. I’m not blowing smoke or
bullshitting you either. This is a job that needs the tenacious and
unremitting Daniel Xavier Monk. The man who doesn’t give a shit
about stepping on toes and making enemies.”
“And you expect whoever takes this job will make enemies?”
Danny said a little dejectedly.
“Undoubtedly,” Rowland smiled, pushing off the wall and walking
over to Danny. “Some of the suspects on your list are very powerful
people in and around the capital, and elsewhere. When you review the
list of threats, you’ll see what I’m talking about. They won’t like being
questioned or investigated, they’ll make phone calls to powerful
people, make threats. Standard drill. And I’ll take all the calls, promise
to keep a tighter rein on you, and then blow them off. You keep doing
what you’re doing until you find something or are satisfied that there
is nothing to the threats.”
“How long do I have?” Danny asked.
“Well the primaries aren’t for a couple of months, with the
election in the fall. She’s going to be campaigning hard over the next
few months, traveling the state meeting with voters, giving speeches,
all that shit. This is an open-ended thing for you. Work it however you
feel like, whatever works for you. I won’t take you completely out of
the rotation for other cases. Bobbi Atwater and I already talked about
this and she isn’t willing to give up the services of her best investigator
indefinitely. We’ll just have to work it out. This Vail thing does take
priority, though. Something breaks, you follow it up. Any other cases
can be taken over by other MIU or other section investigators.”
Danny sighed deeply, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he
considered his options. Short of resigning on the spot, he didn’t have
many. So he sighed again and looked into Russell Rowland’s gray eyes.
“Should have made you buy me a ribeye for lunch,” he said, and
Rowland grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Next time,” he said.
The door behind them opened and two more troopers came in
carrying ear and eye protectors. Rowland suggested they head up to
his office and finish their talk, then Danny could get started on his
latest assignment.
 DANNY WAS BACK IN MIU at a quarter to three, having spent
the last half hour in Russ Rowland’s office receiving his final
instructions and reviewing some of the more graphic threats that had
been sent to Senator Vail. When they were done, Rowland gave him an
eight gigabyte flash-drive with everything the Capitol Police had so far,
each and every threat in detail. He also told Danny that agents from
DPS’ Dignitary Protection Unit had been assigned to shadow Vail,
even though the senator had initially objected.
“Who’s detail leader?” Danny asked.
Rowland smiled.
“Laura Copeland,” he said.
Then Danny smiled.
“Yeah,” Rowland said, and then Danny left his office.

MIU HAD ONE TECHNICAL SUPPORT ANALYST on the payroll

and this person was afforded the only other private office in the whole
unit, if you could call the little hole in the wall an actual office.
Katherine Tully had worked for MIU for four years, having come
over from the Administration Division where she had worked in the
office of the deputy division chief for nearly five years before he was
promoted to the position of deputy director of DPS and Katherine (Kat
to her friends—and just about everybody else) decided that she didn’t
want to go with him, hoping to find something more challenging than
simple administrative duties.
In the Major Investigations Unit of ABI she had found just what
she was looking for, and so had MIU. Danny and Kat had become
friends fast, having hit it off right away. Kat had a wicked sense of
humor and was an unapologetic flirt (sexual harassment regulations
be damned), and Danny couldn’t help but smile when he was around
her. Something that did not actually come easy to him.
Kat was married and their relationship never went beyond the
flirting stage, although they did frequently lunch together when Danny
was in town. And from time to time he thought about what it would be
like if he made a move. Would she reject him? Would she encourage
him? Would it cost them their friendship? Or would it make it
stronger?”
Probably never know.
Or so he thought until recently, and perhaps now he might find
out.
Six months ago Kat had told him that she and her husband Marc
were separating after twenty years of marriage, and it wasn’t looking
good that they would ever get back together. Six months later, and
according to Kat, things were getting worse.
They had an eight year old son together, and Danny had recently
learned that earlier in their lives they had had a baby girl who they put
up for adoption because they were too young to care for her. Now that
baby was nineteen and she had tracked them down, was back in their
lives. This had brought a sense of joy to Kat’s life, but also immense
sadness, and perhaps had indirectly sparked the problems that she
and Marc were having. Old fights, consequences of old decisions.
At any rate, all of this had taken a toll on Kat and everyone noticed
that she wasn’t her old smart-alecky self. She hadn’t confided her
problems in many within the unit, and Danny was the only person who
knew the full story; he kept his mouth shut about it, too. She still did
her job just as efficiently as always, but the old playfulness and joy just
wasn’t there.
This bothered Danny, but he was damned if he knew what to do
about it. Perhaps now he should make a move on her, maybe that
would snap her out of it. Or at least distract her from her problems for
a while. Not to mention introduce her to some great sex.
He was still thinking about this and grinning to himself when he
knocked on the closed door to her office just before three p.m.

“YEAH!” SHOUTED THE FAMILIAR FEMALE voice from the

other side of the door with the words TECH SUPPORT emblazoned on
the frosted glass at the top.
“It’s Prince Charming come looking for a glass slipper,” Danny
rejoined.
A snort and a snicker.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Get your ass in here, Danny Monk!”
 So he did, opening the door and stepping inside, a Styrofoam cup
of steaming hot coffee with milk and three sugars in his left hand.
Kat Tully was behind a cluttered desk, back turned to the door,
working furiously at a brand new Dell desktop computer with all the
latest bells and whistles. She paused and sniffed the air a couple of
times. Typed for another minute, then pulled off her glasses and
turned, glancing up and smiling.
“You bring me coffee?” she said.
“Well you know I sure as hell don’t drink this stuff,” he said,
walking over and passing her the cup.
Kat took it, lifted the lid, sniffed deeply.
“Just the way I like it,” she said. “You must really need something
bad.”
“I’m hurt,” Danny said, feigning indignity. “Truly hurt. You think
I’d come in here with coffee just because I want something? I was just
being a friend, knowing how much you work around here, how hard
your job is. I was just trying to ease the stress.”
Kat cast a derisive smirk his way before taking a tentative sip of
her coffee.
“You’re such a bad liar,” she told him, leaning back in her chair
and staring up at him for a few moments. Then she sighed. “Sit your
ass down and tell me what you need. I’ve got a lot of shit to do already
and I know you’re about to add to it. And because you brought me the
coffee, I’m liable to put you ahead of everybody else.”
Danny sat in the creaky cloth covered chair in front of the desk,
adjusted his gun at his right hip so it wouldn’t dig into his side, and
then crossed his ankles as he leaned back.
“Well now that you mention it, I could use a bit of a favor,” he said
with a placid smile spreading out across his brown face. “Just a small
one really.”
Kat Tully sat back staring at him across the top of the cup of
coffee, payment for the upcoming favor. She didn’t say anything, just
sat watching Danny.
“Okay,” he said after another minute of silence, then told her.
 Chapter 5

Danny had been planning to stay in Montgomery for a few days,

getting a room in his favorite local hotel, catching up on a few things
until something new came up that required travel. With him it never
took very long because some local jurisdiction with too few resources
was always calling asking for help from the state. If the case was
serious enough, ABI’s MIU would get the call, and if it was really
interesting, Senior Special Investigator Danny Monk would get that
call.
However, since Rowland had assigned him this dog of a case
involving Senator Helena Vail, he decided to drive back down to
Mobile in the late afternoon after his talk with Kat Tully and a briefer
one with Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater.
Before going home, he stopped by the China Super Buffet on
Airport Boulevard and picked up dinner. It was a quarter after seven
and well dark when he pulled into the designated parking space
outside his building. It was also very cold and he remembered the
forecaster on the Weather Channel talking about the possibility of
snow flurries for the southern half of the state tonight. That would be
great, just what Alabama needed, an excuse to shut down for a few
days because somebody mentioned snowflakes.
Briefcase in one hand, Chinese food in the other, he quickly made
his way up the walk, around the corner to the back of the building, and
up to his first floor unit. He’d left the heat on low so the place wouldn’t
be too cold when he got home, even if that hadn’t been today. First
thing he did after setting his things down on the kitchen counter to his
left was turn the heat up, instantly rewarded by the fan kicking on and
blowing semi-warm air through the vents. Soon the whole place would
be nice and toasty.
Danny went to the bathroom, came back out and carried his
briefcase into the home office he had made out of the spare bedroom
up front off the living room. He set his laptop up on the desk, then
went into the kitchen to put the food on a plate and to make a cup of
hot herbal tea. Thought about sitting at the lonely dining table in the
corner across from the kitchen, then opted for the coffee table in front
of the much more comfortable sofa in the living room.
He switched on the forty inch flat screen mounted on the wall
across from the sofa, flipped around for a few minutes before finding
something he felt like watching. Reruns of The Family Guy on TBS.
He had dinner, sipped his tea, watched Stewie Griffin plot to take
over the world, and let his mind drift over the job that he’d been given
today. A job he most assuredly did not want.
Nonetheless, he did have to admit to himself that Russ Rowland
was right, no one else in ABI could do the job half as well as he. Didn’t
make him feel any better about it though.
Not that it mattered.
He had two plates of Chinese, then put the rest in the fridge for
another day. Made another cup of tea, leaned against the kitchen
counter for a while thinking. Not about the case, but about Kat Tully.
Today she had been flirtier than usual, stared into his eyes more than
before. Maybe she was thinking the same thing that he was thinking.
Or maybe she was just horny.
Maybe we all are, he thought, finishing his tea.
TV time done, dinner done, Danny sighed deeply and headed into
his office.
“Might as well get started tonight,” he said to his empty
apartment, then sat down at his desk and typed his password into the
laptop.

HELENA AMANDA VAIL, born forty-one years ago in Mesa,

Arizona to John and Amanda Vail. One sibling, a brother two years
junior named Tom. Father and mother both university professors,
political science and mathematics, respectively. Family moved to
Alabama when Helena was ten because the parents were offered
teaching positions at Birmingham Southern College, or as it was
locally referred to by some of the unkind, Methodist U.
Helena attended Birmingham Southern, majoring in political
science, with a minor in mathematics. Wanted to keep both parents
happy. Her brother joined the Marines after high school, and was
killed three years later in a helicopter accident in Okinawa, Japan.
When Helena graduated, she went to work full time in the office of
the Sixth Congressional District Representative, having been working
as an unpaid intern for the previous two years. The file on from there.
Blah, blah, blah… Parents were killed in a car accident in Tennessee
when Helena was twenty-seven, and that left her pretty much on her
own with no other close family. She continued working for the
congressman because his seat was a lock and unlikely to turn over. He
was powerful with many people who owed him favors in the state and
national Republican Party. And Helena had hitched her star to his
because she felt that with the connections she would make as a
congressional staffer she would be able to help her own cause one day
when she decided to step out into the light.
Blah, blah, blah…
The file said she had a twelve-year-old son, the product of a
relationship with a bureaucrat somewhere in Washington, name
unlisted, even on the kid’s birth certificate. Never married, single
mom. Probably went over well with the social conservatives. Of course,
the fact that she was now an open bisexual was most likely a bigger
problem for them.
And she was a republican? In Alabama, no less. Go figure.
Her congressman died in office, and a special election resulted in a
turnover of the seat to a democrat. Helena and the entire staff were out
of a job. She moved back to Birmingham with her son, took an adjunct
professor’s job at Birmingham Southern in the History and Political
Science Department, and spent the next year building up her statewide
contacts in the party.
Her first run for office was for a seat on the Jefferson County
Commission, losing in a close election. The second time she went after
a vulnerable state House seat and got it. Two terms there and she took
on the incumbent democrat for the Birmingham seat in the Senate and
beat him by double digits. Helena’s star was once again on the rise.
However, this would not last for long.
Danny paused and glanced at his watch, yawning. Background
reports always made him sleepy. He hit a couple of keys and pulled up
a photo from the file, Helena Vail in her official portrait of office
behind her desk at the Capitol. Quite an attractive woman. Straight
blond hair hanging past her shoulders, cool blue eyes that were a little
too big for her small face, but somehow this gave her a look of special
sincerity. Probably something that she capitalized on as a politician.
She had a full, pouty mouth that no doubt the male voters found
attractive, not to mention those women in sensible shoes, to quote
Robin Williams. Prominent nose, slightly crooked. Possibly from a
break earlier in life. And, of course, pearly white and shining teeth, all
straight as a ruler.
There were several other photos in the file and Danny looked at
them all, liking what he saw a lot. She was a very beautiful woman,
probably had a good heart, too, judging by all the accomplishments in
her file, her stated goals for things she would change if elected
governor. Of course, this would never happen. She’d never get the
nomination. The current governor might be an idiot whose poll
numbers had dropped by fifty percent since taking office three years
ago, but there was no way the voters of Alabama were going to elect a
bisexual woman who believed in open borders, gay marriage, gay
adoption, reproductive freedom, and tougher gun laws.
Despite the fact that she also believed in prayer in schools, fiscal
responsibility, a flat tax, and small government.
No way, no how.
But because she was running for the office, and there were plenty
of people afraid that she might somehow succeed, her life was no
doubt in some danger. Problem was, there were over four million
people in the state, and at least half of them probably didn’t like her.
Finding someone who might actually be willing to take that dislike to
the level of murder… not so easy. Which is why she had a bodyguard
detail from the Dignitary Protection Unit, the Alabama Department of
Public Safety’s own private Secret Service.
Danny was leaning back in his chair now, eyes closed, considering
everything he’d read about Senator Vail. He hadn’t yet begun to look at
the threats, that would come tomorrow, once Kat Tully had finished
working her magic. For now, all he wanted to focus on was the woman
who was the subject of so much controversy, the possible future
governor of the great state of…
Not likely.
He was getting sleepy, but didn’t want to get up and go to bed.
More thinking to do, but he was drifting.

“THEY DON’T BUY YOUR CONCLUSIONS, Lieutenant, and

you’ve been ordered to proceed with the mission as planned. Your
objections are noted.”
“Very well, sir,” responded Lieutenant Monk, seething inside, but
snapping to attention in his superior’s office and preparing to carry
out his orders.
Thirty-six hours later, he was in the Philippians, his mission, to
[ii]
make contact with a North Korean defector-in-place to make
arrangements for a secret network for smuggling intelligence and
political prisoners across the border into the South without North
Korean counterintelligence finding out about it. The problem was,
Lieutenant Monk had a strong suspicion that the defector in question
was not in fact a defector at all, but rather a triple agent still in the
employ of his service and feeding ONI very bad information. And in
the process, preparing to spring a vicious trap that would allow the
North Koreans to round up and kill dozens of low-level assets who
were prepared to help the political prisoners escape. Guards, nurses,
taxi drivers, ordinary men and women who had risked their lives for
years for a chance to help bring democracy to their troubled and
isolated country. And if Monk was right, they would all be exposed
and killed.
But he had his orders, and naval officers were sworn to obey the
lawful orders of their superiors, no matter how much they personally
disagreed with them. If the orders turned out to be wrong, it was the
fault of the superior, not the subordinate.
Cold comfort, Monk thought, because a lot of innocent and good
people would be dead if this turned out to be the case. Something that
the young ONI lieutenant just could not live with.
The defector was a member of a special mission from North
Korean that was in Manila to discuss the possibility of new trade
relations between the two countries. Monk had a room in the same
hotel where the delegation was staying, under the cover of an
Algerian businessman (arms dealer). It had been worked out well in
advance where and when the meeting would take place, precisely
how long they would have to pass information. The timing was tight,
but workable, if they stuck to the script.
The defector-in-place, real name Wan Kim Li, a major in the
State Safety and Security Agency, had a seventeen minute window of
time when he could be absent before anyone missed him. He would be
meeting privately with two minor local officials about some
insignificant issues and would feign illness and ask to be excused. The
meeting would be taking place in a suite on the fifth floor of the hotel
at the end of the corridor. Major Wan would excuse himself and head
to the bathroom at the other end of the corridor, however, before
getting there he would duck into another room a few doors short of
the bathroom and meet with Monk.
Another member of State Security would join the meeting after
concluding his business elsewhere, and before that could happen,
Wan had to be back in the suite, or there would be trouble, an
operation that had taken years to set up, in ruins. And a very
valuable asset lost. Of course, to Monk’s way of thinking, there was
no valuable asset and what was in danger of being lost was ONI’s
whole North Korean operation.
He opened the door precisely on time and Major Wan stepped
inside, dressed in full military uniform. Wan was a small man, barely
five-three, but there was something unmistakably dangerous about
him. You could see it in his eyes, the cold eyes of a killer. And a born
liar.
Introductions were unnecessary and a waste of time. The two
men moved over to the desk in front of the window, the curtains
closed. Wan sat in front, Monk moved behind. They stared at one
another for a few moments, then Monk took a deep breath. The
moment of truth.
 “Do you have it?” Monk said.
Wan nodded, reaching inside his tunic and extracting a fat
envelop, tossing it across the desk to the younger man. Monk caught
the envelope in his left hand, set it down on the desk without looking
at it, the entire time his focus was on the North Korean. He said
nothing more, just sat and stared.
This began to annoy Wan and exasperation showed on his
features. He leaned forward, hands on the front edge of the desk.
“Well don’t you have something to say, man? We don’t have
much time. I have to get back before my counterpart arrives. Or there
will be trouble. I will be blown!”
Monk nodded, tapped the envelope with two fingers.
“Somehow I doubt that, Major,” Monk said casually, his eyes
never leaving the other man’s. “You won’t be blown by your
counterpart, or anyone else in your service. You see, Major, ONI
knows that you’re a plant, a triple sent to feed us false information
and to get us to reveal our networks already in-place in your
country. We’ve been on to you from the start.”
Complete bullshit, of course. No one in ONI had been on to him
from the start, not even Lieutenant Monk. And no one in the agency
believed it now, except Lieutenant Monk. A gamble, a very dangerous
one, but it would be worth it if the truth were revealed. And if not,
well he could always get a job doing something else. That is, after
Leavenworth…
But Leavenworth wasn’t in the cards, however Arlington
National Cemetery nearly was. Being a highly skilled North Korean
operative, trained and always ready for trouble, Wan Kim Li did not
even attempt to deny the accusations, simply reacted with speed and
efficiency, his mission now clear.
A six inch stiletto appeared as if by magic from Wan’s left sleeve,
dropping into his palm, and at the same time he was on his feet,
diving across the desk at Monk, the American naval officer pushing
back from his side of the desk, the chair toppling over. The two men
tumbling to the floor, the stiletto rising in the air, then plunging
down…
 DANNY CAME AWAKE WITH A start, feeling a sharp pain in his
side, and in his left knee. He was covered in sweat, his skin alive with
electricity, and his heart was racing.
The dreams again, it had been a while, not long enough, but a
while. He shivered and sat forward, staring at the screen saver now
running on his laptop.
“Time to go to bed for real this time,” he said, powering down his
computer and then standing up, stretching his back. His knee was still
hurting, as it did every year when the weather was cold. His trinket
from a young life spent doing stupid things. Like defying orders and
nearly getting killed by a North Korean triple agent.
On the plus side, nearly was better than the alternative, knee pain
not withstanding.
A quick trip to the bathroom, then he went into his bedroom in the
back, set his SIG down on the nightstand next to the bed, then climbed
into bed, the lights already off.
He was asleep in minutes, and this time when he dreamt, it wasn’t
about any North Koreans, or child molesters, or wife killers. He
dreamt about women.
First, Sin Lukes.
Then Kat Tully.
And lastly, Helena Vail.
Maybe later, toward the end of REM sleep, perhaps he dreamed
about all three of them together…
 Chapter 6

Two days after receiving his choice assignment from the deputy
chief of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, Danny was still in
Mobile, sitting in his home-office reading through a lengthy list of
names, threats, some in conjunction with each other, others solo, all
with one recurring theme or concern. Not liking Senator Helena Vail
of Birmingham. What he had asked Kat Tully to do was to set up one
of her logic algorithm programs, or whatever the hell she actually
called them, which would allow the computer to scan through all the
threats, the threat makers, and other potentials, and to come up with a
list of the ones Danny should be looking at first. The most likely to be
dangerous, at least in the computer’s estimation.
The technology was proven, in wide use by several federal
agencies today, including the FBI and CIA. Kat had been
experimenting with programs that she had designed for this purpose
and had even set one up for him before. It had worked pretty well,
although there were still bugs to be worked out when she had the time.
However, Danny was convinced that it was still a valuable resource,
and one that could help him with his current problem.
The computer had kicked out a list of seventy-six entries, with
accompanying explanations for each. Not exactly small, but a hell of a
lot better than the hundreds he had started with. Thursday morning he
was sitting at his desk with a cup of Earl Grey tea reading the
computer’s reasoning for choosing to list the head of the Alabama
Republican Party as a potential threat to Helena Vail when his mobile
phone rang.
He was a little annoyed, but marked his place in the report and
picked the phone up from the desk. The number was unfamiliar, but
he answered it anyway. So many people had his mobile number these
days that it was impossible for him to recognize all the callers'
numbers.
However, as soon as he answered, he immediately recognized the
voice of the caller, and smiled.
Twenty minutes later, Danny was leaving his condo, his go-bag
(actually a backpack) in his left hand and a soft black case the shape of
a long gun in his right.

THE RUN FROM MOBILE UP TO ATMORE, Alabama takes

about an hour if you go the speed limit. If you’re driving a State Police
vehicle with flashing lights, it takes about half that.
The call Danny got was from a deputy with the Escambia County
Sheriff’s Office who had as part of her regular responsibilities the duty
of patrolling Atmore, which was little more than a flyspeck on the
map. Population of about seventy-five hundred, actually down from
the last census at the turn of the century.
Danny had been there many times when he was a boy because his
father was from the country, had relatives in the little towns all over
South Alabama, and loved dragging his family through them on the
way to summer vacations in Pensacola.
Danny had never really liked Atmore, nor had anyone else in his
family, save for dad. By the time he was a teenager most of his
relatives in the area had either died or moved away and the family
stopped making trips through there as often. This was probably due in
large part to the fact that there had been a lot of additional road
construction by that time and I-65 stretched all the way south to I-10
and this took them directly into Florida without having to take back
roads. Something the rest of the family was quite grateful for.
Since he had been back in Alabama these past five years, Danny
had had occasion to go to Atmore, two occasions actually. Both work-
related, as was today.

METHAMPHETAMINE WAS A VERY serious problem in the

South these days. Commonly referred to as Hillbilly Heroin. And it
was manufactured in some of the damndest places, places that you’d
never believe if someone told you. Places like Atmore, Alabama, where
there wasn’t much going on these days—or ever that Danny could
remember. Although there was a very nice state correctional facility
nearby, Holman, home of the famous Old Sparky, the infamous
electric chair that had sent so many condemned prisoners to their
deaths throughout the years. Now gathering dust since the state
switched to lethal injection.
Five months ago, a team of ABI agents and Escambia County
Sheriff’s deputies had raided a meth lab in a house off County Road 5
just north of U.S. 31 and the Atmore Municipal Airport. They had been
acting on a tip from a driver busted by deputies in Florida where he
was caught transporting approximately one hundred thousand dollars
in meth in the back of his truck. In exchange for a favorable sentence
recommendation to the DA, the driver told the deputies from where
he’d picked up his load.
Escambia County covers territory in both Northern Florida and
Southern Alabama, and the deputies are sometimes spread thin trying
to keep it all patrolled. And for this reason, when something major
comes up, they get in touch with state authorities in either state and
ask for assistance.
This is what they did five months ago, and one of the ABI agents
responding was actually a senior special investigator, the only one in
ABI.
The senior deputy on that raid was a feisty thirty-two year old
Latina by the name of Sharon Ortega, recently promoted to corporal.

CORPORAL ORTEGA AND HER deputies met with the ABI team
at a pre-designated spot on County Road 27 a few miles away from the
meth lab and did a quick briefing, going over what information the
driver had provided, plus additional intelligence the deputies had
gathered through surveillance. The target wasn’t hardened, the
cookers believing they were operating in the clear with no outside
scrutiny. And up until recently they had been right.
At midnight, the two teams hit the place, hard and fast, catching
the sentries and the cookers completely by surprise. Didn’t have to fire
a shot. They rounded up everybody on the list that the driver had given
them. Everybody but one, their main enforcer, a man by the name of
Thomas Redcrow, a disowned member of the Poarch Creek Native
American tribe that owned and operated the local casino. Redcrow
wasn’t on the premises when the raid went down, and none of those
taken into custody would say where he was, probably fearing his
reprisal if word got to him that they had talked.
Redcrow had a rap sheet a mile long, almost every violent crime
you could think of. Suspect in at least two murders, charged with five
different assaults with intent to do grievous bodily harm—charges
later dropped due to witnesses changing their stories, no doubt after
receiving threats from Redcrow—suspect in four rapes, several armed
robberies, and in the transport and sale of major weight
methamphetamine. He was high up on the DEA’s wanted list, and his
arrest would have been a nice feather in the cap of both the ABI and
the Escambia County Sheriff’s Office. But he wasn’t there.
However, the search for him did not end that night, kept alive
largely by Deputy Ortega, with occasional assistance provided by
Danny in the form of tech support from MIU’s technical support guru,
Kat Tully.
The last time Danny had spoken with Ortega was a month earlier,
while he was still up in Madison County. She said she had picked up
Redcrow’s trail a couple of times, but he had managed to clear off
before a team could get to him. Ortega had sounded just as determined
as ever and Danny knew that one day she would eventually run him
down. And he had been right. She had run him down. Right back to his
old stomping grounds.

ORTEGA HAD LEARNED THAT REDCROW had a girlfriend of

sorts, a woman he’d known for years and was known to visit her from
time to time when he had no place else to go. Her name was Sally Pate,
twenty-seven years old, busted half a dozen times for prostitution and
drug possession. When she wasn’t turning tricks or smoking meth, she
found occasional work as a cocktail waitress at the Flamingo Terrace
Lounge on Carver Avenue. However, she hadn’t worked there in
several months by the time of the raid, and no one seemed to know
where she had gone, or even if she was still alive. And probably no one
cared. She didn’t appear to be the kind of person people cared about.
Then Ortega got a tip that Sally had come to the local hospital
emergency room a couple days ago to get treatment for an infected
sore on her leg. She didn’t have insurance, but they treated her
anyway, and had her sign a form promising to pay her bills through a
payment plan. Included on the form was a space for the patient’s
address. Ortega tracked that address down; found that it was an
abandoned trailer park over on Pleasant Grove Road.
She and another deputy did a little covert reconnaissance of the
area, spotted some old and seemingly unused mobile homes set way
back off the main roads, but no other vehicles in evidence. The
deputies set up surveillance and waited for most of the day before they
observed movement in one of the trailers, and then longer still before a
car drove up the next morning.
Ortega had stayed on post all night, kept awake by some of the
worst coffee in the world, and a very strong desire to lay her hands on
Thomas Redcrow. When she saw him step out of the rusted old Ford
and head toward the trailer, carefully studying him through the lenses
of her binoculars, it was all that she could do not to rush out and try to
take him on her own.
But Ortega was a professional, not to mention a single mother of
two daughters. She had no intention of leaving them without a mother
as well as a father. So she called it in to her station, told the duty
officer to send whoever was available, and to tell them to come with
long guns and body armor.
Ortega’s next call was to Danny Monk.
He arrived about half an hour after the rest of the deputies,
meeting at the spot a mile away that Ortega had designated. He, too,
was armored and armed; ready.

“I’VE GOT EYES ON THE PLACE RIGHT now,” Ortega explained

to Danny as he leaned against the driver’s door of his Yukon, arms
folded across his muscular chest. Ortega stood in front of him, only
five-three herself, she had to lean back and look up a bit. Her right
hand was resting on the butt of her weapon, her left hitched through
her duty belt. “At least one other person in the trailer with him that we
can tell. Probably Sally Pate, can’t be sure though.”
“You didn’t see any long guns when he got out of the car?” Danny
asked.
“Nope,” she shook her head. “Just had a sack of what looked like
groceries. Of course, it could’ve been full of guns, too. Small arms
anyway. Doubt it though. But there could be an arsenal in that trailer.
No telling how long they been in there.”
Danny nodded, considering.
“So how you want to play it?” he asked.
“I want this SOB, Danny. He’s a bad dude and we got enough to
charge him on that meth bust from five months ago. Plus there are a
couple of other failure- to-appear warrants on him for other stuff in
nearby jurisdictions. We can hold him even if the other charges fall
through. And who knows, maybe we can get some of his friends from
the meth lab to squeal on him. Maybe the driver we busted down
south.”
Danny nodded again, glanced around, then pushed off his truck.
“So, again, how do you want to play this?”
Deputy Ortega hitched up her pants, smiled.
“Well I was thinking about a rocket propelled grenade…”

WHAT THEY ACTUALLY DID WAS KEEP WATCH on the trailer

until nightfall. No one went in or out of the trailer, but they could see
two people moving around inside, one of them Thomas Redcrow. The
trailer had no electricity and when it got dark, the surveillance team
could see candles burning throughout the place. At one point they
smelled propane mixed with cooking aromas and guessed that there
was some sort of stove inside. This could be a problem if there was
gunplay.
As the night moved in, so did the chill, and everyone was
becoming anxious for action. Danny was waiting with Ortega in her
car, along with another deputy. At five minutes after eight, one
member of the forward surveillance team reported hearing arguing
coming from inside the trailer, the sound of things being knocked
around. Ortega got on the radio and ordered all teams to stand by for a
quick and hard entry.
She and Danny and the other deputy climbed out of her car and
moved up to the primary surveillance point just beyond the clearing
where the trailer set. They could hear yelling quite clearly on the cool
moonless night.
“Sounds like he’s beating the shit out of her,” a deputy said.
“Sounds like probable cause to me,” Ortega said.
“Let’s do it then,” Danny said.

THOMAS REDCROW WAS SHIRTLESS and glistening with sweat

in the subdued candlelight when the deputies burst into the trailer. He
was holding a leather strap in one hand and the thick curly hair of
Sally Pate in the other, preparing to strike her yet again.
Sharon Ortega rushed right up to him with the muzzle of a
Remington 870 shotgun aimed directly at his face. When she was
within arm’s length, she swung the butt upwards and caught him on
the right hip, spinning him around and causing him to let go of Pate.
But he held onto the strap.
Redcrow righted himself and spun back around, murder in his
dark eyes, clearly visible even in the low light.
“You fucking Mexican cunt!” he spat, raising the strap high above
his head.
Ortega didn’t flinch, dropped lower, swung the butt of her shotgun
one more time, catching him in the right knee, knocking him off
balance and he fell backwards, toppling over a small card table behind
him.
By this time the rest of the deputies were inside the small trailer.
Three were on Redcrow now, forcefully turning him onto his face and
bringing his huge arms behind his back, cuffing him as he struggled,
admonishing him to stop resisting (with the aid of a few well-placed
knees to the kidneys).
Another deputy went over to Pate, got her into a sitting position,
started checking her out.
 Danny stood in the doorway, a Benelli shotgun held down by his
right leg. Ortega glanced around the trailer for a minute, then came
over to him, her shotgun held at port arms.
“Well that was more fun than I’ve had in a while,” she grinned.
Danny smiled, shaking his head.
“You ought to get out more, Sharon,” he said.
She cocked her head to the side.
“Is that an invitation?”
He smiled again, looked over to where the deputies were now
struggling to get Redcrow on his feet. Not the easiest feat in the world
considering his enormous size, and the fact that one of his knees didn’t
work so well at the moment.
“Any time you get to Mobile, Deputy,” he told her, turning and
heading back outside. “You’ve got my number.”
Sharon Ortega followed him to the door and looked out after him,
smiling to herself. He really did have such a nice ass, she thought.
She’d never dated a black guy, but had no objection to the idea.
Thought Danny Monk might just be kind of fun. If only for a little
while.
“Hell, Sharon,” she said in a whisper. “Mobile ain’t that far away.
 Chapter 7

Friday morning Danny sat in his home-office at his computer.

He’d typed up a brief report regarding his involvement in the arrest of
Thomas Redcrow and sent it to Lieutenant Atwater up in
Montgomery. He’d called her yesterday on his way to Atmore to let her
know what he was up to. She approved because she believed it was a
good idea to get Redcrow off the streets, sorry that they hadn’t been
able to do so last year. When he called to tell her they had him in
custody she told him good job, to write it up, then get back to doing
what he was supposed to be doing.
It was once again a little after nine and he had another cup of Earl
Grey tea in hand as he stared at the computer screen in front of him.
For the time being he had put aside the list of potential threats to
Senator Vail and decided to concentrate on her a little more.
The delightful and helpful thing about the internet these days (for
cops and stalkers) is the sheer volume of material available out there,
especially in regards to famous or infamous people. Google was
incredible.
YouTube even better.
Googling Helena Vail had led him to YouTube, which had dozens
of video clips of the Birmingham republican as she spoke to different
groups around the state and at the Capitol. Danny sat and watched
them all, listening to the soft yet firm voice, taking in her words,
hearing the inflections, and finding himself becoming quite aroused.
She really was a very attractive woman, and not just physically.
She spoke from the heart, made a lot of sense, and had a way of
delivering her words in just the right tone so as not to offend, only
inform. Her eyes moved around the room as she spoke, looking
directly at people, rarely glancing down at her notes. Everything she
said was in her mind and heart. She believed in what she was saying,
and was convincing if one was open to listening.
On a few occasions there was a disruption in the audience. A
heckler, someone shouting something vile and having to be restrained
and removed by security when they refused to be quiet and sit down.
However, on these occasions, Helena Vail did not seem fazed. On the
contrary, she simply stood her ground, stared at the person with a
trace of sadness in her big eyes, and waited for order to be restored.
When the disturbance was over, she would make a small joke to break
the tension, the audience would laugh, and then she would continue as
if nothing had happened.
She was a pro. Very good.
And it might just get her killed if she didn’t go away.
Somehow, Danny didn’t think Helena Vail was going anywhere.

HE CHECKED THE CAMPAIGN CALENDAR and saw that she

was going to be attending a fundraiser in Homewood this weekend at
the Embassy Suites. It was sponsored by local gay rights activists and
the venue was open to the public. Her security detail must love that,
Danny thought. Probably could use a little help, too…

DANNY WENT TO BED EARLY Friday night and got up early

Saturday morning, took a three-mile run around his neighborhood in
the cool morning air, then came home, showered and dressed. He was
on the road before seven-thirty, but stopped by the McDonald’s on Old
Shell Road two miles north of his place for a quick breakfast first.
Actually, a Big Breakfast. Then he was on the road again for the four-
hour drive north to Birmingham.
Despite his being on semi-official business, and driving his official
vehicle, he opted not to use the lights or siren, choosing instead to
obey the traffic laws and enjoy a leisurely pace and the scenery.
However, he had seen it all many times over the past five years as he
traversed the state up and down I-65 and there wasn’t too much new,
so most of the time he just ignored it and concentrated on his own
thoughts. Or the music.
The Yukon was equipped with satellite radio and Danny scanned
the dials until he found something he was in the mood for. This
morning it was songs from the 1980s, the decade he actually started
listening to music, late in high school on through college. Phil Collins,
Shelia E, Terrence Trent Darby, Chaka Kahn. All of them and more of
his favorites played as he drove, his mind divided between listening to
the classics and focusing on the job he had still yet to figure out. Not
sure exactly what he was doing, what he should be doing, but knowing
that something had to be done. He knew that Russ Rowland was right,
and even the governor for that matter—though his motives were less
pure.
Helena Vail could be in serious trouble. Most likely was. She had
protection, but they were only concentrating on preventing direct
threats, and that wasn’t the easiest job in the world. Even if you had
the full resources of the United States Secret Service, which the DPS
Dignitary Protection Unit, as good as they were, did not.
So it might just come down to Danny Monk, and his unique talent
for uncovering the truth, sometimes truths that should probably stay
covered. Not his problem though.
Not his problem.
An hour south of Birmingham, Danny used his Bluetooth to call
Sin Lukes. Even though it was after eleven, for Sin on a Saturday that
was still early. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding every bit as
sleepy as she was.
“Late night?” he said.
Sin groaned, said something very unladylike.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your oldest and dearest
friend,” he said.
“My oldest and dearest friend is my vibrator,” she replied
sardonically, making Danny chuckle. “And she knows better than to
bother me this early on my days off. What do you want, Danny?”
“Is that a loaded question?” he quipped.
“I’m hanging up now,” she said, and he could tell she was half-
serious.
“Okay, babe,” he placated. “How’d you like to crash a political
fundraiser this evening?”
A pause. Clearing of the throat.
 “What the fuck are you talking about, Danny?” she said, somewhat
less annoyed now.
So Danny told her, and she liked his idea. Although she told him
that since they still had several hours before they would have to be
where they were going, he could have waited a couple more hours to
call her.
Then she hung up.
Danny removed the Bluetooth from his ear and grinned, checking
his speed.
She had been pissed, and that had been part of the reason he had
called when he did, knowing she’d be asleep. And knowing she
wouldn’t be happy about being bothered. There was something so sexy
about Sin’s voice when she was pissed.
He could have driven the last half hour up to Birmingham without
using his hands to steer.
But, of course, he didn’t.

THE RECEPTION BEGAN AT four, casual attire, and open bar.

Always a favorite at fundraisers. It was held in the largest meeting
room at the hotel, called the Southwick Ballroom. When Danny and
Sin arrived at four-thirty, the festivities were already in full swing.
There was no specific guest list, but there were greeters and security
officers stationed at the entrances to keep everything under control,
verifying as best they could that those entering were there to support
Senator Vail. Danny was sure her protection detail loved this and was
sweating bullets.
Sin had on a little black dress, short sleeves, showing a lot of
chest, tattoo included, stopping just above her knees. She’d left her
coat in the car so as to give the full effect while making her entrance.
Danny was pleased; it had a full effect on him as well.
For his part, he had on pressed blue jeans, a black turtleneck, and
blue blazer. Didn’t care much about his effect.
As soon as they passed the door, Danny made a quick assessment
of the room. Currently about a hundred fifty people. The capacity was
for twice that number, and no doubt it would reach it before long. He
did not see the senator, but did see a woman he recognized as the
event sponsor from the blurb he’d read on the internet after checking
the campaign calendar.
Her name was Abby Carmichael, the president of an organization
known as Queers Against Tears and Fears. Hardly likely to be easily
forgotten. According to what he had read, Carmichael and her group
were quite active in local and state politics, lobbying for greater
acceptance and rights for gay couples, including, most controversially,
the right of homosexuals to marry and to have same-sex marriages
from other states officially recognized in Alabama. It was
understandable why they would latch onto and support a candidate
like Helena Vail. In their view she was probably a godsend. And a
republican no less.
Sin and Danny moved over to one of the bars and both selected
beers. A Corona for Sin and an Amstel Light for Danny.
“And you want to tell me again why you wanted to come here
today?” Sin said to him when they found a corner not far away from
the bar. She had to speak loudly to be heard over the noise.
“You know how much I love politics, hon,” he quipped.
Sin took a sip of her beer and cast an expression on rebuke his
way.
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re full of shit, babe?” she replied.
“Once or twice,” Danny admitted, taking a swallow of his beer.
“But I’m sure they weren’t serious.”
“Yeah,” she said. “They were.”
“Probably,” he said. “Well it’s like this, the guest of honor, Senator
Helena Vail, is attempting to take the nomination away from the
current governor and run for the office herself this coming fall. As you
can imagine, given her stances and her lifestyle choices, as they say,
she is not particularly popular with many in our fair state. Many in her
own party, too. Threats have been made.”
“And you’ve been asked to protect her?”
“Not exactly. She has a protection detail from DPS. I’ve been asked
to nose around and see if I can sniff out anything, determine if there is
something serious afoot, like an organized plot to harm or kill her.”
“And you came here today to investigate?”
 “Something like that. Actually, I kind of just wanted to see her in
person again. I've seen her a couple times around the Capitol. Looks
pretty good in a pantsuit.”
Sin turned and poked him in the stomach.
“Ouch!” he said. “You know that could get you arrested for
assaulting an officer of the law?”
Sin smiled, took another sip of her beer.
“Bite me!” she said sweetly.
“Now there’s a thought,” Danny grinned, then raised his beer to
his lips.
At that precise moment, Abby Carmichael went to the podium up
on the small stage in back of the room and took to the microphone.
Announcement time.

HELENA VAIL ENTERED THE ROOM wearing blue jeans, a

green sweater, and light brown leather jacket. Her hair hung down
past her shoulders and as she walked up on stage to join Carmichael,
she waved and smiled warmly at the crowd and everyone cheered and
clapped.
Danny and Sin moved closer to the stage, squeezing between other
attendees, some of them not happy about it but seeing something in
Danny’s eyes that suggested they should not complain.
Sin stood in front of Danny, which was okay because she was eight
inches shorter than him. When she got a good look at the senator, she
turned and whispered to him.
“I can see your point. I’d do her myself.”
“No fair,” he replied. “I saw her first.”
“I betcha I could find her G-spot before you could,” Sin
challenged.
“I’ve never had any trouble finding yours,” he rejoined.
Sin bumped her butt against him but said nothing else.
Danny had enjoyed that butt-bump, and the sexual banter. He
also liked the fact that Sin was thinking about Helena Vail in the same
was as he was.
Weird, but so what?
 Helena Vail was speaking now.

LAURA COPELAND WAS A SLENDER and tough thirty-seven

year old brunette who had started her career as a patrol officer with
the Montgomery Police Department. She made detective within five
years and spent another five working in Homicide. Then an
opportunity to join the Department of Public Safety came her way and
she couldn’t turn it down. And now, five years later, she was a senior
special agent with the Department’s Dignitary Protection Unit and
leader of the Senator Helena Vail detail.
Copeland knew that with all the threats the senator had received
and the controversy she was stirring up, she was a prime target for
something bad to happen. Which is why she and her team were always
on high alert, ready for anything. She knew that if someone was really
determined to take out a target and was willing to sacrifice their life in
order to do it, there was probably no way they could be stopped, but
that didn’t stop her from doing her very best to make sure it never
happened.
Today’s venue at the Embassy Suites in Homewood was a
nightmare from a security standpoint, and she had tried to explain this
to Vail and her campaign manager, Heather Myers, but both had
overruled her concerns, saying that this was an important event and
that Vail could not afford to miss it.
Copeland had known this would be the case and had only made
the argument against it because it was her job. Pro-forma. She had
already begun to scout the location, talk with hotel security, and
arrange for extra coverage from local police. In addition to two
Homewood units covering the venue, there were two more from
Birmingham PD. Still not as much coverage as she would have liked,
but it was what was available.
Then, shortly after escorting the senator into the Southwick
Ballroom and then taking her position at the rear of the stage, far
enough away so as not to be obtrusive, but close enough to respond
quickly if need be, Copeland had spotted a familiar face in the
audience, close to the stage, standing just behind a cute brunette in a
little black dress.
She had almost smiled.
Danny Monk!
Well, security had just improved greatly in her estimation, and she
felt a little better.
But only a little.

“AND DO YOU REALLY BELIEVE, Senator, that you can

overcome all the stigma associated with your beliefs and personal
choices and actually have a serious chance of winning the republican
nomination for governor of the state of Alabama?”
The questioner was a tall and very striking black woman dressed
in a fawn pantsuit and white blouse. She stood with perfect posture
and spoke with absolute clarity, each syllable enunciated as it was
supposed to be. Danny could detect no hint of a regional accent, much
as no one could detect one when he spoke. She held a notepad in one
hand and a pen in the other. Obviously a reporter, no hostility in her
tone, just challenge. Danny studied her closely, partly to see if she was
concealing a weapon (yeah, sure) and partly because he was intrigued.
Helena Vail smiled at the other woman, placed her left hand on
the front of the podium, and spoke evenly into the microphone.
“Yes, Filipa, I really do. I believe that the time has come for
Alabama to move into the future, leaving the scars of the past behind.
With my candidacy and election, I believe that Alabama will be making
a positive statement about what is to come in our world. The
republican party has always been a party of growth, change, and firsts.
It is a party that is dedicated to protecting individual freedoms and the
rights of the people against an oppressive government. Over the past
few decades, particularly here in Alabama, the party has lost its way,
become bogged down in social issues and confusing religious dogma
with governing. This has caused us to lose a lot of people as a result.
What I hope to do is to bring all those people back, and to bring in
others, to grow the party, not narrow it down with hatred and bigotry.
I want to bring everyone together, regardless of party, regardless of
religion, or politics, or race, sex, or sexual orientation. I want…”
 “She’s good,” Sin whispered to Danny.
“Yeah,” Danny whispered back. “A true believer.”
And that’s what worried him. He could see in her eyes something
that he had seen in the eyes of others over the years. Something that
often times led to a very bad ending.
Martyr’s Eyes.
Laura Copeland had her work cut out for her.
And for that matter, so did Danny.
Danny had just put his hand on Sin’s shoulder and was about to
whisper something else when he heard a commotion behind him, his
guts freezing.
Fuck!

“FAGS GO AWAY! FAGS GO away! Fags go away! Fags go away!”

This mantra was shouted over and over again through the two sets
of open double doors at the rear of the ballroom. Everyone inside
turned and saw the security officers at the doors locking arms and
attempting to keep what appeared to be about a dozen people carrying
signs and wearing identical T-shirts and ball caps from rushing inside.
And then, behind them, police officers were moving in quickly.
Danny told Sin to move over to the south wall and to stay there no
matter what, and then quickly turned for the stage, none-too politely
moving people out of his way as he did so, mainly with his elbows.
When he passed the reporter named Filipa, he was a bit more careful,
actually gave her a brief smile. She was hot.
Laura Copeland and the other agent working the room with her, a
twenty-eight year old Latino male by the name of Special Agent Miguel
Santos, had already moved up on stage and pulled the senator away
from the podium, Copeland taking her toward the side exit while
Santos covered their retreat with his body.
At first, Santos didn’t recognize Danny, made a move toward his
left hip.
“The paperwork would be a bitch, Santos!” Danny shouted at the
DPS agent. “And you might hurt your gun.”
Santos frowned, then looked relieved.
 “Monk? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Later,” Danny said, stepping up onto the stage. “Go with Laura,
I’ll cover.”
Santos nodded, turned quickly, and fled the stage through the side
exit. Danny watched the crowd. No one appeared ready to storm the
stage, no one appeared to be unlimbering a rocket launcher. Everyone
in the room seemed shocked and a little frightened, but they didn’t
seem like a threat.
Out in the corridor, the cops and security had the protestors
mostly under control, several of them were down on the floor, the
others would be joining them soon. And shortly after that they’d all be
heading to jail for disorderly conduct, probably assault and resisting,
too.
A part of Danny’s mind wondered if perhaps they were a
distraction for something else, an actual attack on Vail perhaps? He
had to hope Copeland was thinking the same thing and had planned
accordingly. She was good at her job, very good, so she'd probably
done that. If she hadn’t, and she survived, Danny would be putting her
through another grueling five week Protection Services Training
Course, and this time he’d really kick her butt.
Not that he hadn’t the first time, but sometimes…

“YOU FAMILIAR WITH THE OX?”

“The animal?”
A derisive smirk.
“No, smartass. The radio talk show asshole. Wendell “The Ox”
Oxley.”
“On in Montgomery? Yeah, heard of him. Barely. Why?”
“Those clowns who tried to storm the ballroom where his
disciples. They were wearing T-shirts and caps with his logo on them,
carrying signs with his favorite slogans on them. That ‘Fags Go Away’
crap is one of his, though not very colorful.”
“He sent them here?”
“They’d never admit it if he did, and he probably didn’t. But no
doubt they were inspired by his radio antics. He’s been railing pretty
hard against Vail for the past few weeks. Devotes an entire segment to
her every day. Lot of callers have a lot of negative stuff to say about
her, and they love him.”
“I’ve said it before, the world is full of idiots.”
“I’ll amen that, brother.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah.”

LAURA COPELAND HAD PLANNED for the possibility of a feint

and switch attack, and had backup plans. Once the situation in the
ballroom was settled and he made sure that Sin was safe, Danny called
Copeland on her mobile phone and learned that she had taken her
principal to a suite on the fourth floor north end, currently being
covered from the outside by two uniformed officers, one Homewood,
the other Birmingham. She said she’d leave instructions for them to
allow him access.
Sin said that she had had enough excitement for the day, and as
much as she’d like to meet Helena Vail in person (especially in person)
she’d pass on the opportunity today. Danny walked her out to the
concierge desk and asked that the woman working there call a cab for
her.
“Call me when you’re done,” she said as he walked her to the front
doors. “Maybe we can get dinner. Or, whatever…”
Danny leaned down and kissed her on the lips, then remembered
her coat was in his car. He ran out to get it, kissed her again, then
promised he'd call later.

WHEN DANNY TURNED RIGHT off the elevator and approached

the suite Copeland had told him about, the first thing that occurred to
him was that he recognized one of the officers, the one in the
Birmingham uniform. When he was ten feet away, he knew where he
recognized him from, and the officer recognized him as well.
“You’re Baker, aren’t you?” Danny said.
“Sure am, sir,” the officer said, smiling and reaching out his hand.
“Good to see you again. Guess you ain’t chasing down any child
molesters this time.”
“Not today,” Danny said, then nodded at the other officer. “Did
Copeland clear me?”
“Sure did,” Officer Kris Baker said, standing aside and knocking
on the suite door. “Said you were okay. ‘Course, I could have vouched
for that.”
The suite door opened a few seconds later and Special Agent
Santos stood there warily. He stepped back and nodded for Danny to
come in, and he did.

“SENATOR VAIL, THIS IS SENIOR Special Investigator Daniel

Monk of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation. He’s helping us out
here today.”
Helena Vail, despite what had happened, was composed,
charming, even radiant as she came over and shook Danny’s hand. Her
hand was soft but her grip was firm. Obviously she worked out, took
care of herself.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Monk,” she said, looking him directly in
the eyes. “And thank you for the help. I hate that those people
interrupted everything, but as you can see, Laura and Mike look after
me very well.”
“Yes they do,” Danny said, then glanced over and noticed the other
blonde in the room. Older than Vail by a few years, but just as
attractive, and rounder. Her hair was shorter, just above her
shoulders, her eyes dark green, her lips full, kind of pouty as well.
[iii]
What was the term? Naughty Soccer MILF !
The senator introduced her campaign manager, Heather Myers.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, and really meant it.
“Anyway,” Copeland said. “I’ve checked with the cops downstairs
and everything is clear. All the attendees are still on the premises,
most of them at the bar. If you want to return…”
Of course she did, and she did.
This time Danny tagged along and augmented the security at the
entrances, occasionally going out and walking the parking lot, seeing
what he could see. Two additional Homewood units were now on the
property, and another from Birmingham. And Danny noticed that
there were now a couple of local TV news vans in the parking lot.
A bigger story now, worthy of a lot more media attention.
Perhaps Helena Vail should send a thank you note to The Ox.
Perhaps Danny would deliver it himself when he saw the man next
week. He was on the short list of names the computer had suggested
posed a threat to Helena Vail. Apparently, the computer knew what it
was talking about.
Maybe it was time for The Ox to become ox meat, and maybe
Danny Monk was just the person to serve him up.
 Chapter 8

Wendell Oxley, also known as The Ox, was loud, fat, belligerent,
obnoxious, and simultaneously one of the most hated and revered men
on the radio this side of Rush Limbaugh. In fact, some referred to him
as Alabama’s Rush Limbaugh, as if the state needed that hanging over
its head.
Oxley was the darling of the ultra conservatives in the Alabama
Republican Party, which was most of the party. He was the standard-
bearer, the course setter. Politicians all flocked to his feet to seek his
favor, knowing that an endorsement from The Ox could virtually
guarantee success, while the lack of one could spell disaster. And
worst, if you became his enemy and he made you one of his pet targets
for destruction, destruction would not be far behind. At least in terms
of political fortunes within the Republican Party.
So it was not surprising when Oxley decided to target Helena Vail
the moment she had announced her intention to seek the republican
nomination for governor. Actually, he had targeted her in the past
because of her views and lifestyle, but those were just sideshows,
something to keep the fans heated up. She was in the minority within
AL-GOP and would never amount to much. Good to keep her around
and drag her out from time to time to keep the fear alive. But when she
decided to run for the state’s highest office, and started picking up
endorsements and positive media attention, The Ox knew he had to
destroy her. Utterly and completely.
Now, every day he devoted twenty full minutes, at least, of his
two-hour talk show on Montgomery radio station WINI to the cause of
Helena Vail, dubbed Helena Fail. He attacked her on every front. Her
voting record in the senate, her liberal leanings, her bisexuality, the
fact that she was raising a son in what he deemed to be an unnatural
lifestyle environment, and even her Christian values, claiming that she
was in fact an atheist who hated god and would lead Alabama to ruin if
she were to take the statehouse.
His audience ate it up, clogged the airwaves and internet with
their views and comments, egging the fat man in Montgomery to keep
up the good fight. However, not all of his followers were content to call
in and post comments on some website. Some were spurred to action.
Some even violent action. As was the case in Birmingham last
Saturday afternoon.

DANNY HAD SENT KAT TULLY an email Saturday night after the
excitement at the fundraiser asking her to, when she had the chance
(the sooner the better, though), compile a background report on Mr.
Wendell Oxley, everything she could find, nothing specific to look for,
the complete picture. He knew that Kat would probably check her
email on Sunday, and might even decide to go ahead and get started
before work on Monday. Probably hoping she would. He wanted to
know everything he could about the man before he met him.
Monday morning when Danny checked his work email from his
laptop in a room at the Drury Inn in Birmingham, he found a
preliminary report from Kat, complete with a highlighted note: YOU
OWE ME BIG! And he did. She promised to have more by later in the
day, probably by three if things didn’t get too crazy around the office.
Danny sent her a thank you email and promised to pay her back in
whatever manner she preferred. Before sending it, he considered how
she might interpret it, thinking that maybe a modification was needed.
Then he thought fuck it, if she thought he meant something else (and
he did), the better for it.
Sin was in the shower while he sat in bed with his laptop. She had
to be at work in less than thirty minutes, but luckily, she only worked
two blocks away from the hotel, and had brought along work clothes
the night before. Danny would be heading back to Montgomery today,
catch up on a few things around the office, see if anything needed his
attention, and then wait for Kat’s complete background on The Ox.
With luck, he’d be able to meet with the man some time
tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that Oxley agreed. No reason he
shouldn’t really. Unless he had something to hide.
Sin came out of the shower drying her long brown hair with a
thick towel. She was completely naked and Danny sat in bed admiring
her thirty-nine year old body, seeing a woman ten years younger, and
as flexible.
She glanced over at him and smirked.
“Don’t you even think about it, Mr. Monk,” she chastised. “I’ve got
to be at work in twenty-seven minutes and I don’t need to start the
week off being late.”
Danny smiled impishly, closed the lid on his laptop.
“A man could do a lot in twenty-seven minutes,” he teased, setting
the laptop on the bed beside him and flipping the covers back.
Sin tossed her towel at him, grabbed her clothes, and quickly ran
back into the bathroom.

“KNOCK, KNOCK!”
Bobbi Atwater looked up from the file she was reading on her
desk, pulling her glasses down on her nose.
“The prodigal investigator returns,” she said, now taking her
glasses off and setting them on top of the file. “Didn’t know if I’d see
you today. Heard about your excitement in Birmingham Saturday.
Agent Copeland told her boss that you helped them out.”
Danny came into the office and took a seat in front of his
lieutenant’s desk, stretching his legs out and getting comfortable.
“Right place, right time,” he said.
“Just happenstance,” Atwater said skeptically.
“Actually it was on purpose. At least the me being there part. The
dumbasses in the T-shirts and caps were just serendipity. Saw on
Vail’s campaign calendar that she was going to be holding a fundraiser
in Birmingham and figured I’d go up and check it out. The venue was
open. A mistake, of course. One that I’m sure Laura Copeland isn’t
likely to let happen again.”
“Probably not,” Atwater said. “She’s already hit up DPU for
additional personnel. Gonna be hard to do because of budget cuts
though. Might have to rely more on local assistance wherever she
goes.”
“Not the same as having trained operators on your team though,”
Danny pointed out.
“True,” Atwater admitted. “But it’s better than nothing.”
Danny nodded but said nothing.
Atwater stared at him for a minute, then sat back in her chair.
“Something’s cooking in that brain of yours, Danny, I can tell.
There’s a reason you came in today.”
“Needed to check on some things,” he said. “See if anything
needed my attention around here. A case you or Russ might need me
to look in to.”
“That’s why you’ve got a mobile phone and email,” she replied.
“And you know if we needed you, we’d call. So again, why did you drop
by? And don’t say it’s because you missed us.”
Danny chuckled.
“Well I did,” he said. “But the real reason I’m here is because
somebody I needed to talk to is here in Montgomery.”
“Oh,” she said, curious. “So you’ve gotten to the stage where you’re
ready to start annoying people, asking questions?”
“Sort of,” he said.
“Okay, good,” she said. “So who’s first on your list? Don’t tell me,
the head of the state Republican Party?”
“No,” he said. “At least not today.”
“Who then?” she said.
Danny smiled coyly.
“Wendell Oxley,” he said.
Atwater’s eyes widened and she sat forward.
“The Ox?”
“The Ox.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“I’m sure he thinks so.”
Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater sat back in her chair once more and
whistled.
“Ah well,” she said finally. “Go forth and be fruitful, my child.”
Danny chuckled again, got to his feet, and bowed slightly.
“At your orders, my liege.”
 Then he left.

IT WAS AFTER FOUR WHEN KAT TULLY called to tell him that
she had finished the background on Wendell Oxley and that it was
ready for him on his email. He thanked her and on impulse asked what
she was doing for dinner tonight.
Kat was taken a bit by surprise, but then said nothing special. He
wondered if that were true, she did, after all, have a young son at
home. But then she hadn’t mentioned anything about plans.
“So how’d you like to get dinner with me? Say around seven-
thirty? There’s this Italian place not far from the Governor’s mansion,
called Corsino’s. Food’s really good.”
Another pause, a hesitation, but then Kat laughed.
“Why not? Sounds good. I live down on Carriage Oaks Drive, the
opposite direction from the mansion. I could drive up and meet you.”
“Not necessary,” he said. “I’ll pick you up. I’m staying at the Days
Inn-Midtown. If I remember correctly, Carriage Oaks is south of
there.”
“It is,” she confirmed. “I can give you directions.” Which she did.
“Got it,” Danny said. “I’ll see you at seven-thirty then. And thanks
again for the research.”
Kat chuckled.
“The honor is to serve, kind sir.”
Danny laughed, then ended the call.
It was four-fifteen. He figured he’d spend a couple hours reading
in the conference/interview room that he used for an office, then head
over to the hotel to shower and change. After dinner, once he took Kat
home, he might have time to look over the file again. Of course, if the
date went really well, he might not. And Kat might not get home
tonight.
Well, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be wanting for a bed. The ones at
the Days Inn were most comfortable and firm. About as firm as his
cock was feeling at the moment as he thought about what might
develop with Ms. Tully this evening.
 MONDAY NIGHTS CORSINO’S wasn’t usually busy, so Danny
hadn’t made a reservation. When he and Kat arrived at five till eight,
they were shown to a booth in back right away.
The restaurant was casual, but there were many men in jackets
and ties and women in evening dresses. Danny had on slacks and a
blazer and Kat wore a dark green dress that revealed more cleavage
than Danny had ever seen on her before. He liked it very much.
“I think I just saw the Speaker of the House over on the other side
of the restaurant when we came in,” she whispered across the table
after their waitress left to get their drink orders and they looked over
the menu.
“You did,” Danny confirmed, unfolding his menu. “And there are a
couple of other members of the state House and Senate, plus a
member of the Montgomery City Council. Lot of politicians come here
to eat. Which shouldn’t be a condemnation of the place because the
food really is good.”
Kat laughed and opened her menu.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Everything looks so good.”
“It is,” he said. “Hard to make a choice. I’ve tried several dishes
and can highly recommend all the pasta meals. The veal is good, too.
They also do really good steaks if you’re in the mood.”
Kat was reading the menu, her mouth already watering.
“Now I’m starving,” she said. “Hope you’re prepared for a big bill
tonight.”
Danny chuckled.
“So I’ll eat Ramen noodles for a few weeks,” he joked.
Kat glanced up at him and smiled, then refocused her attention on
the menu.

“SO THIS GUY WAS REALLY SERIOUS? He honestly thought

that agents of the United States Secret Service were going to pay for
his hookers?”
“Yep,” Danny confirmed. “When they came out of the room, one
turned to my partner and said that the Prime Minister had said they
should see us about payment for their services. My jaw just about
dropped. And my partner had no clue what to do.”
Kat was leaning forward on the table, giving Danny a really nice
view down the top of her dress, and she was laughing almost to the
point of tears.
“So what did you do?” she asked.
“Me, being the junior agent on the detail, I just stood back and
kept my mouth shut, tried not to laugh while my partner contacted the
shift leader and advised him of the situation. A few minutes later the
shift leader came down the hall and took the two women aside, then he
went into the room and had a very lengthy conversation with the
Prime Minister. I don’t know what was said, never really wanted to
know, but when the shift leader came out, he took the women down to
the elevators and climbed on one with them. Never saw them again,
never heard what happened. Although, the next day, the Prime
Minister’s wife did not appear to be a happy woman.”
Kat burst out laughing, then covered her mouth. She wiped her
eyes with her napkin and sat back, taking a deep breath. Danny was a
little disappointed that she had sat back. Actually, he was a lot
disappointed.
Kat reached for her wine glass and finished the last of its contents,
laughing still.
“Gives a whole new meaning to the term international relations,
huh?” she said.
Danny smiled.
“It did.”
“Boy, you’ve had such an interesting life, Danny. The Navy, Secret
Service, been all over the world. And now you're ABI’s number one
hotshot. No grass growing under your feet.”
Danny reached for his water glass, took a sip, staring at Kat over
the rim. On impulse, he reached across the table with is free hand and
took hers, stroking the back of it with his thumb.
“You okay? How are things?”
She was quiet for a long time, melancholy in her eyes. Then she
sighed, leaned over again (to Danny’s delight).
“Better for this night,” she said in a husky whisper.
They sat and stared at one another for another couple of minutes,
saying nothing. Then their waitress came over and broke the mood,
asking if she could get them anything else.
Kat answered for both of them.
“Just the check, please,” she said, still looking at Danny.
When the waitress left to get the bill, Kat made to scoot out of the
booth. “Gotta run to the ladies’ room. You get the check and then I’ll
meet you up front.”
“Sure,” Danny said, also making to stand.
They looked into each other’s eyes one more time, then Kat
stepped close and quickly kissed him on the lips. Before he could
respond, she turned and walked away even more quickly. And Danny
enjoyed the view very much.
The waitress brought him the bill and he barely glanced at it,
taking some cash out of his pocket and handing it to her, telling her to
keep the change.
Needless to say, the waitress was very pleased; she walked away
with a thirty-six dollar tip.
Danny was up near the front doors when Kat came out ten
minutes later. She smiled at him, then took his arm. They walked out
into the cool night air and over to where they had parked two rows
over.
He had already started the Yukon via remote starter, and now
opened the passenger’s door to let Kat in. Before she climbed into the
front seat, Danny stopped and turned her, pulling her to him and
kissing her full on the mouth.
She didn’t pull away or resist, put her arms around his neck and
returned the kiss fully. A few minutes later, they pulled back
breathless, staring at one another and smiling.
“My son’s with his father tonight,” she whispered. “So I don’t
actually have to be home any time soon.”
Danny smiled even more, kissed her again.
“That’s good,” he said. “Because I didn’t really plan on taking you
home any time soon.”
Kat tightened her arms around his neck, looked at him for a few
moments more, her breath warm on his face.
“So what did you plan on doing with me then?” she teased.
 He leaned forward, as if he were going to kiss her, then moved his
mouth to her ear. A few seconds later, she burst into laughter again
and hugged him tight.
“Well then, Mr. Monk what the hell are we standing around here
for?”
They climbed in the SUV and moments later were on the road.
Looks like Kat was going to get to find out just how comfortable
the beds at the Days Inn-Midtown were. And how firm.
Speaking of firm…
 Chapter 9

Wendell Oxley did his show from the WINI offices on East
Jefferson Street a few blocks north of the Capitol from nine to eleven
weekday mornings. Despite his late night, Danny managed to get up
early, with a smile on his face, too. A little mild discomfort south of the
border, but nothing he couldn’t live with, considering.
He and Kat had spent three hours together in his room at the Days
Inn-Midtown, wasting very little time on conversation. Actually,
within a few seconds of entering the room, the only coherent sentences
that had been uttered were, “Fuck me!” and “I was planning on it.”
After that…
Kat had said that she should probably be at home in the morning
because her husband was bringing their son back before school, and it
wouldn’t look right if she was just coming in herself. An explanation
she didn’t need, nor the fight. Not that she cared what her husband
thought these days, she considered herself to be a single woman.
Danny smiled, kissed her as they were redressing afterwards, and
told her that she sure fucked like one.
He was back at the hotel by two and asleep shortly thereafter. He
woke up at a quarter to seven, did several sets of pushups and situps
on the floor, then took a quick shower and dressed for the day. He’d
already decided on the cold approach going to see Oxley, not giving
him time to prepare. There was always a chance that he’d refuse to see
him without an appointment, but probably not. Regardless of power of
position, few people had the balls to tell a cop to make an appointment
and come back later. Especially in a state like Alabama.
He had breakfast at a Burger King a block from the studio, taking
his time because he did not intend to make his visit until after The Ox
was off the air this morning. No sense in giving him more material for
his show today.
 The Burger King had Wi-Fi so while Danny ate his breakfast, he
opened his laptop and checked his emails. Nothing important, stuff he
could take care of later. So then he opened the background report Kat
had prepared for him, was about to read it again, then thought of
something, smiling.
He opened his email again, composed a single paragraph, checked
it a couple of times, changed a few things around, then sent the email.
He was smiling even more now, feeling a bit like a stupid teenager.
“Oh well,” he said aloud, then went back to reading The Ox file.

WENDELL MICHAEL OXLEY WAS BORN IN Meridian,

Mississippi forty-nine years ago. His father was a construction worker
specializing in welding and his mother was a nurse, something in
common with Danny. No siblings. And nothing really remarkable in
his early life. Mediocre grades in elementary school, did much better
in high school, well enough to qualify for college, but not enough to get
an academic scholarship. And one through sports was out because
Wendell was no athlete. Too bad they didn’t give scholarships for
chess because that was something at which he was very good.
But Wendell was smart, and determined. He had been working
throughout his time in high school and saving his money. After
graduating he kept working, kept saving, and by the time he was
twenty he had saved enough to pay for a year at his dream school. The
University of Mississippi, Ole Miss. And he knew precisely what he
wanted to study, what he wanted to do with his life. So he enrolled in
pre-law.
Unfortunately, he was not the student he had been in high school.
And with having to work extra hours just to afford the dump of an
apartment he shared with three other students in Oxford, he couldn’t
study enough to keep his grades up. He managed to hang on for a year
and a half, struggling every step of the way, but by the middle of his
sophomore year, Wendell had to drop out.
He told himself that as soon as he was financially able, he would
return, but somewhere deep down he knew this wasn’t the case. He’d
never be back, never graduate, never be able to claim Ole Miss as his
alma mater. Wendell was devastated, not knowing what he would do,
if he’d ever have anything other than a series of dead-end jobs that
barely covered his bills and afforded him little else in life.
He was dejected, defeated, but not broken. He continued to work,
taking whatever jobs he could find, saving as much money as he could.
His parents had never had much money and would not be able to help
him so he had to rely on himself alone, as he always had. He was tough
and smart, and he knew that all he really needed was to get a good
break. Just one lucky break and he’d be able to make something of
himself.
Unfortunately, this lucky break would not come for more than a
decade.

IN HIS MID-TWENTIES, WENDELL got a part-time job at a

small radio station in Newtown, Mississippi as a weekend nighttime
DJ. Didn’t pay much money, but it gave him something to do, and an
opportunity to learn new things, build up his skills and résumé. He
took to the work, the station manager commenting that he was a
natural. Wendell didn’t think much of the compliment at the time
because all he really did was play records and occasionally make
comments between commercials and change ups. Not a big deal.
After a few months the manager called him into his office and
asked if he’d like to come to work at the station full time, saying that
the audience for his time slot had more than doubled since Wendell
had taken over and they were getting a lot of positive feedback from
the public.
Wendell was speechless, couldn’t really believe what he was
hearing, but immediately agreed. Again, the pay wasn’t much, but it
was something, and the job was steady. He was also being moved up
from weekend nights to afternoons during the weekdays. And again,
his audience doubled. This was the beginning for Wendell Oxley,
although he had no idea at the time, could not have predicted what
was to come. No one could really.
Over the years there were offers from other stations, larger
stations in bigger markets, more money, more opportunity. By the
time he was in his early thirties he had already begun to take on
politics, leaning toward the right, despite the fact that he was a black
southerner. He liked Reagan, liked what he stood for as a man and as a
president, saw the benefits of sound fiscal responsibility, coupled with
sound moral conservative values. And wasn’t afraid of saying so.
Being in the south, this was not a problem. In fact, it helped him a
lot with the more rural audiences he found himself attracting.
With the rise of talk radio and the conservative lean of it after the
demise of the Fairness Doctrine (thanks to Reagan), and the rise of
Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, Laura Ingram, et-all on the national
stage, regional stars began to emerge in local markets. Wendell Oxley,
already known as The Ox by this time, had been watching this trend
for some time and had been positioning himself for such an
opportunity. His first big shot was at a station in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
It was here that The Ox would first come to prominence, gaining hero
status in the conservative movement for his challenges to the
democratic agenda in the state, labeling it as dangerously liberal and
an affront to everything decent that America and Alabama stood for.
He became a champion for republican politicians and every
conservative cause that came his way. He was not shy in his support,
or his condemnation. And his audience continued to grow and grow.
Then five years ago The Ox was given the opportunity to come to
Montgomery…

DANNY CLOSED THE REPORT, having already memorized the

relevant details. Nothing new to learn. He clicked open another file
and checked the names of those arrested at the Embassy Suites in
Birmingham over the weekend. None had serious criminal records,
mainly things like trespassing and resisting arrest. The kinds of
charges you usually saw with people who protested a lot. He wondered
if there could be any direct link with any of them and The Ox, and
thought that there probably wasn’t because Wendell Oxley was not
that dumb. He’d never personally send people out on a mission like
that. No, he’d incite, cajole, but he’d never get his hands dirty. Still,
might not be a bad idea to check.
 More specifically, have Kat check.
Another smile, and a slight erection.
“Ah well,” he said, closing the laptop and collecting his breakfast
trash.

HE’D LISTENED TO THE SHOW on the way over to the studio,

sat in his car for another fifteen minutes in the parking lot once he
arrived. He managed to catch part of The Ox’s segment on Senator
Helena Fail, heard a few callers call in and rant for a while, then shut
it off, thinking that maybe Alexander Graham Bell should have come
up with a better invention than the telephone.
At ten till eleven, Danny presented himself to the receptionist in
the lobby of the WINI Studio and informed her why he was there. The
young woman stared at the badge and ID he presented, then nervously
reached for her telephone, making a quick call.
Two minutes later, the station manager appeared in the lobby,
first asking to examine Danny’s credentials. When he was satisfied, he
asked Danny to follow him up to his office on the second floor.
They sat in a small, but comfortable office with a view of the
parking lot on one side and East Jefferson Street on the other side.
One wall was the I love me wall, complete with photographs of the
station manager with important people like the governor (current and
past) mayors, other politicians, famous radio personalities, other
celebrities. Danny gave it a quick glance, didn’t see anybody that
impressed him, then focused his attention on the manager.
“Now, Investigator Monk, may I ask why it is you would like to see
Mr. Oxley?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential, Mr. Kline,” Danny replied casually,
his face devoid of expression, the deadeye cop stare that most cops
could do in their sleep. No nonsense, just the facts.
The station manager was clearly uncomfortable, but wasn’t ready
to relent.
“Well, sir, if it is something to do with an employee of this station,
I have a right to inquire. I mean, is there a problem I should know
about? A crime that has been committed?”
 “I just have some questions for Mr. Oxley,” Danny replied, his
expression unchanged. “Just routine. For now. However, if I don’t get
the corporation I’m looking for, perhaps it won’t be so routine in the
future.”
Danny let that settle in the man’s mind for a few minutes before
speaking again. It was clear that he was worried, although Danny
couldn’t imagine why. Probably not the first time this man had dealt
with a cop, but something was on his mind this morning, and Danny
suspected it had to do with his star boy, The Ox.
“Look, Mr. Kline, I just need to talk with Mr. Oxley on a routine
matter. I just need a few minutes of his time. He’s due to get off the air
shortly. It won’t take long. Then I’ll be out of your hair. However, if I’m
not allowed to see him, then I’ll have to come back, and maybe then I’ll
have to bring a court order. Maybe even have to come in when he’s on
the air and interrupt his show. Now I wouldn’t want to have to do that,
believe me. But I’ve got a job to do, and I will do it however I have to.”
The thought of The Ox being pulled off the air by policemen with
warrants clearly pained Mr. Kline, and it only took him a few seconds
more to make up his mind.
He reached for his phone and made a quick call.
“Tom, when Wendell is free, could you ask him to come down to
my office before he packs up for the day? Thanks.”
Kline hung up his phone, stared heavily at Danny.
“Should be a few minutes,” he said. “You can speak to him here.”
“Fine,” Danny said. “And thank you, Mr. Kline. There is just one
other thing though.”
“And what is that, Mr. Monk?” said the station manager with a
trace of annoyance in his voice.
“When I speak to Mr. Oxley, it will be alone.”
No room for discussion or argument, and Kline would relent, they
both knew that.
And he did.

THE OX WAS ANNOYED WHEN HE walked into Kline’s office at

twenty past eleven. He entered without knocking, his huge frame
plowing through the door and right up to the station manager’s desk
before he realized that Kline was not alone. Danny had stood to stretch
his legs and pretend to admire the I love me wall. When Oxley barged
in, his back was to the door. He turned halfway and watched the scene.
Kline stood quickly and attempted to placate the other man,
apologizing for interrupting The Ox’s busy schedule.
“I’ve got a lunch date with some people from the Capitol at noon,
Jerry,” Oxley bellowed. “You know I don’t have time today. I told you
that yesterday, damnit!”
“I know, Ox,” Kline stammered. “I know, and I’m sorry. And this
won’t take long. Promise. But there’s somebody here who insists on
seeing you.”
“What? Who the hell…”
And then he sensed Danny behind him and turned halfway,
glancing at the interloper with disdain.
“Who’s he? Not some other loser you want me to try and promote
on my show, I hope. Jerry, I’ve already got enough no-talents from
families with money tryin' to ride on my name. I ain’t taking on no
more.”
“No, no, Ox, it’s not like that. This guy’s not in the business.”
The Ox frowned, stared harder at Danny, then turned back to
Kline, leaning his heavy bulk down on the desk with his palms flat on
the surface.
“Then who in the hell is he and why am I wasting my time here?”
“Think I can answer that question for you, Mr. Oxley,” Danny said
coolly, waiting for the fat man turn back and face him.
Oxley was clearly waiting for more, but when it didn’t come, he
pushed up off the desk and turned around, hands on fat hips, glaring
at Danny. Then he saw the badge, frowned.
“You a cop?”
“State police,” Danny said. “Alabama Bureau of Investigation, Mr.
Oxley. And I’ve got some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
And even if you do, Danny thought to himself.
The frown on The Ox’s face grew deeper, and for just an instant
Danny thought he saw something flicker behind the man’s large
chocolate eyes. Then it was gone.
 “What kind of questions?” he said huffily. “And what’s the ABI
want with me? Unless it’s become a crime to speak the truth. If that’s
the case, lock me up right now.”
Danny smiled. Rhetoric. The last refuge for the man with no real
convictions.
Danny glanced at the station manager standing behind his desk.
“Mr. Kline, if you please.”
Oxley glanced back at Kline, frowned again, then Kline held up his
hands in a gesture of surrender. He walked around the front of his
desk and left the room without a word. Danny closed the door behind
him, smiled at Oxley.
“Why don’t we sit, Mr. Oxley? This shouldn’t take long.”
“It better not, man,” Oxley said derisively. “The meeting I’m
having later is with some very important people in state government.
People who decide the budget of a lot of state agencies, like DPS and
ABI.”
Danny ignored this, stepped past him, and walked around to the
back side of Kline’s desk. He sat and got comfortable, taking out a
notepad and pen, setting them on the back end of the desk.
Oxley glared down at him for a full minute, flabbergasted at the
man’s gall. Then he sighed heavily, flopped his large frame down on
one of the two chairs in front of the desk, struggling to get
comfortable. Failing completely.
“So what does the ABI want with me, Mister… Sorry, didn’t catch
your name.”
He didn’t sound sorry.
“Danny Monk,” Danny replied. “Special Investigator Danny Monk,
I’m with ABI’s Major Investigations Unit based right here in
Montgomery.”
“How special that must be for you,” Oxley derided.
Danny smiled, picking up his pen and pressing the button on the
back, extending the point.
“Has its moments,” he said.
The two men stared at one another for a long moment, very long,
and The Ox tried to hold his glare unblinkingly, but was unable to
against Danny. No one could outlast Danny Monk, least of all a phony
like Oxley.
Danny smiled after the other man blinked, and this annoyed the
fat man even more. Good.
“So, Mr. Oxley, I just have a few questions, then I’ll be out of your
hair.”
“Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m sure I don’t know what this is about.
I’ve always been a supporter of the police and I don’t appreciate being
bothered like this when I’m at work and have some place else to get
to.”
Something was bothering Oxley, that was clear. And Danny
thought it had to do with something more than his unexpected visit
today. And perhaps it was the same thing that was bothering Kline.
Curious. Very curious.
“It’s about Helena Vail,” Danny said without preamble, watching
Oxley intently, looking for a reaction, catching something in the eyes,
but only for a moment.
Oxley took a breath, leaned forward with his dark beefy hands on
the front edge of Kline’s desk.
“You mean Senator Helena Fail?” he laughed harshly. “What, the
lefties supporting her think it’s a crime to get the truth out about what
she stands for, about what she’ll do to this state if she becomes
governor? Because last time I checked, the Constitution of the United
States was on my side, Special Investigator Monk.”
He laughed again, full and deep, and cynical.
Danny smiled, inwardly considering the possibility of shooting
this man and planting a weapon on him, coming up with a plausible
story for why he would draw down on a police officer.
Ah well…
“Actually, Mr. Oxley, I was wondering if you might be trying to kill
Senator Vail.”
That brought The Ox up short, and the smile dropped from his
face at once. There was only silence for several seconds as both men
stared at one another.
An interesting development, Danny thought, because usually
when an innocent person was accused of something like plotting
murder, the denials were immediate. Of course, guilty people were
usually just as quick, and some were even believable. But The Ox had
hesitated.
Now he tried to make up for it, nearly stammering as his dark skin
flushed red.
“How dare you come in here and accuse me of something like that!
Like I’m some common street thug that you can push around and
bully! You know who I am, you know the power I have? I can crush
your whole fucking department in one broadcast! I don’t know who
you think you are, but I can promise you this, by the time I’m finished
with you, you’ll be writing parking tickets on the back roads
somewhere without a lot of traffic!”
Danny nodded slowly, tapping his pen on the open notebook.
“So, Mr. Oxley, are you trying to kill Senator Vail, or perhaps just
trying to intimidate her into dropping out of the race for governor?”
The Ox’s eyes widened again, and his fists pounded on the edge of
the desk.
“You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that. Balls, too.”
“Thank you,” Danny said. “Should I repeat the question?”
The Ox shook his head and pushed up from the chair, still staring
down at Danny.
“Any questions you have for me you can contact my lawyer. I’m
outta here. And listen to my show tomorrow, Mr. Monk. You and ABI
will figure prominently.”
He was about to turn to go, but then saw something in Danny’s
eyes that suggested he should halt his departure.
Danny stood carefully, pressing the button on the back of his pen
once again, putting it inside his jacket pocket along with the notepad.
“Ox,” Danny said quietly. “I’m just here asking questions. And
you, for some reason, aren’t giving me any straight answers. Odd for
somebody with nothing to hide. I know you’re gonna ask some of your
cop buddies to check me out, look for dirt. That’s fine. I checked you
out already, got your whole life history from Meridian to here. So
turnabout is fair play. The thing you’re going to hear about me over
and over again is that I always get to the bottom of whatever I’m
looking into. I don’t stop, I can’t be bullied or threatened off a case
once I’m on it. So if you’re involved in something more than just
trashing Helena Vail on the air, something that might be interpreted
as criminal, you best level with me now, before something happens.
Something that can’t be undone.”
The two men stood silently staring at one another, Danny’s face
blank, Oxley’s worried and hesitant.
“Because if something happens to the senator and I can tie it to
you later, I’m gonna nail you fat black ass to the Justice Center wall.
And I don’t give a shit about your friends at the Capitol or anyplace
else. Guilty is guilty and I’ll prove it if it happens.”
Oxley said nothing, clearly wanting to leave the office as quickly as
possible. Finally he turned and did just that, leaving the door open and
nearly barreling into Mr. Kline out in the hallway.
Kline reentered his office a moment later, staring timidly at
Danny.
“Is everything all right, Investigator Monk?”
Danny took a card from his pocket and dropped it on the desk as
he walked back around the front side.
“Good question, Mr. Kline. Very good question. Keep my card
handy. I suspect that at some point somebody around here will need to
talk to me.”
Danny left before the man could ask any more questions he didn't
intend to answer. He now had a lot to think about. Perhaps he was on
to something.
Or perhaps he had just kicked up a shit storm for no good reason.
Time would tell. In the meantime, more work to be done.
Always more work to be done.
 Chapter 10

“I got your email. And I may have to report you to the Cyber Crime
Unit for sending unlawful sexual messages on a government server.”
Danny laughed.
“You mean there are lawful sexual messages for government
servers?”
Kat Tully snickered.
“So how’d your meeting with The Ox go this morning?”
“Kind of odd,” he told her. “Got me thinking that maybe we should
look into him further.”
“And by we, you mean me?” she said.
“Well you do seem to have a talent for that,” he said. “Among
other things.”
Another snicker.
“And what other things are you referring to, Investigator Monk?”
“Afraid I can’t say on an official government line, Ms. Tully,” he
said.
Kat chuckled.
“Have to put it in another email then,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.
Anything in particular this time?”
“Let met think about it for a while then I’ll let you know. Also want
to run a check on the station manager, Jerry Kline. And, you know
those protesters who got arrested in Birmingham over the weekend,
the ones wearing The Ox T-shirts and shouting his slogans?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You want me to have a deeper look at them, see
if any of them link up with Oxley in a more direct, perhaps illegal
way?”
“Mind reader, too,” Danny said. “Can you tell what I’m thinking
right now?”
“Something very naughty,” Kat rejoined. “Like me. I’ll get on that
as soon as I can. Atwater has me doing a couple things for her right
now. And two other agents need stuff ASAP.”
“No rush right now,” Danny told her. “I’ve got more than enough
other stuff to keep me busy at the moment.”
“Good to know,” she said. “Keep your idle hands occupied.”
“Well I only need one for my work,” he said. “And I am a
multitasker. As you found out yourself last night.”
Kat giggled.
“Damn, Danny, you need to stop. Otherwise I’m gonna have to
change my underwear.”
“And I can help you with that, too,” he said, not missing a beat.
“All right,” Kat said. “I’m hanging up now. Call me later and I
might have something, and you can tell me how you want me to
handle that other thing. And don’t even say anything else, Mr. Monk. I
can read your mind, remember. And I will handle you again real soon.
Promise.”
Kat ended the call and Danny sat back in the front seat of his
Yukon feeling a surge beneath his jeans.
That was fun.
Now back to work.

THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THE SECOND week of the new

year, Danny talked to thirty-five more people from his list. Some were
more cooperative and helpful than The Ox had been, a few not so
much. A couple almost as hostile.
By Wednesday afternoon, the calls had started coming in to DPS
Headquarters, first to Bobbi Atwater, who dutifully referred them to
the office of the Deputy Chief of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation.
Russ Rowland simply recited the company line, “It would be
inappropriate for me to comment on the activities of one of my
officers while in the course of his work.” Then he politely hung up.
Since the vast majority of the people Danny had spoken to were
either in the political environment or the business community (with
ties to the political environment) the next calls went higher up than
Captain Rowland, several directly to the Director of the Alabama
Department of Public Safety. Still there was the same answer. No
official comment.
Calls to the governor’s office from the office of the Chairman of the
Alabama Republican Party brought a promise to look into the matter,
but it was a brush-off. There was an attempt by a couple members of
the State House to convene a special subcommittee of the House
Judiciary Committee to investigate possible abuses of authority by the
ABI, but this effort went nowhere because the leadership in the House
realized who provided for their safety and security; who knew all their
dirty little secrets, too.
Therefore, that left one avenue open, the press. Politicians hate
the press in general, but when they can use them to do their dirty
work, they don’t hesitate.
Stories started cropping up in the news about a political witch-
hunt being run out of an elite unit of the state police. Words like
persecution and subversion were being bandied about by most
network anchors throughout the state. Repeated calls were made to
DPS’ Media Relations officer for comment, but the response was brief
and provided very little information.
Danny’s name was linked to the investigation, mentioned daily on
The Ox Show on WINI. He was branded a tool of the liberal agenda,
bent on muzzling free speech and advancing the cause of the
degenerates who were trying to ruin America!
They were unable to find his home number or address because
Danny was very careful and very private. Few people inside DPS knew
exactly where he lived, and fewer still outside the agency had a clue.
But his work mobile phone was practically public record, and he got
calls. Calls and calls. Pretty soon, if he didn’t recognize a number right
off, he let it go to voicemail, checking later to see if the caller was
someone he wanted to talk to. Most often it wasn’t.
By three p.m. on Friday, Danny had traveled from one end of the
state to the other. As far north as Decatur and Huntsville, as far west
as Tuscaloosa, to Fort Payne, out east to Gadsden, and was making his
way back to Mobile for the weekend when his phone buzzed again. He
was on I-65 south about ten miles north of the Airport Boulevard exit,
approximately sixteen miles from home.
 He sighed deeply, pulled the phone off his belt.
The number was unknown, although he did recognize the area
code. 404. Atlanta.
Who did he know there?
Quite a few people, including Jason Polis of the U.S. Marshals
Service. But Polis’ number was programmed into his phone and would
register on the caller-ID. Work and personal mobile phones, and Polis
would never call from his home phone, being as careful as Danny
when it came to protecting his privacy, and that of his family.
Who else could it be though? Lots of people. Including a reporter.
Should let it go to voicemail, but didn’t.
“Danny Monk.”
“Mr. Monk,” said a husky, sensual female voice. “I’m glad I caught
you.”
Me, too, Danny thought, even though he had no clue who was on
the other end of the line.
“And to whom am I speaking?” he said casually, maneuvering into
the right lane so he could move around a slower moving vehicle.
“Oh, sorry,” the sensual voice said. “I should have mentioned that.
We actually met last weekend. Albeit briefly. In Birmingham. At the
Embassy Suites during Senator Vail’s fundraiser. You kind of shoved
me out of your path when you were making your way to the stage when
those protestors at the door started shouting and trying to push their
way inside the ballroom.”
And he remembered instantly, pleasantly.
“The reporter?” he said. “You were asking a question when the
shouting started.”
“That’s right,” she said. “My name is Filipa Whitaker, I’m with the
Atlanta-Journal Constitution. How are you today, Mr. Monk?”
Danny laughed.
“Sorry, not too many people care much about how I’m doing, and
rarely ask.”
“The roots of my raising, I’m afraid,” Filipa Whitaker said politely.
“Good for you,” Danny said, changing lanes again, mindful that he
should put in his Bluetooth but didn’t have it handy. “So what can I do
for you, Ms. Whitaker?”
 “Well, I have been covering Senator Vail’s campaign for the
Journal for several months now, that’s why I was in Birmingham. And
now it would appear that you have become a side story to that story. I
was wondering if perhaps I could have a few minutes of your time to
talk.”
Danny smiled, shook his head. Lady, you can have all of my time
that you want. Just as long as there’s nudity and a bed involved. Or a
really sturdy chair.
“That’s probably not a good idea, Ms. Whitaker,” he told her.
“Call me Filipa, please,” she told him earnestly. “And would it help
if I told you that I do not intend to probe you about anything regarding
why you’re asking all the questions you are? At least not for a story. I
can guess why you’ve been assigned the task you have, given your
reputation. Yes, I had my researcher do a background on you. Work
habit, I’m afraid. I already know quite a bit about you. Naval
Intelligence, Secret Service, now Alabama Bureau of Investigation
special troubleshooter. No, Mr. Monk, I’d like to talk to you about
something else. About Senator Vail. I think that maybe we both might
be able to help one another. If you’ll agree to meet with me.”
I’d like to meet with you, he thought. Meet and…
“Well, Ms. Whitaker, even if I was inclined, it’s after three on a
Friday, I’ve had a long and busy week, as you no doubt know. I’m
hundreds of miles away from Atlanta, too. So we couldn’t possibly…”
“Actually I’m in Mobile right now.”
Danny froze, said nothing.
After a minute, Filipa Whitaker chuckled.
“Yes, Mr. Monk, I have really good researchers.”
“Apparently you do,” he said, unable to keep the trace of ice out of
his voice. “Okay then, why don’t you meet me for dinner?”
“I can do that. You got a place in mind?”
Oh yeah, Danny thought. I got a place in mind!
But he didn’t tell her that place, opting for something more public.
At least for their first meeting. Who knew, if he played his cards right…
Maybe the week would end just as well as it had started.
 Chapter 11

When Danny got home, the first thing he did was strip down and
take a nice hot shower, spending a few minutes leaning against the
wall with is back to the hot spray, moaning softly as the heat worked
its way into his tight muscles. He was exhausted, had been looking
forward to nothing more this evening but picking up some Chinese on
the way home and then curling up on the sofa in front of the TV,
maybe read a book, maybe do nothing at all. But that plan had gone
out the window with Filipa Whitaker’s call.
He had to admit, he wasn’t as disappointed as he was pretending
to be. The prospect of seeing the leggy reporter again, and in an
intimate setting, was something he actually looked forward to.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off in front of the mirror,
seeing the exhaustion around his eyes. Too much traveling this week.
He should get some rest. But he could do that over the weekend.
Regardless of what developed with Whitaker, this weekend Danny
intended to catch up on his rest and nothing more.
Well, if the Atlanta-Journal Constitution reporter had something
else in mind, he might not object too strenuously.
Smiling, he grabbed his shaving lotion from the shelf above the
sink and began to lather up his face. It had been nearly twelve hours
since he shaved this morning and with the rate of his beard growth, he
needed to do it again if he were going out this evening.
Needed to be smooth for his date.
He smiled again, and began carefully shaving his face.

THEY WEREN’T MEETING UNTIL EIGHT, so Danny had time

after his shower and shave for a quick nap of one hour and twenty
minutes. Not nearly enough, but it would do until later on tonight.
When he woke up, he went into his office and powered up his laptop.
It was a quarter to seven and he had time for a little research before
getting dressed and heading out.
First, he checked his email. Only three did he bother to read. The
first was from Russ Rowland, letting him know that he’d pissed a lot of
people off this week (as if Danny didn’t know that already), but also
telling him that he had his back (again, something Danny already
knew).
The second message was from Bobbi Atwater. More of the same
really, but with a request for him to drop by the office on Monday
because there was another quick job she needed him to handle. No rest
for the wicked, he thought, made a note in his mental calendar.
The last email of significance was from Kat Tully. She had
completed the background reports on all those arrested at the
fundraiser in Birmingham last week, cross-referenced with Wendell
Oxley, and had come up blank on any direct connections. She let him
know that she wasn’t done yet, had a few more areas she could
concentrate, but it would take time. She ended with a personal note,
cryptic, but quite understandable if you knew the background.
He smiled. Maybe if things didn’t go well with Filipa Whitaker
tonight he might give Kat a call over the weekend. Rest be damned.
He clicked on Google and began to search out every bit of
information he could find on Filipa Whitaker of the Atlanta-Journal
Constitution. There was a lot of data, as would be expected considering
her profession. He doubted he’d find much personal stuff online, at
least in the time he had to search. It would probably be a good idea to
have Kat run a background on her, but he’d hold off on that request
until after his meeting tonight. He was a skilled interrogator and might
be able to learn all he needed to directly from her tonight.
Perhaps in the morning, too…

GONE FISHIN’ CATFISH RESTAURANT is one of the best

seafood eateries in Mobile. On the expensive side, but well worth the
price. Danny loved seafood almost as much as he did Chinese food,
and at least a couple times a month when he was in town, he ate at the
family owned and operated restaurant on Spring Hill Avenue about
eight miles from his place.
He arrived fifteen minutes early, found a space at the back of the
already crowded little parking lot. Fridays were busy at Gone Fishin’
and if you didn’t have a reservation or know somebody, you were
[iv]
probably SOL . Luckily, Danny had both areas covered.
One of the first cases he had handled for ABI was down in Mobile,
a cold case murder out of the Mobile County Sheriff’s Office. A
nineteen-year-old college female home for Thanksgiving break, killed
when she walked in on a robbery at a local gas station. The police ran
down all leads, talked to everyone they could find in the area
numerous times, but got nowhere with the case, eventually shelving it
in the Cold Case file until something else came up, if it ever did.
Danny was actually in town helping to train the Sheriff’s new
Executive Protection Squad. As the training progressed, one of the
detectives was talking about this case from the year before that still
bothered him, the murder of a college sophomore home for the
holidays. One night while they were relaxing after a good day’s
training, the detective gave Danny the details, laying out everything he
and the other investigators had discovered in the three months they
had worked the case hard before it officially went cold. Every lead,
every interview, every suspect that didn't pan out, and in the end how
they didn’t have anything solid. The gas station didn’t have a working
surveillance system and the clerk who worked there was too frightened
to give an accurate description, barely getting the suspect’s race.
Danny listened intently, sensing the frustration in the detective,
understanding and sharing it. Then, offhand, something struck him
and he asked a question. The detective frowned, looked at Danny hard,
then slapped his knee.
Twenty minutes later, he and the detective were at Sheriff’s
headquarters going through the case file on the computer. This led
them to the evidence room an hour later where they reviewed every
piece of physical evidence that had been collected. After another hour,
the detective shook his head, stunned.
“How the fuck did we miss this?” he said in exasperation. “How
the fuck!”
 Danny and the detective drove up to Montgomery that night,
having already alerted a friendly technician in the state crime lab that
they were coming. A favor being repaid.
A rush through forensic analysis, but thoroughly by the book, and
by eleven the next morning they had their results, ran a computer
search, and had their suspect identified.
“How the hell did you know?” the detective asked on their way
back to Mobile. “How did you see it when none of us did?”
“Fresh eyes and ears,” Danny had said simply. “You had the
answers all along, just needed the benefit of an outside perspective.”
Armed with a search warrant, the Mobile Sheriff’s investigative
team, including Danny Monk, set out to locate their suspect, a career
criminal with a long record of violent crimes, including one attempted
murder for which he was not convicted. It took the better part of two
days, but they found him hole up with a girlfriend in the projects on
the east side of town. He was taken into custody without incident.
The interrogation only took two hours, and he broke, confessed to
the robbery and the killing, which he swore was an accident, even still
had the gun hidden away. DA took a plea for the maximum sentence
(life without parole) in exchange for no death penalty. Case closed.
The detectives took Danny out to celebrate closing the case and
the place they chose was Gone Fishin’, the restaurant that was owned
by the family of the murdered young woman, Melissa Townsend.
Danny was introduced to the family, who were told how instrumental
he was in breaking their daughter’s case, catching the man who had
done it.
Mrs. Townsend had thrown her arms around him and wept openly
for several minutes. Mr. Townsend clapped him on the back, shook his
hand, told him that if he ever needed anything, it was his. And that he
would always have a table at their restaurant whenever he wanted it.
Even if they were full and had to throw somebody else out.
They were full tonight, but there was a table for Danny and his
guest.

FILIPA WHITAKER ARRIVED TWO MINUTES till eight,

climbing out of the back of a Yellow Cab wearing a long caramel
colored coat. She paid the driver and pulled her coat closer around her
shoulders, glancing around the parking lot, preparing to walk around
front to the entrance.
Danny climbed out of his personal vehicle, a perfectly restored
sleek black 1985 Jaguar XJS, just like the one featured in his favorite
1980s TV show, The Equalizer. His one piece of personal indulgence.
He was wearing a black suit, gray shirt, no tie. He called to her and
she turned, slightly startled, then smiled.
“So you were waiting for me, huh? Trying to sneak up on me?”
“Not at all,” Danny lied smoothly, walking up to her. “Fell asleep
in my car and just noticed you. Took a cab I see.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got a rental but decided not to try to find my
way around tonight. Haven’t been to the city before. Figured taking a
cab would be easier. The driver knew just how to find this place from
my hotel.”
“Good,” Danny said, holding out his left arm. “Then shall we go
in?”
She took his arm, smiling again. She really did have a very
beautiful smile. A very beautiful everything, actually.
“Why of course, sir. Lead on.”
And he did.

MRS. TOWNSEND GREETED HIM with a hug and a kiss, smiling

at Filipa, obviously approving of his choice of dining companions, then
led them to a cozy table near the west wall, two candles already
burning in the center of the table.
“I know he wants a beer,” Mrs. Townsend said to Filipa once they
were seated. “Only that imported Dutch stuff. What can I get you,
honey?”
Filipa furrowed her brow for a moment, considering. “I think I’ll
have beer too. Whatever he’s having.”
Mrs. Townsend smiled again, nodded, and left.
There were already two menus on the table and they opened them.
“I’ll tell you already, everything on the menu is fantastic. You can’t
go wrong. I should warn you, however, you eat here and you’ll
probably never want to eat at another seafood place.”
Filipa glanced up at him for a moment, smiled, and then went
back to her menu.
“Everything does look good. Anything you specifically
recommend?”
“Well, the catfish, obviously. But the snapper is really good, too.
So’s the baked tuna. My favorite though, the grilled salmon. They do it
with this pepper seasoning that is absolutely marvelous. Not too hot,
just right. I usually have it one of the two times I come here every
month.”
“Sounds delicious,” Filipa said, still considering the menu. “I like
salmon, too. Think I might try that.”
“Can’t go wrong,” Danny said.
A waiter brought their beers, then asked if they were ready to
order. They were, they did.
Once they were alone, the rest of the tables around them full, they
sipped their beers for a few minutes without saying anything. Then
Danny took a breath, folded his hands on the table, and looked Filipa
Whitaker directly in her large brown eyes.
“So, Ms. Whitaker, why don’t you tell me why it is you tracked me
down and how it is you think we can help each other?”
Filipa Whitaker held her beer bottle to her full red lips for a long
moment, her eyes unblinking. Then she took a seep of beer, put the
bottle back down on the table, and folded her long fingers together,
bringing them up under her chin as she set her elbows on the table.
A weaker man might have wilted under her sensual gaze, but not
Daniel Xavier Monk. Though he might have wanted to. He simply sat
and stared back, managing to keep his erection firmly in check.
Pretty much.

“THIS REALLY IS VERY GOOD, DANNY. You were right. Thanks

for recommending it.”
Danny nodded, swallowing a mouthful of beer-battered shrimp.
“Welcome, you are,” he said, mimicking Yoda.
 She grinned at him, wiping her mouth on her napkin.
“So you’re a fan of the little Jedi master, too, huh?”
“Who isn’t?”
They were almost done eating the main course, but hadn’t really
discussed why they were meeting tonight. She was being circumspect,
probing him, but keeping her cards close. So Danny had decided to
clam up himself, which meant the conversation turned to the trivial.
That was okay, she was good company, and the navy blue dress she
had been wearing under her coat perfectly accentuated every curve of
her sleek brown body. The bio he had found online put her age at
forty-six, which he found it a little difficult to believe. She could easily
pass for ten years younger. Smart, charming, funny, and sexy.
Emphasis on smart. This woman was no dummy, had an agenda, and
would play it her way as long as she could.
Danny would let her lead for the time being, he enjoyed the game,
but eventually someone would have to budge. And since she had
contacted him, it would have to be her. Whatever she wanted, she
would have to tell him, and if he was in a position to give it to her (no
pun intended) he’d have to decide if it was worth it, and what he
wanted in return (no pun intended).
Mrs. Townsend came to the table and insisted that they get
dessert, saying that it would be on the house. She had baked some
apple pies today, cinnamon mixed in, and she wanted Danny and his
date to try a piece. They were both full, but knew they weren’t leaving
without dessert, so they opted to share a piece of pie. A very large
piece of pie.
“Well if my pants won’t fit tomorrow, I’m gonna know who to
blame,” Filipa said as they walked out into the cold evening air just
before ten.
“Not my fault,” he said innocently. “You could have put the fork
down at any time.”
She giggled, bumping her hip into his, then taking his arm. He
liked that familiarity, but was also wary, knowing that she was still
working him.
“I could call a cab, but we still need to talk. Could you give me a lift
back to my hotel?”
 “Sure,” he said, trying not to smile.
He let her into the passenger’s seat of his Jag, already nice and
toasty because he had started it with his remote starter five minutes
before they left the restaurant. When he climbed inside and slid his
seatbelt on, she turned to him, an inquiring look on her face.
“You on the take or something?” she said, smiling.
“In the pocket of every druggie and corrupt politician in the state,”
he deadpanned, slipping his key into the ignition.
She punched his arm lightly, laughed.
“Hardly,” she snorted. “Like I told you, I’ve done my research on
you. If anything, you’re probably the most incorruptible cop in the
history of cops. And you don’t scare either. Probably why you were
assigned to look into the threats against Senator Vail. Your bosses
knew the pressure that would come down on whomever they put onto
this thing, and just about everyone else would be worried about their
careers, their pensions, their futures. But not you, Mr. Monk. Or
should I say, Senior Special Investigator Monk? Heck, they had to give
you your own special title just to bring you onboard. No, you aren’t on
the take, you’re exactly what everybody says you are.”
“And what’s that?” Danny said, turning to face her in the poor
illumination of the front seat.
“A boyscout,” she said matter-of-factly.
Danny chuckled, dropped the Jag into gear, and roared out of the
parking lot.
So, she has been checking up on me, Danny thought. Wonder if
she heard about my eighteen inch…
 Chapter 12

Filipa Whitaker had a suite at the Courtyard-Mobile just a few

miles south of the restaurant on the I-65 South Service Road. The
hotel had been recently built and still had that new feeling to it. Danny
hadn’t been inside before, having only seen it from the interstate
whenever he passed by. He parked the Jag in the rear lot and they
walked to the back entrance, using her room key to get through the
door.
She was up on three, and they took the stairs. She didn’t have on
heels, and didn’t need them. She was as tall as Danny without them,
maybe a little more so. She walked ahead of him, carrying her coat
over her arm. Danny liked that a lot. Afforded him a nice view of her
rear. And what a rear it was, too.
“Make yourself at home,” she offered after they entered the suite.
“I’m just gonna run to the bathroom. There’s a mini-bar if you want a
drink. I’m on an expense account, you know.”
She was already in the bedroom moving toward the bathroom as
she spoke. Danny took off his suit jacket and dropped it on the sofa,
then sat down next to it and stretched out his legs as he surveyed the
room. Functional, comfortable. Courtyard’s always managed to convey
a home away from home feeling to him, probably what the marketing
people were hoping for.
Yeah, she was on an expense account, and a good one, judging by
her accommodations. And the fact that she insisted on paying for
dinner. Not that Danny was complaining, he admired an independent
woman, had no problem with her getting the check. As long as she
didn’t expect him to come across for her.
Well, okay, he thought. If she really insisted.
Filipa Whitaker came back ten minutes later. She still had on her
dress, but had removed her shoes. She also carried a well-used brown
leather briefcase in her left hand.
“Let me hang this up for you,” she said, setting her briefcase down
on the coffee table in front of the sofa and grabbing his jacket. She
moved over to the closet near the front door and hung it up, then came
back and sat down beside him, smiling.
Against his wishes, he turned his head quickly and brought his
hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a yawn.
Filipa grinned, reached out and slapped his knee.
“God, I’m boring you already,” she teased.
Danny laughed, still yawning.
“No, no,” he managed. “Not your fault. It’s me. Been on the road a
lot this week. Finally catching up with me, I'm afraid. I should be at
home in bed, deep in sleep right now.”
“And it’s my fault you’re not, sorry about that.”
He shook his head, finally managed to get the yawns under
control.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “So why don’t you tell me why it is
you’ve been stalking me, Ms. Whitaker.”
The reporter grinned from ear to ear and it was truly an erotic
thing to see. Danny felt himself beginning to melt, and stiffen at the
same time.
“First, I asked you to call me Filipa,” she said seriously. Then her
expression changed to one of pure impishness. “And how’s a girl
supposed to meet the right guy without a little creative stalking these
days.”
Keep that up, missy, and you’ll probably find yourself getting
licked in the very near future.
Aloud he said: “E-Harmony?”
A minute later, they were both holding their stomachs and
laughing.
Tonight was going to be very interesting. In fact, it already had
been, but Danny knew there was a lot more to come.
He wasn’t wrong.
But not as right as he had thought either.
 “I’M NOT SO MUCH A REPORTER these days as a columnist. Do
you know the difference? And I hope that doesn’t sound too
condescending.”
“Well, since you’re cute,” Danny told her, “I’ll let it slide. I have a
vague idea. If you want to explain it, I won’t feel offended.”
She grinned again, thought about it, then shook her head.
“Not really important. The main difference is that as a columnist, I
report more than the facts, give my opinion about things, a considered
analysis, if you will. It also means I get more time to spend on a
subject. I also have a blog on the Journal’s website, shorter columns,
really.”
“Okay,” he said, leaning back on the sofa and watching her as she
leaned in his direction.
“So, I started on the Helena Vail story shortly after she announced
her plans last year. Mainly a political-human interest story. The
controversy of it sparked my attention, admittedly. A bisexual
republican woman running for governor of one of the most
conservative states in the country. If that didn’t deserve my attention
then I didn’t know what did. Of course, I really didn’t believe much
would come of the story. Figured she was doomed to fail from the
start. I came over, did some research, followed her around for a while.
Thought she had spunk from the beginning, but was battling uphill
and would never manage to get close to accomplishing her goal. Not in
a state like Alabama. Although, a couple years back in Texas, they did
elect a gay mayor in Houston. So miracles do happen in politics from
time to time, I guess.
“So I’m on her trail, watching, listening, seeing her audiences
grow and grow, her popularity increase among a host of diverse
groups, and then the financial backing starts coming her way. And as a
result of that, a lot more press scrutiny. Followed shortly thereafter by
a lot more negative scrutiny by the political establishment of the
Republican Party in the state and even on a national level. At least
from the more conservative wing of the party. You already know that
Wendell The Ox Oxley made her a pet project of his. Along with many
other conservative radio hosts, locally and nationally. Rush Limbaugh
did a few segments on her, interviewing The Ox one of those times.
 “Of course, while this did hurt her in some circles, it brought her a
lot more support in others. And with it, a lot more problems. I started
hearing rumors about death threats. Not really surprising. Every nut
out there has an opinion, a right to express it, and with the alternative
forms of media we have out there today, ways to get their messages
across to thousands, even millions of other idiots who hold the same
beliefs. Some harmless, actually most of them are harmless, but some
are not. Some are downright dangerous and scary.
“I’ve been filing columns about the politics at play here for the
past couple of months and could frankly keep going that way for the
rest of the election cycle, whether Vail has a real shot of unseating the
governor or not. But a lot of other people are working that angle of the
story now that she’s gotten so much attention and support from other
quarters. And I have to admit, I have become personally concerned
that the threats against the senator might be more serious than some
people realize. I know she’s under the protection of your Dignitary
Protection Unit, saw them in action along with you last weekend, and I
know that you’ve been assigned to investigate the threats and the
people who’ve made them. Also to make inquiries of people and
groups who might pose a potential threat to her. Which is why this
week you have become the target of a very dedicated smear campaign
orchestrated by the conservative political establishment of Alabama,
led by Wendell Oxley and Bob Butterworth. You know Butterworth,
right?”
“Of course,” Danny said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Chairman of the Alabama Republican Party. Been trying to meet with
him all week, but he’s been ducking me. Think he went to Mississippi
yesterday to get away from me.”
Filipa smiled.
“Actually there was a conference of state party GOP chairs
scheduled there weeks ago,” she said. “But no doubt a part of him was
glad to get to duck you. Still, he and his cronies have been very busy
working behind the scenes to stop you. So far, they’ve been frustrated
because no one in ABI seems to be able to rein you in. I suspect no one
is actually trying. You’re operating under a mandate from the governor
anyway and that gives DPS and ABI political cover for now.”
 “You’re remarkably well informed, Ms. Whitaker. Filipa. How
many sources do you have in Alabama government?”
“Would you like the list in chronological or alphabetical order?”
she quipped, flashing him her million-dollar smile.
Actually, I’d like it with your long legs folded between our chests
and…
He chuckled instead, and she continued.
“Anyway, Butterworth has a lot of favors due him and he is trying
very hard to dig up any dirt he can on you. When I learned this, I put
my researcher on you, and so far he couldn’t find any skeletons worth
mentioning. Which no doubt frustrates them even more. Men without
skeletons are men they can’t compromise. Men they can’t compromise
are dangerous to them.”
“You mean your guy didn’t find out about me, the stripper, and
the goat in Vegas?” Danny said with an arched brow.
“Well, yeah,” Filipa said without missing a beat. “But the goat
won’t testify.”
Danny laughed, then she did.
“Good,” he said. “You’re quick.”
“And you’d do well to remember that,” she said. “Anyway, I know
you know that you’re being scrutinized hard, and am pretty sure you
can take care of yourself. All that military and Secret Service training
you’ve had.”
“By the way,” he interrupted. “How did you find out I live in
Mobile?”
She grinned widely, shifted her long legs and tucked them under
her on the sofa.
“Now you know a girl can’t reveal all her secrets on the first date,”
she said sweetly.
“A girl could be arrested and shipped off to Gitmo until she was
feeling more cooperative,” Danny said just a sweetly.
“If you were still Secret Service, I might worry about that. But I
don’t think ABI has arrangements with Gitmo just yet.”
“You never know,” he said. “The world gets stranger and stranger
every day.”
“It does,” she agreed. “And because of that, you’re going to need at
least one ally on the outside that you can trust.”
“And that would be you?”
“That would be me.”
Danny considered her for a long moment, growing tired of the
banter, but also enjoying it. Enjoying being close to Filipa Whitaker.
He sighed, nodding.
“Alright, Ms. Filipa Whitaker, senior political columnist for the
Atlanta-Journal Constitution for the past six years, native of Charlotte,
South Carolina, oldest of three children, granddaughter of an Olympic
gold medalist, honor graduate from the Harvard School of Journalism,
and mother of fourteen year old Oliver. Tell me why that is.”
She wasn’t really surprised, considering who she was dealing with.
Actually she had expected he’d check up on her. And he had.
Finally she smiled, cocked her head to the side.
“You forgot excellent cook and dancer, with the ability to crack
myself up with my own bad jokes.”
Danny smiled.
“And the fact that you snore,” he said.
Now she was taken by surprise, and it showed in her widened eyes
and the frown on her face.
“How did you know that?” she whispered.
He smiled.
“I didn’t. Till now.”
A minute later they were both laughing again. She reached over
and touched his knee, squeezing gently.
“For a minute there I thought you had been talking to my ex-
husband.”
Another piece of information he hadn’t had before.
An ex-husband.
Accounts for the lack of a wedding ring. Suddenly the evening
looked a little brighter.
At least it did until she told him the next part.
 Chapter 13

James Thornton Nelson was what some referred to as a Home

Boy. This is because with the exception of a four-year stint in the army
after high school, he had never left his home in Tuscaloosa County,
Alabama; saw no need because everything that was important to him
was right there.
Nelson was now forty-four years old, a man of deep convictions
and beliefs, a man of strength and will, and a man who was
determined not to see his heritage taken away by godless mongrels
who had no respect for tradition, family, or his Savior. Nelson did not
like the outside world much, didn’t like the government, didn’t like
foreigners, and sure as hell didn’t like anybody trying to tell him what
to do or what to believe.
He was a free citizen in what used to be a free country. He didn’t
need anybody telling him what he should believe, how and when he
should worship, what laws to obey. As far as he was concerned, there
was only one set of laws that mattered. Those of the lord almighty.
Beyond that, the laws of man were irrelevant. Which is why James
Thornton Nelson saw now need or reason to follow them.
His father was a strong man, had raised his son to be strong. He’d
died when James was still in high school, but the son had already been
made into the mold of the father, devoted to what he held dear. God
and freedom, freedom and god. And after that, family. Family was
important, too, but not more than his god, not more than his freedom.
When his tour in the army was up, Nelson returned home to
Tuscaloosa. He’d been an MP in the service and decided to join the
police academy, figuring serving and protecting his community was
noble work for a man like him. However, it quickly became clear to
Nelson that modern police work had more to do with politics than with
maintaining law and order, keeping the bad people away from the
good. There were so many hoops cops had to jump through these days,
concerns about police use of force, about criminals’ rights, about
lawsuits.
Within the first year, Nelson had racked up five civilian
complaints for excessive force, and two had been sustained by Internal
Affairs, both drawing two-week suspensions without pay. He was
remediated to the academy following the second suspension for more
training in what was being called non-aggressive response scenarios.
Techniques and tactics for talking to suspects rather than fighting with
them and risking complaints and lawsuits.
This infuriated Nelson because he believed that if a cop thought he
needed to use force in a situation, then he should use force and not
worry about complaints and lawsuits. Cops were the line that
protected the citizens from the bad guys and they shouldn’t have to
worry about being sued for doing their jobs. He was sure that most of
his fellow officers felt the same way, but were too afraid to say so for
fear of being remediated as well. The bosses and the politicians were
always on the lookout for non-conformists, ready to crush them under
the bureaucracy in a heartbeat if they got out of line.
Nelson lasted less than two years as a cop, turned in his badge,
headed back to the family farm out on County Road 47 west of Munny
Sokol Park between Watermelon Road and Old Colony Road. By this
time, the farm wasn’t much, a few cows, some chickens, a couple of
horses. Not much to make a living from. He had a couple of older
brothers, but they had long since moved away to greener pastures,
rarely returning home or even calling. Nelson’s mother was not in the
best of health, part of the reason he had ended his time in the army
after only four years. She was in an assisted living facility in Northport
and the bills were beginning to pile up because insurance and
Medicare weren’t enough.
Nelson looked into the possibility of selling the family farm,
although this would have broken his heart. There was plenty of prime
grazing land on the property, but brokers told him that he probably
wouldn’t be able to get a good price at that time if he sold, probably
only half the value, if that, and a lot of back taxes to be taken care of. If
he held onto it for a few years, maybe the market would improve.
 Not what he wanted to hear at that time, but then maybe it was.
He wanted to keep his dad’s farm in the family, and maybe god was
telling him that he should. But then what would he do for money?
How would he keep things going?

HE PRAYED ON THE ISSUE. Prayed and prayed, wracked his

brains trying to come up with something, anything that would help. At
one point, he even considered going back into the army. It would mean
leaving his home again, and being away from momma, but maybe he’d
earn enough money to keep up her care and pay the staggering taxes
on the farm, because if he didn’t start to do something about that, then
he’d lose the place anyway.
He went to see a recruiter, explained his situation to the man. At
the time, he was still in his twenties, in reasonably good shape, kept
his weapons skills up with regular shooting on the farm. However, as
he sat across from the staff sergeant’s desk in the downtown
Tuscaloosa recruiting office, he could tell that the recruiter was
hesitant, not as enthusiastic at the prospect of returning Nelson to
uniformed service.
This turned out to be the case because at the time the army was
downsizing and people whose skills lay in the arena of the combat
arms were being let go faster than any other. Odd, Nelson thought,
considering the army was supposed to be all about fighting and stuff
like that. Apparently not so much anymore.
Dejected and rejected, Nelson returned to his farm to sulk, and to
pray some more, convinced that god had a plan for him, a purpose,
and he was determined to keep praying until he found it.

ONE DAY ABOUT SIX MONTHS LATER, Nelson was at his bank
trying to talk the assistant manager into granting him a loan so he
could make improvements to the farm and try to set it up as a working
operation again, buying animals and equipment, hiring staff. He knew
it was a long shot, and in truth, he didn’t want the money for that
purpose, he wanted it so he could pay the government’s damned taxes.
Later he'd worry about paying the bank back.
 The assistant manager listened patiently, but Nelson could tell the
man had no intention of giving him a loan, he was a bad risk. No
assets, no real income, and a tax burden that would probably take
everything he had sooner rather than later.
The answer was no, and Nelson wasn’t really angry with the man,
he was just doing his job. In his shoes, he wouldn’t have granted the
loan either.
Nelson stood and shook the man’s hand, preparing to leave the
glass enclosed cubicle. As he buttoned his coat, he noticed a man over
at the island counter in the middle of the main floor across from the
tellers. Young, black, twitchy. Something about him just said I’m
wrong, and it made the hairs on the back of Nelson’s neck stand up.
He quickly scanned the rest of the bank, noted another youth, this
one white, at a side counter near the south wall. This one was fidgeting
with the deposit slips on the counter, occasionally glancing around
furtively.
Nelson checked the front entrance and did not see the guard, must
have gone outside to check the parking lot. Maybe he did this at a
regular interval. Maybe he was in the bathroom. No matter, he wasn’t
there now.
Acting quickly, Nelson turned to the assistant manager and told
him to press his silent alarm.
The man had been stunned and unsure, took a step back, thinking
that Nelson was about to hurt him. Nelson closed on the man and
spoke urgently.
“I’m an ex-cop, man! You’re about to be robbed. Press your alarm
and get down on the floor, now!”
Visibly shaken, not sure what the danger truly was, the assistant
manager nodded and did as he was told, immediately dropping down
to the floor behind his desk.
Nelson took a deep breath, unbuttoned his coat again as he
stepped out of the cubicle, and headed straight for where the first
youth stood, staring directly at the teller windows, all of them busy
with customers. The guy had his hand under his coat and Nelson
suspected he was fingering a weapon. He was about five feet from the
kid when he suddenly glanced over to where the other one stood. Their
eyes locked, nodded.
Then the kid in back started, his eyes widening. The black kid at
the island counter frowned, raising his shoulders, the gesture saying,
what? Too late though.
Nelson stuck a Smith & Wesson Model-19 .357 magnum revolver
into the base of his spine and cocked the hammer back.
“You pull that gun out and you gonna be dead a spit-second later,
hoss,” he said in a quiet, menacing voice, a voice that didn’t bullshit.
The kid across the bank stood with mouth open, eyes wide, hand
inside his jacket. Without hesitation, Nelson marched the black kid
over to him, using his body as a shield, and when he was five feet
away, propelled youth-one into youth-two, both young men losing
their balance and tumbling down to the floor.
By this time, others in the bank realized something was going on,
something bad, several of them already dropping to the floor. Nelson
stood over to the two would-be robbers, covering them with his
magnum. A moment later, the guard returned from outside, saw what
was going on, reached for his weapon.
By this time, the assistant manager had managed to crawl from
under his desk and called to the guard, telling him not to shoot Nelson,
the man who had just done his job.
The police arrived within five minutes, followed by the local press.
By nightfall, James Thornton Nelson was a countywide hero, John
Wayne and Clint Eastwood all rolled into one.
Needless to say, the bank found a way to work out giving him a
loan, despite his lack of collateral, and because of this, while he was
saving his farm, he was eventually able to put his skills to good use, go
into business for himself, eventually setting himself on a path that
would bring him into contact with other like-minded people
throughout the state. People with ideas, plans, and most importantly,
with funding.
Of course, it would also set him on a path that would one day
bring him into contact with Danny Monk, and the ensuing
confrontation, when it took place, was surely to be explosive. Perhaps
even fatal for one, maybe both of them.
Today, James Thornton Nelson is the President and Chief
Executive Officer of JTN Security, the biggest private security
company in Tuscaloosa County, corporate offices located at the Nelson
farm on County Road 47. JTN has satellite offices all over western and
central Alabama, and consulting contracts throughout the state,
although Nelson himself rarely leaves his farm, preferring to maintain
the ship from the bridge, as he likes to think of the farm.
And there is another reason he doesn’t go very far, too. The fact
that in addition to the security service, Nelson is also the head of a
very secretive group of men known as the True Warrior Disciples of
Jesus Christ in Alabama. A group that so far has managed to remain
unknown to many, although it has been active for more than ten years,
responsible for a string of unsolved murders and acts of sabotage all
across the state.
The Disciples have a credo and a thirty-seven page manifesto that
no one outside the group has ever seen, but essentially their aims can
be summed up quite simply. We’re Christians and it is our right! They
aim to turn the clock back, to take things back to the way they used to
be when races didn’t mix, when women were subjugated to men, and
when it wasn’t okay to be gay!
For the past ten years they had been moving very carefully,
putting people and resources into places where they would be valuable
in the coming war that would be fought throughout the state. They had
much blood on their hands, unafraid to kill when needed, but careful
not to move rashly and give themselves away. There was still much to
do, much to set in motion and get into place before the time would
come for the button to be pushed, the balloon to go up War to be
officially declared. Perhaps five more years. Not long really. Just a
little more patience. Just a little more.
But then Helena Vail had come along. A true whore of the devil.
She fornicated with other women, mocked the sanctity of marriage,
raised a child in godless sin, and now, worst of all, she had the
temerity to try to run for the highest office in the state. She wanted to
be governor. This harlot of Satan.
Well not if James Thornton Nelson had anything to say about it.
And he did. He certainly did!
She wasn’t a part of the plan, not really important in the overall
scheme. It was unlikely that she would actually win, even get the
nomination. But it angered Nelson so that she would even try. And
that she would get so much support. Already she was on the news
every day, smiling, laughing, mocking everything decent Christians
stood for. Her very existence was an affront to everything he believed.
And she just had to be stopped!
She had to be.
And she would be.
James Thornton Nelson had only shared his plans with two other
people in the Disciples, his most trusted aides, men who had been with
him since the beginning. They were officers in JTN, senior managers,
brothers-in-blood. Just as dedicated and full of zeal as Nelson.
Problem was, one of them had a bit of a big mouth, had let something
slip that he shouldn't have...

THAT SLIP WAS PICKED UP BY someone else, who said

something to someone, who said something to someone, and
eventually the accidental disclosure, altered greatly with time, reached
Filipa Whitaker as she was working on the Helena Vail story. Being
extremely good at her job, Filipa followed up, investigating a thin trail
of clues until she was able to pull out more and more information, but
still mostly rumor.
She wasn’t able to get to the original source, but close enough to
realize that there was something more than rumor to it. Something
sinister and deadly. But she didn’t really have anything concrete,
anything that she could write about; even take to the cops, at least
officially.
So she decided to share what she had with someone she figured
might be able to do more with it, someone with official clout who
wasn’t afraid of stirring things up.
She told Danny everything she had been able to piece together,
including the rumors that the plot against Helena Vail might be tied to
a Tuscaloosa security company known as JTN, although that was the
weakest part. Danny sat and listened quietly, taking it all in, lost in her
eyes and her voice, her beauty and sensuality now irrelevant as he
focused on the mind of the highly skilled and talented investigative
journalist who had been working for months trying to get to the
bottom of what could be the biggest story of her career.
Or just a gigantic bunch of bullshit. Danny knew very well that
conspiracies did exist, had busted one or two in his day, but they were
rare. Especially when it came to intricate plots to assassinate political
leaders hatched by shadowy groups. But it was possible…
“Never heard of this group, The True Warrior Disciples of Jesus
Christ in Alabama,” Danny mused aloud when she stopped talking.
“Which doesn’t mean much. Plenty of nut-job groups out there that
I’ve never heard of. I suppose you don’t want to tell me who your
original source on this thing was?”
Filipa Whitaker smiled, a trace of exhaustion beginning to creep
into the corners of her eyes. She shook her head.
“Sorry, can’t. But to be honest with you, I don’t think it would help
you. Just a rumor being shared, something overheard and not much
being thought of it at the time. If I wasn’t naturally curious, and
working at the time, I might have let it pass.”
Danny nodded; feeling tired himself, knowing now that he would
be sleeping alone tonight. Whenever he got to sleep.
“Any possibility that this could track back to you?” he asked,
watching her intently.
She took a long time to answer, finally sighing and folding her
hands in her lap as she sat back on the sofa and stared up at the
ceiling.
“I’ve considered that,” she admitted, closing her eyes briefly. Then
she opened them again and turned her head to look at him. “Which is
why I’m telling you everything right now. Just in case. If these people
are as dangerous as I’ve come to believe they are, I see no reason they
wouldn’t decide to bump off a nosy newspaper columnist out to expose
them.”
“Maybe you should head back to Atlanta for a while,” he
suggested.
She shook her head. “Can’t run, Danny. Can’t be scared off the
story. Besides, they might not know anything about me.”
“But if they do, they might decide to kill you. At least think about
hiring security.”
Again she shook her head. “Kind of hard to get people to open up
to you if you’ve got beefy guys with guns and dark shades following
you everywhere.”
“Not all bodyguards look like that,” he told her. “In fact, some of
the best ones I know don’t look like that because they're women.”
“Still can’t do it. Look, I’ll be careful. I move around a lot, change
rental cars, switch hotels. I’m not that easy to track down. And I
promise, if I feel threatened, I’ll high-tail it back to Atlanta so fast the
Roadrunner will be jealous.”
Danny didn’t smile, just sat staring into her beautiful eyes for a
long time. Confident, but worried, too. Brave lady. Or incredibly
stupid, depending on your point of view. He couldn’t force security on
her, but he would do what he could to make sure she was protected,
whether she wanted it or not.
He nodded, then covered his mouth as he yawned again.
Filipa started yawning as well, and they both laughed.
“Time to get to bed,” she said when they finally had it under
control.
Danny looked into her eyes once more, perhaps scanning for an
invitation. It wasn’t there. Too bad.
They stood and she went to the closet to get his jacket. Danny
stretched his arms over his head, popped his neck, thought again how
tired his was.
Mostly he thought about the extra work that had just been
dumped on him. Well, him and Kat Tully.
He’d definitely owe her another dinner.
And perhaps something else. Especially something else.
He was smiling when Filipa handed him his jacket. On impulse
she leaned close and kissed his cheek.
So close, he thought.
She walked him to the door and they said good night. It was one
o’clock on Saturday morning. He could be home in about fifteen
minutes, in bed in twenty. Alone.
Ah well…
 Chapter 14

Danny didn’t wake up to almost eleven on Saturday. It was rainy

and cold, but he decided to go for a run anyway, loosen up the
muscles, get some exercise in. He hadn’t had much opportunity to
workout during the past week and felt kind of sluggish. Although he
hated to get wet, and he really disliked the cold, after the first half mile
he was into a good rhythm and the discomfort passed. Mostly.
He did five miles, coming back to his condo on Wall Street just
before noon, soaking, a little winded, but feeling refreshed. A hot
shower and a hot cup of tea followed. Since he hadn’t been home much
he hadn’t had a chance to do any grocery shopping. Luckily he found a
half box of pancake mix in the pantry and there was margarine and
syrup in the fridge.
He didn’t often make pancakes, but some time he got the craving,
so he kept the mix handy. This afternoon he made a tall stack, found
that the half quart of milk in the back of the fridge was still a couple
days away from expiring, and added a couple of frozen sausage links.
When he was done with the combination very late
breakfast/slightly late lunch, Danny went into his office and powered
up his laptop. He wanted to check his emails and then do a little
research, while things were still swirling around in his overworked
noggin.

FOR MOST OF THE AFTERNOON he worked his way through

five years of columns that Filipa Whitaker had filed for the Atlanta-
Journal Constitution, and her blogs. Her writing style was efficient,
thoughtful, and bespoke of great care and contemplation. Even though
she was a columnist and not a reporter, and opinion was to be
expected, she always backed up her assertions with facts that could be
checked out and verified. When she used anonymous sources, she
always made it clear that the information they provided had been
verified through other sources willing to go on the record.
Danny hated politics, in every form and fashion, believed that
politics was at the root of over ninety percent of the world’s problems
today, and under ordinary circumstances he would not be spending a
Saturday afternoon sitting at his desk reading stuff like this. But he
was intrigued by Filipa Whitaker, and not just because of her body.
Though that probably had a good bit to do with it. Particularly those
long legs that she kept flashing at him last night.
He stopped reading at six o’clock, glanced outside, seeing that the
rain had stopped now that it had gotten dark. He needed to go out and
do some shopping, or maybe just buy dinner somewhere because on
Monday he’d be heading back to Montgomery and wasn’t sure he’d be
back for a few days.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, he headed into his bedroom to
change into street clothes. He’d just taken his T-shirt off when his
mobile phone rang. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number, but
the area code was for Montgomery. Could be a lot of people he knew,
all of them worked related. He might be heading up to Montgomery a
lot sooner than he thought.
Sighing and sitting down on the front edge of the bed, Danny
answered the call. As soon as he heard the voice on the other end, he
smiled.
“Well hello there!”

“AND HELLO THERE YOURSELF, MR. Monk. How are you

doing this fine Saturday evening?”
Danny chuckled, leaning back on the bed, resting his free hand
behind his neck as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom.
“Better now that you’ve called, babe,” he said. “How are you?”
Kat Tully purred softly.
“A little lonely,” she responded.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said.
“Are you really?”
“Definitely.”
 “Good. My son’s with his dad this weekend. Won’t be back till
after school on Monday. So I’m going to be all alone for the rest of the
weekend.”
Danny could feel the swelling begin in his shorts.
“Is that so?” he teased. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?
Would you be interested in receiving visitors?”
“I might just be,” she said. “At least one visitor. Are you at home
this weekend?”
“Yep. I gotta come back up there on Monday because Atwater has
something she needs me to do. I was gonna drive up early on Monday,
but now…”
“Now maybe you’ll come up earlier?”
“I might.”
“I’d like it if you did. Maybe tomorrow. We could spend the day
together, maybe have lunch. Perhaps dinner. And you could do me a
favor, too, seeing as how you owe me a couple.”
He was going to owe her more than a couple when he told her
what else he needed, but for the moment he put that aside, much more
interested in what she wanted.”
“Anything, hon,” he said. “Name it.”
“I’d like to go shooting,” she told him. “It’s been a while and I need
the practice. Since I’m a tech analyst and not required to carry a gun,
they don’t make me qualify. I’m rusty.”
“That’s no problem,” he told her. “The range is usually empty on
Sunday anyway. I can get the duty officer to let me have the key.”
“Good,” she said. “Then we can do that tomorrow afternoon. After
lunch and before dinner. And anything else we can think up.”
The swelling was now a full-blown erection.
“You know, I’ve got a really good imagination,” he said.
Kat giggled.
“More like a sick imagination,” she said. “And I love it. You gonna
stay at the same hotel, the Days Inn?”
“Yeah,” he told her. “Always stay there because they give a good
government rate, plus the breakfast bar.”
“I’d invite you to stay at my place, but with my family situation
right now, it might be awkward if my son and his father dropped by.”
 “You don’t have to explain, Kat. Believe me, I understand. Besides,
you know hotel sex is the best sex of all.”
She laughed.
“Actually, big guy, I bet sex with you anywhere is the best sex of
all.”
They spoke for another hour before hanging up, and by that time
Danny’s loins were crying out for relief, and he could tell that Kat was
feeling the same way by the sound of her breathing.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie,” he said, sitting up.
“Yeah, you will,” she said. “And I’ll see you. Naked!”
Danny chuckled.
“Damn straight,” he said. “Have a good night.”
“Gonna be hard to do that when I’m lying in bed alone tonight
thinking about you inside me.”
Any moment now his shorts would burst into flames.
“Don’t make me drive up there tonight, Kat,” he told her. “Neither
of us would be able to walk for a week.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said and meant it.
A brief pause, then a sigh.
“I’ll see you tomorrow around eleven, babe,” he finally said.
A brief pause, then a sharp intake of breath.
“Why don’t you make it ten?” she said. “And I’ll meet you at the
hotel. That way, before lunch…”
He smiled, glancing at his reflection in the mirror on the dresser
across from the bed.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah…”

DANNY LEFT MOBILE AT SEVEN SUNDAY morning. The sun

was already up and shining brightly, but with the temperature in the
mid-twenties, it didn’t help much. He was driving the Yukon because
he wouldn’t be coming home before going into the office tomorrow,
and because of the nature of his work and the fact that he traveled
extensively, he was allowed to use his work vehicle for some personal
travel, just as long as it coincided with work in some way.
He made it to Montgomery just before nine-thirty. A room had
already been reserved, and because he was well-known here, checking
in was barely more than a formality. The room was on the third floor
in the middle of the hallway, away from the elevator and the stairs,
and the ice machine.
He went inside, quickly unpacked his things. He hated the idea of
living out of a suitcase—although he did it quite frequently—and
consequently always unpacked his things when in a hotel, no matter
how short a stay he was planning. Once that was done, he went into
the bathroom to relieve his bladder and wash up.
As he was coming out, drying his hands on a towel, his mobile
phone buzzed. At text message. Two words and a question mark. He
texted back, feeling the excitement build in him like a teenager.
Two minutes later there was a quick knock at the door. He walked
over and opened it. Kat Tully was standing in the hallway wearing a
gigantic grin, a small overnight bag slung over her left shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Danny said. “But there’s no solicitation in this
hotel.”
Kat reached out and socked him in the stomach, immediately
regretting it because despite his bulk, Danny Monk’s body was quite
solid. Something she should have remembered from recent
experience.
“Ouch, smartass! Now I’ve hurt my hand.”
Danny smiled, reached out for her.
“Come on in, let me massage it for you.”
Kat grinned again, stepping into the room.
“How ‘bout you give me some sugar and then we can talk about
what I’d like you to massage?”
He closed the door, pulled her into his arms, staring deeply into
her eyes.
“Sounds like a better plan,” he said, and they kissed.

KAT OWNED A FIVE SHOT .38 CALIBER Chief’s Special, and it

had been a while since it had been fired or cleaned. When she took it
out of her bag at the hotel—afterwards—Danny could tell it needed a
bit of tender care before taking it to the range. He’d brought along his
cleaning kit and set about the task at the desk by the window with Kat
sitting next to him looking on. It took about a half hour, and when he
was satisfied, Danny inspected the ammunition she had with her.
“After lunch,” he said, we’ll stop by Wal-Mart and pick up some
better target ammo.”
They had lunch at the China Dragon restaurant up on Coliseum
Boulevard, then dropped by the Eastdale Mall to pick up a couple
boxes of ammunition for Kat. Danny always had plenty of extra
ammunition, he pissed off way too many people in his line of work not
to.
The duty officer at the Criminal Justice Center was a sergeant by
the name of Coltrane, six months away from retirement and very much
looking forward to it. Danny found him in the duty office when he and
Kat arrived, asked if it was all right if he took the key for the range.
Coltrane barely glanced up from the magazine he was reading, taking
the range key out of the drawer on his left and passing it across to
Danny. Didn’t even have to sign it out. Some might say that Coltrane
had actually retired already, but was still wearing the uniform and
coming to the office.
They had the whole place to themselves, and opted to setup in the
two stalls in the center of the range. Danny had brought his own
protective gear, but got Kat ear and eye protectors from the wall where
they hung in back of the range. Once they were all geared up, weapons
loaded, Danny quizzed her on how much formal training she had with
weapons. She admitted not much, but said she had been shooting
since she was a little girl, mostly .22 caliber rifles, but some pistols,
too. The .38 had belonged to her grandfather, a retired cop from
Talladega. She and her husband had gone shooting with it a few times,
but not lately.
Danny nodded, figuring that she could benefit from a little formal
instruction, so he spent a few minutes covering the basics, including
stances, grip, and breath control. He demonstrated the stances,
recommending either the Weaver or Modified Weaver for best results.
Kat tried them both, felt more comfortable with the Weaver.
Danny stepped in close, aligned her hips, accidently brushing his
hand across the seat of her jeans.
 “Sorry about that,” he lied, then stepped to her left side.
Kat glanced back over her shoulder, smirked at him.
“You do know I’ve got a loaded weapon in my hands,” she said.
“Sure do,” he said. “Now let’s see how good you are with it.”
Her first five shots at ten yards were widely spaced, with one
cutting paper but missing the man-sized target in the middle. Danny
stepped in close again, showed her how to tighten her grip on the
weapon, then told her to reload and try again.
This time her grouping was a little better, but not great. She hit
the target all five times, but three of them were not kills.
Kat suggested that she might do better if he stayed close and
guided her through each shot. Danny said he thought that might be a
good idea, so this time when she fired, his arms were around her, his
hands on her hands, his body firmly pressed against hers.
Four in a close grouping in the chest, shot five a little wide, but
still in a vital spot.
“If you hadn’t goosed me on that last shot, it would have been
closer, you know.”
Danny frowned as if confused, watching as she opened the
cylinder on her weapon and took out the empty shells.
“Excuse me, madam, goosed?”
“Yeah,” she said, now putting fresh ammunition into the
chambers. “Goosed. Or more specifically, pressed your cock up against
my ass right when I was about to shoot.”
Danny shook his head slowly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.” Then
he smiled.
Kat finished loading her revolver, closed the cylinder. “Sure you
don’t. Now get over here and do it again.”
And he did.

DINNER WAS AT MIYAKO JAPANESE Steakhouse on Vaughn

Road out past where Kat lived on Carriage Oaks. Danny had never
eaten there before but Kat had, and said the food was delicious. She
was not wrong. They declined dessert and were done by eight-thirty.
Kat’s car was back at the hotel and she would have to go there to
retrieve it before heading home, which had been her reason for leaving
it there in the first place. She didn’t intend to go home for some time.
As they drove back to the hotel, Kat’s mobile rang and she
answered it. Her son, wanting to check in with her before he went to
bed at his dad’s. She spoke to him for nearly fifteen minutes, and they
had actually arrived back at the hotel eight minutes before the call
ended.
Kat put the phone back in her purse and turned to Danny, a little
sadness in her eyes.
“Just my little man making sure his mom’s okay.”
“He’s good?” Danny asked.
“Yeah. They had pizza tonight, watching some movies on DVD.”
“How’s your daughter doing?”
“She’s good, too. Talked to her yesterday. Gonna see her next
weekend.”
“That’s good.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the
intimacy, feeling no need to fill the void with unnecessary
conversation. Then Kat leaned over and took his hand.
“Wanna go inside and fuck me now?”
Danny nodded, a small smile rising at the corner of his lips.
“Yes, I really would.”

HE HAD BEEN TWENTY-SEVEN THE first time he had ever

gone down on a woman, never having the inclination or desire to do so
before. But something changed that year, and he had never known
what, simply found himself wanting to try it, and when he did, he
found that he loved it, wanted to do it all the time with every woman
he slept with.
Now, seventeen years later, the desire had only grown stronger.
This pleased Katherine “Kat” Tully very much. As did Danny Monk’s
incredibly experienced tongue.
She lay naked in the middle of the king sized bed, her head resting
on a large fluffy pillow, her eyes shut tight, her skin flushed, her legs
spread apart, Danny lying between them, his mouth all over her
womanhood. She had already cum twice, and Danny was determined
to make it three times before he was done. He succeeded just a minute
later.
Kat was nearly off the bed as her body was rocked with pleasure,
spilling from her in waves, taking her into a deep state of ecstasy
unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She was spent,
unable to move, barely able to breathe, her body and the sheets soaked
in her perspiration.
Danny kissed her vulva and then sat back on his legs, staring
down at her, also breathing heavily, sweat beading up on his creased
forehead. He was a very happy man, not to mention erect and horny as
hell.
Kat opened her eyes after a couple minutes, still breathing
erratically, still unable to move, but did manage a weak smile.
“God damn, Danny! You’re trying to kill me!”
“Hardly,” he said, leaning down over her, staring directly into her
eyes. “Just trying to get you off, my dear.”
“Well you’ve succeeded,” she managed to express. “My god have
you succeeded.”
“Good,” he said, leaning over toward the nightstand. “But I’m not
done yet.”
Kat watched as he opened the condom wrapper, tossed it aside,
then rolled the lubricated condom onto his swelled erection.
“Mind if I put this in you now?” he said.
Kat grinned hopelessly.
“I’d mind it if you didn’t,” she exhaled.
He leaned down once more and kissed her lips, then easily slipped
between her thighs and pushed all the way inside her soaking womb.
Kat moaned deeply, locking her limbs around him as he settled
into her. She nibbled on his ear, whispered something unintelligible to
him. He kissed her neck, whispered something inane back to her.
After that, no more talking.
Just grunting, groaning, moaning, panting, pretty much any word
ending in I-N-G and having something to do with two people F-U-C-K-
I-N-G!
 Chapter 15

The Philippians, circa 1993

Wan Kim Li landed on him with his full weight, momentarily leaving
him breathless. However, Monk had known that his life was in
mortal danger, he was now milliseconds away from death, and he
had been expecting trouble. Still, he was a bit taken by surprise by
Wan’s quick and murderous reaction.
As he landed on his back, Monk instinctively raised his right
hand, bringing with it a silenced Walter PPK that he had been
concealing beneath the desk. He pulled the trigger, the report muffled
by the suppressor and the closeness of the other man’s body to his.
Wan grunted in pain and surprise, and his own aim was deflected,
the stiletto going wide and slamming into the floor an inch from
Monk’s head.
Despite his injury and the pain, Major Wan Kim Li was a tough
and fierce fighter, and he knew that if he didn’t dispose of this
American right away, then everything he had been working for
would be lost; his superiors in North Korean Intelligence would not
be happy about that either, or forgiving of his failure. Therefore, he
had to kill the American, and right then.
He knocked the Walther from the American’s hand using all the
remaining strength in his weakened left arm. Next, he struck with his
right fist, driving as hard as he could from the awkward angle above
Monk, aiming for the heart. However, Monk was ready for this move,
having regained a bit of his breath. When he saw Wan raise his fist,
realized what was about to come, he readied himself for action,
tensing the muscles of his body.
As Wan drove down, Monk pivoted to his right, rolling his
shoulders off the floor and unbalancing the man on top of him. Wan’s
aim was off again and his punch connected with Monk’s shoulder
instead. Still a painful, stinging blow, but not the devastating and
fatal one that the North Korean was hoping for. And now the
American was off the floor, pushing Wan backwards.
Wan lost his balance, the pain in his left shoulder starting to
throb. Desperately he fought to maintain control, to stay focused, to
complete his mission. For a man like Wan Kim Li, the mission was all
that mattered. Even if he died now, if the mission was protected, then
he would succeed. He would not bring shame and dishonor to his
family or his country. But the only way this could be assured was if
the American died now, and took with him what he knew about the
major.
Wan growled with anger, lashing out with his right fist again as
Monk sat up and tried to muscle him back. The blow caught Monk on
the left cheek and rattled his teeth. However, the American Naval
officer was younger than the North Korean spy and had been hit
pretty hard before. He rolled with the blow, rotated his neck once to
the left, and at the same time swung his left elbow with as much force
as he could manage, slamming the point of it into Major Wan’s
ribcage.
Wan’s breath expelled from his lungs and he coughed violently,
clearly in severe pain. Monk then shoved as hard as he could and
pushed Wan off of him, banging the back of the man’s head against
the rear edge of the desk.
He looked around frantically, searching for the Walther, seeing it
several feet away, just beyond his immediate reach. He lunged, and
just as his fingers reached the butt of the weapon, Wan was on his
back hammering him with blows about his head, neck, and shoulders.
One blow was so severe that Monk blacked out for a split-second. But
then he was back.
He abandoned his attempt to recover the gun, instead rolling
over with Wan still on his back, knocking the other man onto his side,
and causing the injury in his left shoulder to spark with fresh pain.
Wan howled in agony.
Monk spun around to face him, pushing back far enough so that
he could kick him in the stomach. Wan absorbed the blow, struck out
with his right hand, caught Monk in the chest. Monk caught his wrist,
twisted it awkwardly with his left hand, and punched Wan hard
across the face with his right. He did it again and again until Wan
managed to twist away.
Wasting no time, Monk went for the Walther again, got a hold of
it, turned back to face Wan, breathing raggedly, sweating and
bloody. And when he did, he saw that the North Korean triple agent
had not been idle either, was in fact holding his trusty stiletto once
more.
Danny Monk didn’t hesitate, but he wasn’t quite fast enough
either. Wan Kim Li leapt toward him, this time holding the blade in
his right hand. Danny snap-aimed his weapon, had the suppressor
pointing at Wan's chest when he felt the sharp pain in his left leg as
razor sharp metal tore into him.
He squeezed the trigger until the magazine ran dry, the slide
locking back in place. All his rounds were on target, Major Wan Kim
Li of the North Korean State Safety and Security Agency died within
seconds. But not before leaving Lieutenant Daniel X. Monk,
USN/ONI gravely wounded. And in some not so friendly territory.
Danny struggled to stand, fell back down, his heart beating
furiously in his chest, sweat and blood pouring from his body. He
knew that there were only minutes left before Kim would be missed, a
search began. If the North Koreans found Danny first, he would die.
Even though Kim was dead, they might still be able to salvage their
operation if they killed Monk. And even if they couldn’t, killing the
American counterintelligence operative who had interfered with their
plans would be a pretty good consolation prize.
Add to that the fact that the Filipino authorities were not likely to
be happy with him either. Just a few years earlier, the American
military had been kicked out of the country, the bases they had been
operating out of for decades closed. Relations were not very good
and would only get worse if they caught an American agent who had
just killed a North Korean one on their soil. He had to get up, he had
to get out.
The sweat, the blood, the pain, the throbbing behind his ears. He
was wet and cold despite the heat. Fear building inside him. He was
shaking violently, uncontrollably. His fists and teeth clenched, his
jaw set, his whole body racked by shivers, obviously he was in shock.
“Have to get out!” he shouted. “Have to get out! Have to get out!
Have to get…”

“DANNY, IT’S ALL RIGHT! DANNY, CAN you hear me? You’re
safe, you’re all right. You’re safe. Danny!”
 He came awake with a start, sitting straight up in bed and
searching desperately in the darkness, unsure of where he was,
expecting to see a destroyed hotel room in Manila almost twenty years
ago, the corpse of the first man he had ever killed. But instead, he was
in partial darkness, not lying on a floor but sitting up in a bed. Not
wounded, but covered in sweat nonetheless.
Then he remembered, remembered where he was, who he was
with, realized that it had all been another bad dream, a dream about
the past long dead. Along with Wan Kim Li, and his naval career.
Kat was sitting beside him in bed, a hand on his shoulder, deep
concern on her face. She was speaking soothingly to him as if talking
to a child. Danny took several deep breaths, trying to slow his heart
rate.
Kat put her hand to his forehead for a moment, then climbed up
on her knees and studied him.
“You’re safe here, Danny,” she said softly. “I promise.”
He nodded slowly, taking a couple more deep breaths. Finally, he
sighed and folded his arms across his chest as he shivered.
“Sorry about this,” he said in a low tone.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, reaching out once again and touching
his arm. “Everybody has bad dreams once in a while.”
If only it was once in a while, he thought.
He nodded, glanced over at her, then smiled a little. His eyes were
now fully adjusted to the semidarkness and he could see that she was
wearing the same thing she’d had on when they’d snuggled up together
and fallen asleep a short while ago. Absolutely nothing.
“Now if only I could have dreamt about that,” he quipped.
Kat smirked, sat down on the bed and reached for the covers,
propping herself against the headboard with a fluffy pillow behind her,
tucking the covers up over her breasts and beneath her arms.
Danny chuckled and sat back as well, a pillow at his back, the
covers down on his stomach.
“You know, I don’t usually sleep naked,” she said, reaching out
and touching his thigh.
“You should,” he told her, taking her hand. “A nice sight to see
when a fella wakes up.”
 Kat smiled, squeezing his hand.
“Depends on the fella,” she said.
“Any fella with a brain,” he said, leaned over and kissed her cheek.
They were silent for a long time, still holding hands. Kat leaned
over and put her head on his shoulder, then whispered, “If you don’t
want to talk about it, that’s all right. Like I said, we all have bad
dreams.”
“I appreciate that, babe,” he said in a sleepy voice. “And I am sorry
about this. Sorry to ruin everything.”
“Hardly,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “You ruined nothing.
I had a great time today. Especially when we got back here tonight.
This is nothing. I really didn’t mean to go to sleep anyway. Should get
back to my place before dawn.”
He glanced over at the bedside clock. Just after three.
“Gonna be tired tomorrow without much sleep,” he told her. “You
could grab a couple more hours before getting up.”
“Actually,” she said, pulling her hand from his and once again
placing it on his thigh. “I’m really not all that sleepy anymore. In fact, I
would probably have woken you up in a little while and asked if you’d
like a blowjob before I left.”
Danny started laughing, put his arm around her and kissed her
forehead.
“Does it come with fries?” he said.
She snickered.
“As far as I know, it just cums!”
This time they both laughed. He pulled her to him and kissed her
on the mouth. The sheet fell away from her breasts and he brushed her
already stiff nipples with his fingers, feeling himself begin to swell.
“Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a nice rack for a broad over
forty?” he said.
Kat chuckled, pushing him back against the headboard as she rose
back to her knees and straddled him.
She cupped her breasts and squeezed them together in front of his
face, her lips forming a pout.
“Want me to nurse you before I blow you?” she teased.
Danny’s cock was pressing into her stomach now, fully erect and
painful, but a good kind of painful. His eyes were full of lust as he
stared at her.
“That gives me an idea,” he said huskily.
Kat grinned, and a moment later, she was on her back, Danny
straddling her chest.
She was giggling now, stroking him with one hand, lining him up
so that he could move between her breasts all the way up to her mouth
in one fluid motion.
“Ready to plow the field, baby?” she said.
“And slide across the flight deck,” he said lustily.
Kat put him between her breasts and squeezed them together
around him. Danny sighed deeply, smiled wickedly, then pushed
forward, enjoying the sensation of his sensitive skin against hers, and
then entering her wet and willing mouth…
 Chapter 16

Danny was at the Criminal Justice Center on Ripley Street at

seven-thirty Monday morning. He should have been dragging due to
the lack of sleep and the energetic activity he had spent a good portion
of Sunday engaging in with the insatiable technical support analyst for
ABI MIU, however, if anything, he felt invigorated, charged even.
He was smiling when he got off the elevator on the fourth floor,
turning toward the offices of MIU. Bobbi Atwater usually didn’t get to
the office until eight or later so he figured he’d have a little time to do
some housekeeping work, and finish a list of things he needed for Kat
to do. (And no, dirty minded folks, not that kind of list).
In addition to the other people she was checking in to for him,
Danny now had a couple of other avenues and people he needed
looked at, and perhaps some of them would lead to other people he
was already looking at. He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Kat
yesterday, not wanting their time together to be marred by work or
anything else negative. Unfortunately, this had not been the case
entirely due to his flashback dream. However, they had recovered from
that nicely and it probably wouldn’t be an issue in the future.
Assuming it didn’t happen again.
Kat usually got in around eight-thirty, might be a little late this
morning, and if he had time, he’d give her the request in person.
Better than hitting her with a big email without warning. Plus, he
wanted to see her again, even if he couldn’t touch her in the office.
Bobbi Atwater was in the office at seven forty-five this morning,
and she stopped by the conference/interview room where Danny was
set up and asked him to join her in her office just as soon as she got
her coffee. Judging by the expression on her face, Danny suspected
whatever she wanted to talk to him about was important. He really
hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the trashing DPS and ABI had
been taking over the past week because of his investigation.
Politics was not his forte.
Shooting politicians, on the other hand…
Kat Tully was actually early this morning as well. As Danny was
going in to see Lieutenant Atwater, she walked by and opened the door
to her office, glancing over at him and offering a small smile.
There were a couple of other investigators in the hallway down at
the break area getting coffee. They weren’t paying attention, but it was
still best not to give anything away, so Danny was all business when he
spoke to her.
“Morning, Kat. If you’re not too busy, when I get done in the
lieutenant’s office, I’ve got something I need your help with.”
She nodded, pushing her door inward and hefting her computer
bag in her left hand.
“No problem. I’ll be buried in here all day. Drop by any time.”
Then she went inside and closed the door.
Danny nodded to himself, knocked on Atwater’s open door, and
walked inside.

“FIRST THING I HAVE IS A REQUEST for someone from ABI to

speak to a Tuscaloosa Chamber of Commerce meeting at the end of the
month regarding the issue of workplace violence. And since you’ve
done it before, written articles about the subject for various industry
magazines, you’re my first choice if you want the gig.”
“How close to the end of the month?” he asked, settling in his
chair in front of her desk.
“The 28th, I believe. Couple of weeks. I need to know soon, too,
because if you’re not interested, I want to give whoever does do it the
chance to prepare.”
Danny thought a moment, seeing a possible opportunity to help
his current case, then nodded.
“I’ll do it. Email me the particulars.”
“Will do,” Atwater said, making a note on a pad on the right side
of her desk. “Tell me, how’s everything else going? With the Vail thing,
I mean. Any progress?”
 He had been expecting this question and had considered how he
would answer. Circumspection was usually the best way to keep too
many people from learning enough to fuck up your case before you
were ready to present. And while he trusted Bobbi Atwater completely,
he didn’t always tell her everything. And he wouldn’t now.
“Still kicking up dust,” he told her honestly. “Got more people to
talk to and piss off. Expect more calls soon.”
She chuckled, sat back and sipped her coffee.
“Everything I get now goes right to Rowland’s office. And he gives
them to Public Media Relations. Any hint that there might be
something organized against her? She’s going up in the polls, still not
beating the governor, but chipping away at his lead, in particular
among younger voters. Now only ten points separate them. And
there’s still months to go. Some people will probably start getting
antsy if it looks like she could pull an upset.”
“True,” he said carefully. “Which is why I’m still annoying people
left and right. Soon as I have something, I’ll let you know. Right now I
think the biggest problem is people like The Ox spreading their venom
on the airwaves and the idiots who listen to them take it upon
themselves to do stuff. Laura Copeland and her team have to be ready
for anything.”
“They are,” Atwater assured him. “Spoke to the head of the
Dignitary Protection Unit yesterday as a matter of fact. My husband
and I had dinner with he and his wife. Anyway, he says Copeland’s got
everything in hand. Keeping in touch with the Capitol Police
Intelligence Unit as well, getting updated on new threats as they come
in. They still emailing the stuff to you, right?”
Danny nodded.
“Every day,” he said. “And most of it’s useless.”
“Probably. But they have to check it out.”
“Yeah. And so do I. Anyway, when I have something, Lieutenant,
you’ll know. So what’s the second thing you wanted to talk to me
about? You said something about a quick job that needed my
attention?”
Atwater had another sip of her coffee, then sat the mug down and
reached for a file folder from the stack on the left side of her desk
behind her computer monitor. She passed it across to Danny.
“Want you to take a look at that. A murder six weeks ago here in
town. Montgomery PD Homicide has the case, but they can’t catch a
break. They have somebody they think can give them a lead, but so far
she isn’t being very cooperative. Victim’s granddaughter. Seventeen
years old and full of attitude. MPD asked us for some help, and as soon
as I saw the file, I thought of you.”
Danny smirked at his boss, looked at the name on the file cover,
GOMEZ, TOMITA S. Sitting back in the chair, he opened the file on his
lap, started reading without comment.

MONTGOMERY POLICE HEADQUARTERS IS on North Ripley

Street approximately five blocks north of the Criminal Justice Center.
When Danny finished with the Gomez file, he and Atwater spoke for
another ten minutes, then she told him that a Detective Coopersmith
with the Montgomery Homicide Unit was expecting him at his office at
nine. In ten minutes.
Danny thanked his boss for thinking of him, then rushed to the
interview/conference room to collect his things, and headed out to the
elevator. He didn’t have time to stop by and tell Kat what he needed
from her, and would have to do it later.
Now he walked into the main entrance of the Montgomery Police
Administration Building, just a minute before nine. He had his
credentials out and ready to present to the uniformed officer at the
reception desk in the middle of the large entry hall.
“Special Investigator Monk with ABI. I’m here to see Detective
Cedrick Coopersmith in Homicide. He’s expecting me.”
The officer took his creds and made a show of examining them,
checking the picture on the ID against Danny’s face. Once he was
satisfied, he held on to the ID, picking up his phone and placing a call.
When he was done, had the answers he needed, he hung up the
phone and passed Danny’s creds back.
“Somebody’s on the way, Investigator Monk. If you’d please sign
in while you wait.”
Not really a request, and Danny didn’t take it as one, but he did
comply, and then he waited.

CEDRICK COOPERSMITH WAS A VERY LARGE black man in

his middle forties with a cleanly shaved crown that was covered by
deep brown skin. He wore horn-rimmed glasses with gold frames that
gave him a kind of professorial look. Of course, his size also gave him
the look of an ex-linebacker. Danny suspected this was the case,
probably on the college level, and probably at the University of
Alabama. The giveaway was the class ring on his large paw as he
reached out to shake Danny’s hand, nearly crushing it. And then there
was the coffee mug on the desk with the Crimson Tide logo
prominently displayed.
“Good to meet you, Investigator Monk,” Coopersmith’s bass voice
bellowed over the den of noise in the busy Homicide squad room. His
desk was in the center of the room, piled high with folders, coffee cups,
and a near obsolete city-issued desktop computer. “Thanks for coming
over this morning.”
Danny extricated his hand from Coopersmith’s iron grip, didn’t let
the other man see him flexing the fingers down by his sides,
attempting to restore some circulation.
“Not a problem, Detective. Glad to help if I can. My lieutenant
briefed me a little while ago, gave me the file. Seems you have nothing
solid to go on.”
“Yeah,” the big detective said, waving Danny to the single folding
chair in front of his desk. “Can I get you some coffee or something
before we get started?”
“Nah,” Danny waved. “I’m good.”
“Okay then,” Coopersmith said, a hint of disappointment in his
eyes. Like a lot of cops, he was probably a caffeine addict and was
really looking for an excuse to get coffee for himself. “Well the murder
was straightforward. And if you read the file, you already know that.
Tomita Gomez, fifty-seven, bludgeoned to death in her home over on
4th Street East two days after Thanksgiving. She was at home alone at
the time. Body wasn’t discovered until the next day when her
granddaughter, Maria Gomez, seventeen, came back from staying with
her mom in the 9th Avenue projects. Girl lives with the grandmomma
mostly. Or did before this. Anyway, we got a mess of blood and other
stuff, but the crime scene was so contaminated. Girl went apeshit
when she found her grandmomma, which is what you’d expect. Crime
Scene people did the best they could, but didn’t really come up with
anything usable. Add to that the fact that nobody reports hearing
anything the night before, and no one called the cops. Not all that
unusual for that neighborhood, if you know anything about the area.”
“According to the file,” Danny pointed out, “Ms. Gomez was well
liked with no known enemies.”
“That’s what everybody says,” Coopersmith confirmed. “Can’t find
nobody who’d speak against her.”
“And yet somebody crushed her skull in with a hammer and left
her damn near decapitated. Lot of rage there, overkill. Report also says
money and what little jewelry she had was taken.”
“Yeah,” the detective said. “Family said she had a small diamond
ring and matching necklace, both missing. Can’t get the actual value
because they weren’t insured. Probably not worth much anyhow.
Junkies could get a couple of fixes if they was lucky.”
“You think junkies could have done this?” Danny asked.
“I think that’s a possibility,” he said and frowned. “But what I
really think is that the granddaughter knows something about who
killed her grandmomma. She got a sheet, too. You see that in the file?”
Danny nodded.
“Misdemeanor drug possession.”
“Yeah. And her school record ain’t the greatest. Been hauled into
the principal’s office a dozen times for discipline problems. Of course,
considering her life, I don’t say I blame her. Dad ain’t in the picture,
never been really, mom a junkie and prostitute herself, been busted
something like twenty times; she thirty-nine herself. Grandmomma
was probably best thing in the girl’s life. Now she gone. What I think is
that one of the girl’s no-account friends might have done the
grandmomma and the girl too scared to say so. Neighbors say lot of
her friends over at the house all the time, mostly when the
grandmomma out at work. They see what she got in the house, they
get hot enough, need a fix bad enough, they decide to go over and
rough the old lady up. Maybe she fight back, maybe it get out of hand
and they kill her.”
“And you think the girl would cover that up?” Danny said.
“Might. She a teenager, she scared. Might think the best way to
stay alive herself is to keep what she know a secret. I been trying to get
her to open up for weeks, several other detectives as well, women and
men. So far, nada. We reached out to ABI for forensic help because the
crime scene was so messed up, and my lieutenant was talking to your
lieutenant, mentioned Maria. Then your lieutenant mentioned this
hotshot interrogator she has on her team who could get a deaf-mute to
talk, my lieutenant thinks maybe we could use the help. And I’m game
for anything at this point. You seen those crime scene photos, you
know how bad this woman died. Didn’t deserve that. If you can get
anything out of the girl that would help, I’d really appreciate it.”
Danny sat staring across at the detective for a long time, knowing
just how frustrated the man was. And desperate. Cops really didn’t like
to ask for help from outsiders, but the good ones realized when the
time came to do just that. Coopersmith had come to that point and
was asking.
Danny sighed and sat forward.
“Hotshot might be overdoing it a bit,” he said.
Coopersmith grinned and sat forward.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Maria Gomez has agreed to come in again
at ten. I’d be more than happy to introduce you to her in one of our
crappy interview rooms.”
Now Danny chuckled.
“Well when you put it like that, Detective, how could I refuse?”
Both men laughed. Coopersmith stood and said he was going to
get coffee, made the offer to Danny again, who declined once more.
Danny glanced around and watched the other detectives and
officers in the squad room, feeling at home even though he was not.
Any cop-shop in the world…
 Chapter 17

Maria Gomez was an attractive petite Latina with large brown

eyes, a thin mouth, slightly crooked nose, long luxurious black hair
that hung well past her shoulders, and clear porcelain-like skin that
was most likely the envy of every girl in her school.
She had come in alone, having taken the bus from her mom’s
place where she was staying at the moment. Since she was over the age
of sixteen, a parent or legal guardian didn’t need to be present when
she was questioned by the police, especially since she wasn’t being
questioned as a suspect.
Detective Coopersmith made the introductions and then led her
and Danny to an interview room down the hall from the Homicide
squad room. It was everything you’d expect an interview room in a
police station to be, sterile and uninviting, but oddly, Danny had
always enjoyed the time he spent in them, even though the situations
were usually unpleasant for those he had to question. Usually they
were the victims of crimes, or the loved ones of injured or deceased
crime victims, such as Maria Gomez.
She declined Coopersmith’s offer of a beverage, then the big
detective left them alone, closing the door behind him. Danny knew
that he and two more detectives would be monitoring the interview
from the adjacent observation room, recording it on video and audio.
Standard procedure throughout law enforcement these days, a defense
against claims of police brutality or coercion. Also a way of heading off
police brutality and coercion because officers knew they were being
watched and recorded.
Danny sat with his back to the one-way glass, facing Maria Gomez
across the small metal table. She sat straight up, hands in her lap
under the table, and she was looking right at him, no blinking, no
hesitation.
 Danny noted something in her eyes right then, but didn’t
acknowledge it, just noted it, also wondered if any of the other
detectives who had spoken to her over the past six weeks had noticed
it. A question for later.
He didn’t have a notebook and pen out on the table, folded his
large hands in front of him, quietly staring at her for several minutes.
She stared back, no trace of apprehension or nervousness, or anything
really. Again, Danny noted this.
Then he smiled and asked his first question, watching everything
that Maria Gomez did very carefully. He thought he had just found the
key to crack the case, but had to be sure before he shared his
suspicions with Coopersmith and the others. They’d probably resist his
assertion at first, but he was pretty sure he could convince them. That
is, if young Ms. Gomez continued to be as cooperative as she had been
already.

DANNY SPENT TWO HOURS AND TWENTY-three minutes

talking to Maria Gomez, never taking a break. She denied having any
knowledge of who could have killed her grandmother, said she didn’t
really know of any enemies she might have had, but couldn’t believe
there were any, and she denied that any of her friends could have been
involved. Sure, some of them had been to the house, and yeah, some
had small time criminal records, but none of them would do anything
like hurt her grandma. She didn’t want to name names because the
cops would roust her friends, but she was adamant that they were not
involved.
She was convincing, and two hours in, Danny believed her
completely. A few more minutes of questioning, then he thanked her
and stood up, asking that she wait while he went to find Detective
Coopersmith, then somebody would give her a ride home. She simply
stared back at him, her hands still in her lap under the table.
Danny walked out of the room, turned down the hall, and was met
halfway by Coopersmith.
“Well that was a bust,” he said dejectedly, clearly believing that
involving ABI had been a waste of time. “Girl’s tough, won’t roll on any
of her friends. We got some names through other sources, checked
them out, but they came up with alibis. So we still got a big goose egg.”
Danny stared at the big ex-Alabama football defensive lineman for
a long moment, his own expression revealing nothing. Then he finally
spoke, keeping his voice low.
“On the contrary, Detective, I think we just solved this case.”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING about, Monk? That’s

crazy!”
Not the first time Danny had heard that said about something he
said, so he didn’t take it personally. Now he and Detective
Coopersmith sat in his lieutenant’s office at the back of the Homicide
squad room, Maria Gomez still down the hall in the interview room
being watched by another detective through the one-way glass. Danny
and Coopersmith sat in front of the lieutenant’s desk while the boss sat
perched on the front edge looking between both of them, but saying
nothing for the moment.
“Really?” Danny said. “Why? I’m sure you’ve been a cop long
enough to have seen it all, or most of it. Why is this so hard to
believe?”
“‘Cause she’s a seventeen year old kid, man. And not that I think
seventeen year olds aren’t capable of killing. I’ve seen my share, you’re
right about that. But this? Something like this, and the way you’re
saying it happened… Can’t buy it. Plus the fact that she has an alibi.”
“Provided by her mother,” Danny pointed out. “A woman you said
was a drug user and prostitute. Not real credible.”
“Then there’s the fact that her momma’s house is over eight miles
from the grandmomma’s. How she get there in the middle of the
night? No buses running, and she sure as hell didn’t have money for a
cab.”
“Probably not,” Danny admitted. “But I’ll bet you she’s
resourceful. If she needed to, she could find a way. Believe me.”
Coopersmith stared at Danny for a long moment, then shook his
big head and looked up at his boss. The lieutenant grimaced and
tapped the back of his left foot against his desk for a few moments,
thinking.
“How sure are you about this, Monk?” he finally asked, his tone
suggesting that he was closer to his detective’s line of thinking than
Danny’s. “I mean, if this is just a guess, based no nothing but your
gut…”
“It’s a little more than that, Lieutenant. Can’t really explain it to
you, but I know someone who could. I need you to make a copy of the
recording of that interview and then send it to someone in Quantico,
Virginia.”
“Quantico?” Coopersmith frowned.
“Yeah,” Danny said. “Headquarters, among other things, of the
FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“Yeah, I know that,” the lieutenant said, now frowning as well.
“They track serial killers.”
“Among other things,” Danny told him. “Primarily they analyze
the behavior of criminals and people with criminal tendencies. I’ve got
a friend there who is an expert on budding psychopaths. That’s the
label they give kids who show tendencies toward sadistic violence at
early ages. A person under the age of 17 or 18 can’t be properly
analyzed because most children actually profile as sociopaths.
Basically gigantic ids. But the BAU has begun to compile data on kids
who become killers when they grow up. The number of them has
increased sharply over the years and the BAU has been able to draw
some pretty interesting and direct parallels to known serial killers
who’ve been caught. It’s help detect some of them before they’re able
to get started, thus the term, budding psychopath.”
“And you believe Maria Gomez is one of these budding
psychopaths?” the lieutenant said, still not convinced.
“Actually, I think she’s a sociopath,” Danny answered matter-of-
factly. Likely with psychopathic tendencies. Knew that as soon as I sat
down with her, the way she made eye contact with me, the little smile
at the corner of her lips. It was all a game to her, a way for her to show
how smart she was in fooling all the grown ups, especially the cops.
She didn’t care about her grandmother, doesn’t care about anybody.
Because she can’t. I’m telling you, Lieutenant, this girl is dangerous.
May have hurt other people in the past, animals, too. I’d look into that
if I were you, and I’d have a long talk with my friend at the BAU. I’ll
give her a call if you want, set it up. For right now, though, you don’t
have anything to hold her on. I’d suggest you have somebody take her
home to her mom’s, but keep an eye on her. And move fast. There’s no
telling what she might do now that she’s got at least one kill under her
belt. This might be the start of a spree.”
“Jesus,” Coopersmith said.
“Yeah,” the lieutenant said, standing up and walking around to the
other side of his desk. “Ced, go get that recording copied, I’ll have
Jensen take the little budding psycho home and then organize
surveillance through the Special Operations Squad. Investigator
Monk, if you’d please contact this guy at BAU, I’d really appreciate it.
But I will say this now, I surely hope you’re wrong about all this.”
Danny stood up and so did Coopersmith, the latter already
heading toward the door.
“I wish I was wrong, too, Lieutenant, but I don’t think I am. And
by the way, my friend at the FBI isn’t a guy, it’s a woman, and one of
the best agents I’ve ever had the opportunity of working with.”

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

FBI SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT Rachel Thurman didn’t get

to eat lunch until after one o’clock Eastern Standard Time because she
was in consultation with a couple of detectives from Colorado Springs
who were looking for help with two unsolved child murders over the
past three months. They had exhausted all their leads and still hadn’t
been able to come up with a viable suspect, although they knew the
killings were linked. And because of this, they were concerned that a
serial killer might be on the loose in their city, and maybe more young
victims to find if they didn't find the killer fast.
As a mother of two, Thurman hated it when kids were the victims,
especially when they were as young as the boys in Colorado Springs,
eight and six. Tender age. Two young and innocent lives destroyed,
two families left devastated forever. She didn’t mind eating late if she
could help find the monster who had done that. Hell, she’d give up
eating for the next week if she could get the bastard herself.
It was two after two when she returned to her desk in the bullpen
of the Behavioral Analysis Unit headquarters at Quantico, having only
gone down to the cafeteria for lunch, running into a couple of other
agents she needed to talk with on her way back. The stack of
investigative files on her desk seemed to have grown in her absence
and she was pretty sure this was the case because she saw the Unit
Chief smiling at her from his office at the back of the pen. She smiled
back, no trace of humor within it.
Sighing, Thurman sat down and was about to reach into her
middle drawer for her glasses when her desk phone rang.
“SSA Thurman, BAU, how can I help you?”
A brief pause, then a voice, low, raspy, sounded like a mouth-
breather.
“Yeah, I understand you used to give good foot.”
Thurman frowned deeply, glancing around to see if someone in
her office was on the phone playing a joke with her, but she didn’t see
anyone who appeared to be whispering into their phone. Still, she
wouldn’t put it past some of them.
Rachel Thurman had only been an FBI agent for nine years,
having begun her career in federal law enforcement twenty years ago
as a United States Secret Service special agent, a fact that her FBI
colleagues never seem to let her forget. Not that she wanted to.
The term giving good feet was coined by Secret Service agents
who stood post all day, guarding presidents, dignitaries, even empty
dumpsters along secured routes that only stayed secured because
agents like her stood there. At the end of their shift, sometimes
upwards of twelve hours, their feet would be killing them and they’d
tell their comrades that they had given good foot/feet that day.
“Who is this?” Thurman said into the phone, still glancing around
her office.
More deep breathing.
“Remember that time you gave good feet for two weeks on that
yacht off the west coast of Mexico? Only you and one other agent to
protect that client?”
 Rachel Thurman smiled then.
“Danny Monk, you devious bastard!” she exclaimed, now grinning
widely.
“Good to hear your voice again too, Rach,” Danny said.

THEY PLAYED CATCH UP FOR A FEW minutes, Danny

inquiring about her kids and husband (the latter not someone he
actually cared for; the feeling was mutual), her career in the Bureau,
Thurman asking how he was doing, how things were going being a
state cop back in Alabama. When all the pleasantries were done,
Danny got to the reason he called. Thurman sat back at her desk,
holding the phone close to her ear, listening without interruption until
he finished.
The FBI behavioral analyst was quiet for a long time when Danny
finished, her mind absorbing and carefully considering everything he
had told her. She sat forward; made some notes on the pad she always
kept by her keyboard, thought some more, then made more notes.
“Based on what you’ve relayed alone, Danny, I’d have to say that
you’re probably correct about the girl. Of course, that’s only a guess
based on third party information, but I trust the source, so I’m willing
to stick my neck out.”
“Thank you so much, Supervisory Special Agent Thurman.”
Thurman smiled, looking at her notes.
“It was meant as a compliment, believe me. Anybody else, I’d want
more in the way of evidence before I rendered any judgment, even
preliminary. You said you made a recording of the interview?”
“Yeah,” Danny confirmed. “Montgomery PD did. It’s being copied
now. I can have it sent overnight to you. Too big to email, at least with
the network MPD is working with.”
“There’s a local FBI office in Montgomery, have it taken over
there, they can put it on the Bureau's system and send it to me up here
a lot quicker. I can get started this afternoon.”
“That’d be great, Rach, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You should,” she replied coyly. “It’s not like all I do is sit at my
desk all day and twiddle my thumbs. But for an old friend, I’m willing
to make an exception.”
“Well I’m so glad to hear that, and thank you again. And, of
course, I owe you.”
“You do,” she said. “And one day I’m gonna collect.”
Danny chuckled.
“Sure your husband won’t object?” he said.
A snicker.
“Not planning on telling him.”
They both laughed.
“I take it you can’t keep the girl in custody?”
“Nah. She’s being released, but kept under surveillance.”
“That’s good. There’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to come up
with something that will help the cops nail her, but I’ll do my best.
Make sure they include a full copy of the case file, too. I’ll want to look
at it and see if I can spot things that might be clues when I watch the
interview.”
“Will do,” Danny said. “I’m also going to give you the name and
number of the lead detective on the case. Ready to copy?”
“I am.”
Danny gave her the information.
“Got it. So I should contact this Coopersmith directly when I have
something?”
“Please,” Danny said. “It’s his case; I’m just consulting as a favor
to my boss. They actually brought me in because they thought I might
be able to get the girl to give up one of her friends or somebody else
she knew who might have done it. But as soon as I laid eyes on this
girl, I just knew.”
“Still got the talent, kid,” Thurman said. “The Service taught you
well. Maybe you ought to come work for the Bureau.”
Danny chuckled.
“Thank you, and no,” he said. “Kind of like what I’m doing now.
Although I do miss you.”
“Sure you do,” Rachel Thurman said, glancing around her office
once more. When she spoke again her voice was barely a whisper.
“More likely you miss how we spent that weekend after we finished
that little boat ride off the coast of Mexico.”
 Danny inhaled deeply, released it, remembering just what she was
talking about.
“That’s a real possibility,” he said. “And on that note, I think we
better end this call before the heavy breathing starts again.”
“Good idea,” Thurman said. “I’ll call when I have something. You
can give Coopersmith my information, too.”
“Will do, Rachel. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Bye.”
She hung up, glanced at her watch, then at the stack of folders on
her desk. As if she didn’t already have enough on her plate. But a favor
for an old and dear friend took priority some times. Especially when
that friend was Danny Monk.
With a grin on her thin lips, SSA Thurman took the top folder off
the stack and pulled it to the middle of her desk, opening it as she took
out her glasses and put them on.
 Chapter 18

Danny was back at ABI Headquarters just after two-thirty, having

dropped by the Wendy’s on Madison Avenue on the way back for a
quick lunch. He reported in to Bobbi Atwater, who was taken aback by
what he told her. She shook her head sadly, commented on the state of
the world, then went back to reading the pile of reports on her desk.
Danny went to the conference/interview room and set up his
laptop to check his emails, mostly insignificant, one from Kat Tully.
She had finished checking the backgrounds of the protesters arrested
in Birmingham the week before; only found a marginal connection to
The Ox, but a few stronger ones to the state Republican Party. But that
was no smoking gun. He finished up with his other emails, then went
down the hall to see the woman in person.

KAT WAS ON THE PHONE WHEN DANNY knocked on the open

door. She smiled and waved him in, telling him to have a seat, which
he did.
“Well, Marc, there’s not a whole lot I can do about that,” she said
into the phone, her voice strained. “I told you what I wanted two
months ago. You didn’t listen. I can’t help that. But we have to deal
with this now, and move on.”
She held the phone away from her ear and Danny could hear a
raised male voice. He frowned, suddenly feeling angry.
Kat put the phone back to her ear, tried to talk over the voice
several times, then finally succeeded.
“Look, Marc, I know you’re not happy with this, and I’m sorry. But
this is what I want. This is how it’s going to be. But look, I’m at work
now. I’ll have to talk to you later. Bye.”
As she put the desk phone down, Danny could hear more shouting
from the receiver. Kat put the palms of her hands to her eyes and
lowered her head, taking several deep breaths. Danny glanced back
into the hallway outside the open door, then stood up and shut the
door.
He went around the desk and put his hands on her shoulders,
squeezing gently, leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m not going to cry,” Kat said firmly. “Not anymore. I’m done
with that. And I’m done with Marc, too. I was just telling him that it’s
over. Actually, I told him that a couple months ago, but he blew me
off.”
Danny was gently massaging her shoulders now, saying nothing,
just offering comfort. Kat lifted her head and sat back, resting her
hands in her lap.
“And before you have a heart attack back there, Mr. Monk,” she
said with a twinkle in her voice. “I’m not doing this because of you. I
don’t imagine you sweeping me off my feet and taking me to live in a
magical castle in the forest.”
“So you’re telling me I put a down payment on a magical castle in
the forest for nothing?” Danny said sardonically. “And it’s non-
refundable.”
Kat giggled, reached back and stroked one of his hands.
“Thanks for this,” she said. “For making me laugh, for making me
feel good. And to tell the truth, you probably have had something to do
with my decision to press the divorce with Marc right now. Not
because of anything that may or may not develop between us, but
because I need the freedom to explore other things, other possibilities.
That won’t happen as long as Marc and I are married. And I don’t want
to be anymore.”
Danny stopped massaging and turned her around in the chair,
staring down at her.
“So I’m your transition guy, huh?”
She smiled, reached out for his hand.
“You’re a really good friend,” she told him sincerely, then grinned
wickedly. “And a really good fuck!”
Now he laughed, leaned down, kissed her gently on the lips.
 “SO I GOT YOUR EMAIL. THANKS for all the work you’ve put in
on this for me.”
They were back to business, Danny sitting in the chair across from
her desk, the door still closed though.
“The honor is to serve,” Kat replied demurely.
“Very Klingon of you,” Danny said. “And thank you. Also…”
“You’ve got more you want me to do, right?”
“Always said you were a sharp woman,” he said.
“I’d say flattery would get you everywhere, but you’ve already been
everywhere,” she said.
“And would love to go again,” he said.
They sat and grinned at one another for a minute, then Danny
explained what he needed. Kat made notes as he spoke. When he
finished, she sat back and stared at him, frowning.
“This sounds like something kind of heavy,” she said. “Like you’re
on to something specific.”
“Might be,” he admitted. “Not sure, but I need everything you can
find on these people, and any connections between them. Also do a
correlation with their activities and those of Senator Vail, see if there
are any connections, associates, run-ins from the past.”
“A tall order,” Kat said. “But I think my system is big enough to
handle it, along with all the other stuff I’m working on now. You know,
one thing you could do for me is talk to Atwater about getting me
another body in tech support. I know the budget is tight, but the
workload is really staggering sometimes.”
“Now you’re making me sorry I’m taking advantage of your
talents,” Danny said, half-serious.
Kat leaned forward on the desk and smiled at him.
“You, lover-boy, can take advantage of me any time you want. I’d
do anything for you. Even if you’re weren’t currently fucking my brains
out, and well. Just saying, some help would be nice. Not with the
fucking my brains out part, you’re doing a stellar job there.”
Danny chuckled, feeling that familiar swelling down south.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. No promises though. But I’ll put a
bug in Atwater’s ear.”
And as if on cue, his mobile phone buzzed, and it was Lieutenant
Bobbi Atwater.
Danny pulled the phone off his belt and answered it.
“Hey, Bobbi, what’s up?”
Danny had been smiling when he answered the phone, his mind
half on what he planned on doing to Kat Tully the next time her got
her naked. Two seconds into his conversation with his lieutenant and
the smile was gone, along with his budding erection.
Now he stood, ending the call.
Kat saw the expression on his face and the coldness of it
frightened her.
“What is it, Danny?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“Somebody just tried to kill Helena Vail,” he said, then turned and
left her office on the run.

GOING LIGHTS AND SIREN ALL THE way, Danny was able to
get to Birmingham in fifty-seven minutes, slowed slightly be an
accident just north of Pelham. Helena Vail lives in a condo on Oaks
Drive in Homewood just off Lakeshore Parkway. When Danny reached
the Lakeshore exit he was still doing seventy-five and had to break
hard to make the turn without rolling the Yukon.
The complex was in a secluded community with limited access by
road and surrounded by trees. Cozy. Or at least it would have been if
not for all the police vehicles already there when Danny arrived. Oh,
and the media.
Danny found a place to park, leaving his flashers going so the local
cops would know it was an official vehicle and not try to tow it. He
climbed out, pulled his badge from his pocket and slipped the chain on
it around his neck where everyone could see it. It had been cloudy all
day in Birmingham and now that it was after four-thirty, darkness was
fast approaching.
The outer perimeter had been established three hundred yards
from the complex and cops were manning it, keeping onlookers and
reporters alike at bay. Danny elbowed his way to the front of the line,
stepped under the crime scene tape, and was immediately fell upon by
a hard looking Homewood cop who appeared ready to go apeshit on
somebody.
Danny held up his badge for the officer to see.
“ABI,” he said.
The cop studied the badge for a moment, stared at Danny, then
nodded. Danny thanked him and proceeded. He had to identify
himself three more times before reaching the front door to the
building where Helena Vail’s unit was located. When he arrived, he
found Special Agent Miguel Santos posted out front along with two
unformed officers, one Birmingham, one Homewood.
Santos spotted him first and stepped away from the door, coming
to meet him.
“Mike, you guys all right?” Danny said.
Santos nodded, taking a deep breath.
“Yeah, we’re five-by-five. Now. Couple hours ago, not so good.
Motherfuckers were firing some high velocity shit, Danny. Place is a
mess inside.”
“She’s still in there?” Danny said, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Santos said, the distaste obvious in his eyes and tone.
“Don’t want to leave, says it’s her home and she won’t be run off. She’s
scared though. Like everybody else is. Laura’s trying to talk her
around. So’s her campaign manager, that Myers lady.”
“Tell me what happened, exactly,” Danny said.
Santos took another deep breath, glanced back at the door to the
condo, the two officers standing in front of it. Then he moved over to
the opposite wall and leaned his back against it, folding his arms
across his muscled chest. He looked exhausted, stressed, and Danny
could understand this, given what he had just gone through.
Danny leaned on the wall next to him and waited until he was
ready. Another deep breath, then Santos told the tale.

“AND THE COPS GOT HERE QUICK, but didn’t find anybody.
They started questioning the neighbors, but they didn’t see anybody
either, just heard the shots. When the SWAT boys arrived, they went
into the woods, found some tracks, some spent casings, .308s by the
way, but the shooter was long gone.”
 “Just one shooter?” Danny said.
“Can’t tell yet. Lot of people go into those woods. Kids play there
all the time. Plenty of footprints and stuff. SWAT and Forensics are
still out there checking. Could have been more than one. Shots all
came in from one direction, which you’ll see when you go in there. All
fired into the kitchen, where Vail was at the time. Laura was in there
with her. I was in the living room with the kid and Myers. Got them
down, Laura got Vail down; we all hunkered until it was over. Never
shot back or nothing.”
“Not really your job, Mike,” Danny told him. “You got the civilians
out of harm’s way. That’s what you were supposed to do.”
Santos nodded, not completely sold on that concept.
“No police on security duty before the shooting?” Danny pressed.
Santos shook his head.
“Not when she’s at home,” he said. “She doesn’t want to have cops
around to scare the neighbors. Just me and Copeland. But that’s
bound to change now.”
“I’m sure,” Danny said, and then the front door to the condo
opened and Laura Copeland stepped out, glancing around. She spotted
Danny and motioned him over.
“Glad you’re here, Danny,” she said as they shook hands. “Heather
Myers and I just managed to convince the senator to get the hell out of
here, at least until somebody can come in and do the repairs and clean
up. We’re going to move her shortly. Could use an extra pair of eyes
and hands, especially eyes and hands that have been trained by the
United States Secret Service.”
“Sure,” Danny said. “Whatever I can do to help.”
Copeland nodded, turned back into the condo, Danny and Santos
following.

THEY DIDN’T GO FAR, barely a mile and a half across Lakeshore

Parkway to the Residence Inn on State Farm Parkway. Arrangements
were made with the hotel GM and they secured one wing of the second
floor near the stairs. Police security would be on the floor in plain sight
at all times, only allowing authorized personnel to enter the wing.
Housekeepers assigned to duties there would have to be checked
thoroughly before being granted access, and the state would pick up
the tab for any lost revenue if the hotel ran out of rooms on other
floors.
The GM was happy to cooperate, was a fan and supporter of
Helena Vail, but she did seem a bit nervous, nonetheless. Special
Agent Copeland assured her that the operation should only last for a
few days, perhaps as long as a week, but the chances of anything
happening while they were there were small. Danny wasn’t sure if that
really reassured the woman.
There were four Birmingham SWAT officers posted in the corridor
when Danny, Copeland, and Santos stepped outside at a quarter to
nine, all of them wearing full body armor, minus helmets, and carrying
M-4 assault rifles at the ready. The team leader, a bulky Latino officer
named Sanchez, nodded at Copeland and she nodded back.
The three state cops crossed the hall to the room that was being
used as the Command Post, an officer from Homewood PD stationed
there with a radio communications system set up on the desk in the
corner. The officer nodded when they came in, and immediately went
back to working the controls on the set in front of her.
The bed had been removed from the room and several chairs set
in the corner. They moved over and sat down, each sighing deeply and
raising their feet off the floor as they sank into the uncomfortable
chairs.
“Christ my feet,” Copeland.
“Jesus my back,” Santos.
“My feet and back,” Danny added.
The three of them laughed.
“What a long fucking day,” Copeland said, crossing her ankles and
leaning back with her hands on her flat stomach.
“I second that,” Santos said, leaning forward, his hands on his
knees, his head down.
“Well at least nobody got killed,” Danny said, trying to be
optimistic.
“There is that,” Copeland admitted. “But that’s more by luck than
design. When those rounds started punching through the windows,
Danny…”
She trailed off and suddenly everyone was quiet. Danny stared at
her, seeing the distant stare in her eyes, knowing what was going on in
her mind. She was in for some nightmares herself. Perhaps even a
lifetime of them. She and Santos would both need counseling, as well
as the others. Danny would ask Atwater about arranging something
when he talked to her next.
“You both did your jobs,” he said finally. “Your protectees are alive
and so are you. Good work.”
Neither Copeland or Santos could speak for a while after that, so
they just sat in silence. Their minds were occupied with the recent
past, what had happened, what could have happened. Danny was
thinking about the future, about hunting down the people responsible
for this attack and making sure they couldn’t do it again. He wondered
if he was any closer to accomplishing this now than he had been just a
few hours ago. He’d press Kat Tully to speed up her research, and talk
to Filipa Whitaker again, see if she could provide any more leads on
her end.
And on the subject of Filipa Whitaker, he’d tell her that she
needed to be more careful as well. Somebody was taking shots now, so
things had moved to the next level. A very dangerous level. Everybody
needed to take extra precautions.
And Danny Monk needed to start going on the offensive. First
thing he needed to do…

FOUR MORE AGENTS FROM THE DIGNITARY Protection Unit

arrived at nine-thirty, the leader carrying orders from the unit
commander for Copeland and Santos to take the rest of the night off,
get cleaned up, get something to eat, get some rest. Tomorrow an
investigative team from Montgomery would be up to talk to them and
to assess the situation. Copeland was still detail leader, but for the
moment she should consider herself relieved of responsibility until she
was rested.
Danny thought this was a good idea, although Laura Copeland
didn’t quite see it that way. However, she had little choice. She and
Santos took rooms close by the Command Post and bid everyone good
night. Danny spent a little time talking to the team leader and was
about to go off and make a call when the door to the senator’s room
opened and Heather Myers came out, her expression uncertain, her
eyes tired, still showing traces of fear.
Danny stepped over.
“Ms. Myers, can I help you?” he said.
She was about to speak, then collapsed forward and Danny caught
her, steadying her.
“Come on, let’s find you some place to sit. You look exhausted and
have been through a lot today.”
He glanced around.
“Anybody using the room down there, Officer?” he said to one of
the SWAT officers.
“No, sir,” SWAT replied. “Got the key, but it’s empty.”
“Open it, please,” Danny commanded, escorting Heather Myers,
mostly under her own steam.
He got her in the room and the officer closed the door. She was
moving less steadily now and Danny managed to get her to the king
sized bed before she collapsed again, this time falling onto her back.
She was wearing a clingy blue dress and it rode up her thighs a bit but
Danny ignored this (tried to anyway), kneeling on the bed and
touching her face.
“Ms. Myers?” he called. “Can you hear me? Heather! Do you need
a doctor.”
Heather Myers’ eyes were open, but slightly unfocused. Still, she
managed to shake her head, tried to sit up.
“No,” she said weakly, Danny helping her to sit upright. “I think
I’m just tired. The adrenalin left me a while ago and I feel a little faint.
Probably could use some juice or something.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.
She thought a minute, frowned.
“Good question. And now that you mention it, my stomach is
growling.”
Danny nodded.
“Mine, too, actually,” he said. “Excuse me a minute.”
 He went to the door to speak to the SWAT guy in the hall, coming
back a minute later. Heather Myers was sitting with her feet on the
floor now, her dress pulled back down to her knees (damn, Danny
thought), staring at him.
“Got some food on the way,” he told her. “Sandwiches. I’m also
having some sent over to the senator. I imagine she and her son could
use a bite to eat now as well.”
Myers smiled in appreciation, nodding, and then she burst into
tears and couldn’t stop shaking. Danny moved in quickly, sitting down
beside her on the bed and taking her in his arms, pulling her head onto
his shoulder.
She was still sobbing twenty-five minutes later when their
sandwiches arrived. The SWAT officer brought the tray in and set it
down on the dresser across from the bed, glancing briefly at Danny,
who nodded, then turned to leave without a word. He held her for
another fifteen minutes before she got it under control again. She
excused herself and went into the bathroom to wash her face.
Danny stood, stretched his back, walking over to the window to
peer through the curtains and saw nothing but a half full back parking
lot. Well, that and several other SWAT officers moving around down
there, weapons at the ready. This was probably the safest hotel to stay
in in Birmingham tonight, Danny thought.
He turned toward the bathroom as the door opened and Heather
Myers came out. She was smiling, or trying to. Walked up to Danny
and put her hand on his chest, staring up into his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Monk,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And, please, call me Danny.”
She smiled again, not so forced this time.
“Thank you, Danny. And now I think I could use one of those
sandwiches over there because my tummy really is starting to ache.”
He smiled, swept his arm in the direction of the dresser.
“Then by all means, my lady, let’s eat.”
Another smile, then she turned and walked toward the tray on the
dresser. Unable to help himself, Danny glanced down at her shapely
backside as it swayed beneath the smooth blue material of her dress,
thinking about how close he had been to that lovely MILF body a short
time ago.
Yeah, you’re terrible, Mr. Monk. And so fucking what? Life was
too much of a pain to be a boyscout all the time

“SHE’S ADAMANT ABOUT STAYING IN the race, not backing

down in the face of all this. Especially now that somebody shot up her
home. She’s scared, but she’s more determined than ever not to quit.
James is the same way.”
“James is her son?” Danny said.
“Yeah. Tough little kid, too. He recovered before any of us. Thinks
it’s kind of cool and all, since nobody got hurt. Like an action movie or
something.”
“Kids are resilient,” Danny said.
“Yeah,” Heather Myers said, wiping her mouth on a napkin. “I’ve
got two myself. Boy and a girl. You got any, Danny?”
“Dear god no,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and watching
her. “One of me is quite enough.”
Heather Myers chuckled, set down the napkin on the desk,
crossed her legs left over right, this time not bothering to pull the hem
of her dress back down when it rode up her thighs. Maybe she was
feeling more comfortable and relaxed with him now. Or maybe she
was sending a signal, perhaps interested in a little stress reliever that
Danny would be most happy to provide. Or maybe she didn’t notice
because of all the other crap on her mind right now.
“You married?” she said.
“Nope.”
“Ever been?”
“Nope?”
“Ever want to?”
“Nope?”
She grinned.
“You like guys?”
“Only as friends.”
She grinned again.
“You like girls as friends, too?”
 “Oh yeah,” he said, enjoying the flirty banter. However, he knew
that this was simply a coping mechanism on her part, a way to deal
with the after-action stress. She probably wasn’t even aware that she
was doing it, but needing it nonetheless. Too bad, Danny thought.
Because there was something about this woman that really turned him
on, besides the dress she was wearing. “And a little more.”
She looked deeply into his eyes and smiled, then turned away to
look down at the remains of her second sandwich. Now she likely
realized what she had been doing and felt self-conscious, guilty even.
Danny decided to let her off the hook.
“I think you should cancel her appearances for tomorrow, at least.
Perhaps a couple of days. Let the cops work the scene, talk to some
people, see what develops. Give her a chance to catch her breath.”
“I’ve canceled tomorrow already,” Heather Myers said, her
manner all business now, the hem of her dress pulled back down, too
(damn again!). “But she won’t go for more than a day. And she wants
to do press interviews tomorrow. I’ve convinced her to only do them
by the phone, so at least she doesn’t have to move around.”
“And the kid, James?”
“He’ll miss school tomorrow,” she told him. “And Agent Copeland
said something about arranging an escort for him. Helena resisted it
before because she didn’t want his life altered from his regular routine,
but now…”
“Yeah. Now that’s not an issue. Either he gets an escort or he gets
home-schooled.”
Heather Myers nodded, glanced down at her watch.
“Oh my, it’s nearly midnight. Didn’t realize how late it was. I need
to be going?”
“Have you contacted your family yet?” Danny asked. “Do they
know what’s happened?”
“I called my husband from the senator's place,” she told him. “My
family lives in Minneapolis. That’s where I’m based. I run a
consultancy up there. I came down to manage Helena’s campaign after
a friend here locally suggested that we meet. I flew down and talked
with her, found she was a person I really admired, so I moved down
for a while. I’m staying in a furnished place in Vestavia Hills not far
away.”
“I see,” Danny said, thinking. “In that case, it’s probably better if
you stay here tonight as well. We’ve got the extra rooms available,
might as well use them.”
She frowned, her deep green eyes boring in on his.
“You think they could be after me, too?”
“Well you are her campaign manager,” he told her. “They might
think getting rid of you might end her campaign. You never know with
nutjobs, Heather.”
Suddenly the fear that had mostly left her returned. She sat back
in her chair and hugged herself, inadvertently pressing her breasts
together. Danny glanced away, figuring now was not the time to ogle
the woman. Maybe later.
She sat forward suddenly and looked at him. He turned back when
he sensed the movement.
“If I wanted to go home anyway, just for a little while, would you
come with me, Danny?”
Of course, and at this moment, Danny Monk would probably
follow Heather Myers to hell and back. He pretended to ponder this
possibility for a few moments, then nodded slowly.
“Thank you,” she said smiling again, but far less enthusiastically.
“You’re welcome,” he said, feeling the exact opposite.
 Chapter 19

The executive-style furnished apartment Heather Myers leased

was ten minutes away from the Residence Inn in Homewood, located
on Badham Drive off Highway 31 in Vestavia Hills. Danny had little
trouble finding it, traffic being light this time of night. It was a quiet
residential neighborhood, upper middle class, well maintained. When
he turned onto the street and she pointed out her building halfway
down, Danny nodded silently and carefully drove past it, glancing over
and studying the surroundings. Nothing appeared amiss, but this was
the first time he’d been there, so how would he really know?
Heather said everything looked normal and he had to take her
word for it, taking the right on Willoughby Drive, turning around in
somebody’s driveway, and then coming back to Badham. After a pause
of a minute or so, he turned back the way he had come and pulled into
the front parking lot of the small building. Heather said she had the
second apartment on the back side of the second floor. All parking was
in the front and she had a designated space. Since her car was still at
Helena Vail’s place, her space was free and Danny pulled into it, just
four down from the main entrance.
He asked her to stay in the car until he checked around, just to be
sure, and she agreed without comment. Danny climbed out and
carefully walked around the small lot, looking up at all the windows
that overlooked this side of the building, seeing no one watching,
everyone probably asleep at this time of night. And there didn’t appear
to be anyone lurking in the woods that lined the back of the property.
Of course, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if there were. Not
without a direct inspection or at least night vision gear, something he
did not have with him at present.
So he said fuck it, got Heather, and they went inside.
 SHE SAID SHE JUST WANTED TO PACK a few things in a bag
and then change into something more comfortable, only be five
minutes. Danny would believe that when he saw it. Rarely when
anyone, least of all a woman who took care of herself like Heather
Myers obviously did, said five minutes, did they actually mean five
minutes. Ten, fifteen at the least, maybe.
He was walking around the small living room, glancing at the fake
homey atmosphere, the furnished paintings on the walls, the dining
table with four chairs and four place settings, none of which looked as
if they had ever been used. Probably hadn’t. She was most likely never
there, always on the road with her client. Danny had spent a lot of time
in places like this when he was in the Navy and Secret Service, and
they always seemed to depress him. This one was no different, even if
there was a beautiful woman undressing in the other room as he stood
staring at the walls of her furnished home away from home.
His mobile phone buzzed and he frowned. A call coming in at half
past midnight on a day like today was probably not good news. When
he checked the display, he saw it was Bobbi Atwater. Due to the
lateness of the hour, before leaving the hotel he had sent her a text,
thinking she’d probably get it when she woke up in the morning. Just a
status update. But apparently, she had awoken sooner and saw the
message, deciding to call him back right away.
He pressed the ANSWER button, put the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Bobbi…”

DANNY LOWERED THE LIGHTS IN the living room, then moved

over to the curtains covering the sliding glass door that led out to the
deck, pushing them open, gazing out into the darkness.
“Got your message,” the head of MIU said. “Would have called you
back earlier but I was a little busy.”
Danny considered that statement for a moment, and the tone of
her voice, then smiled. Bobbi Atwater might have been in her mid-
forties, mother of two, and holder of a very stressful job, but she was
also a damn fine looking woman and married to one of the luckiest
bastards in the state of Alabama. Yeah, she had been busy all right.
While he was out risking life and limb it was nice to know that his boss
was safe at home and getting laid. Well at least somebody was.
“Anyway, everything still the same, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty much. I’m in Vestavia right now with
Heather Myers, the senator’s campaign manager. She wanted to come
home and pick up some stuff before going back to the hotel.
Considering she’s running Vail’s campaign, I figured it might be a
good idea if she had protection for the trip. You never know.”
“Yeah,” Atwater agreed. “Good idea. The other team from DPU
arrived, right?”
“Yep,” Danny confirmed. “And you know Laura Copeland isn’t
happy about it.”
“I can imagine, but you know that it’s procedure. She knows it,
too.”
“Yep. But she doesn’t like it. Last report I got from the local cops
at Vail's is that they still haven’t found anybody who saw anyone going
into or out of the woods who could be the shooter or shooters. Found
.308 casings, Forensics dug some fragmented .308 bullets out of the
walls in the condo. But for right now it looks like whoever did it got
away.”
“Well you can imagine the heat we’re getting here. The governor’s
been all over the director’s ass, and in turn, the director’s been all over
the major.”
“Which means the major’s been on Russ and Russ has been on
you.”
“Exactly,” confirmed the MIU commander. “We’ve been ordered
to use every resource to ensure the safety of Senator Vail and her son.
We’ve also been ordered to find out who was behind this attack and to
arrest them, forthwith.”
“The governor give any hints as to how we should accomplish the
latter?” Danny replied sarcastically.
“I suspect he’s probably gonna leave that one up to us,” replied the
lieutenant in kind. “At least for now. But we better get results soon.
Otherwise he might want to call in the feds.”
“And the director wouldn’t like that,” Danny pointed out
unnecessarily.
 “No,” she said. “And neither would Russ or I. We’ve got the
responsibility, it’s our case, we need to handle it. And to that end, I’ve
been told to drop every other thing I’m working on and to take direct
charge of the investigation. The head of DPU is also taking personal
charge of the protection detail for Senator Vail.”
Danny sighed, eyes still focusing on the darkness below the
window.
“Laura will love that,” he commented absently. “Having her boss
looking directly over her shoulder, checking her every move. Assuming
she’s still on the detail.”
“She will be,” Atwater said. “Lieutenant Pierce knows that she’s
the best agent he has under his command. He'll follow orders, but will
leave the day to day running of the operation to her, I’m sure of that.”
“And us?” Danny said.
Atwater chuckled.
“Well you know me, bubba, I’m a hard ass. I’m coming up there
and gonna be in your face and on your butt twenty-four/seven.”
Another chuckle, then a deep laugh.
“Scratch that. Actually, I’ll be following orders as well. I’ll come up
to help, but you’re the best investigator I’ve got. It’s still your show.
Russ says the same thing. He just wants me to come up there to satisfy
the director. I’m driving up first thing in the morning. Well, later on
this morning anyway. Should be there around ten. Will you be at the
hotel?”
“Probably,” he said, suddenly feeling tired. He heard a noise
behind him, the door to the bedroom opening, light spilling out.
“Okay, Ms. Myers looks like she’s ready to go. We’re gonna head back
now. Call me in the morning when you’re on the way and we can
decide where to meet.”
“Sounds good to me,” Atwater said through the receiver.
Heather Myers stood in the darkened living room, silhouetted by
the light spill from the bedroom. She couldn’t see Danny very well, but
he could see her. A light blue sweater that clung to her curvy upper
body, faded blue jeans that clung to her curvy lower body, and black
boots with two inch heels that raised her from five-four to five six.
She’d also tied her hair back, standing there with an overnight bag in
one hand and a heavy coat in the other.
Oh my, Danny thought, then remembered Atwater on the phone,
saying something. He was about to respond, then heard glass breaking
behind him…

THE UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE teaches what it calls

Immediate Action. Which means when something happens—an
explosion, gunfire, or someone breaking a rope line—agents are
[v]
trained not to hesitate, to move at once, getting their principal
down and out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.
Even though it had been more than fifteen years since Danny had
first undergone high-threat close-protection training at the Secret
Service's supplemental training facility in Beltsville, Maryland, his
reflexes, which had been honed to a hard edge back then, were still
sharp as ever. As soon as he heard the glass breaking, not waiting to
find out the reason, he dove toward Heather Myers and knocked her
down to the floor, covering her body with his as more glass broke,
impacts slammed into the walls, and finally gunfire could be heard
coming from outside.
Heather screamed against him, twisting from side to side, but he
held her close, keeping her body shielded. They were in the middle of
the room and it was mostly dark. The shots were coming in high,
which suggested the shooter was in a lower position, however this
might not be the case for much longer, so they needed to move.
“Hang on!” Danny shouted, then gathered her in his arms and
started rolling toward the kitchen about five feet away. They had just
rolled past the counter when the front door thudded open, the lock
shattering under a heavy impact. But Danny had put the security latch
on and this held the door, kept it from bursting fully open.
Curses from the corridor, then more thuds. Three is what it took
to break the latch, and then heavy feet entered the apartment, at least
two sets.
Danny had pushed Heather down to the far end of the kitchen
next to the stove as soon as they stopped rolling. Then, as the door was
being kicked in, had drawn his SIG and come back to the front edge of
the counter. He was peering around the side when the front door
slammed open and the two men entered carrying what appeared to be
assault rifles, dressed in dark clothing and combat boots. They also
wore ski masks.
They were backlit from the hallway but didn’t seem to care,
glancing around the darkened living room first, and then toward the
open bedroom door from where they saw light coming.
As a cop, you’re supposed to identify yourself and give the bad
guys the opportunity to surrender. However, Danny’s initial training
had nothing to do with police work and at times like these, he usually
reverted to that more deeply ingrained instruction, as well as the need
for continued survival.
He aimed at the closest man and squeezed the trigger of his
weapon twice, sending two 185 grain federal Hydra-Shock rounds into
the center mass. The .45 was loud under normal circumstances, but in
confined spaces, it was deafening. Also quite effective.
Before the first man went down and the second man recovered
from the shock, Danny had shot him as well. Both men were down and
Danny was in a crouch, still concealed by the side of the counter,
watching the open front doorway and the window from which the
original shots had come.
“Heather!” he shouted. “You okay? Heather!”
“I’m here!” came the frightened voice, a scream really. Terrified.
And Danny fully understood the feeling.
“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “I need to find out if there
are any others.”
As he finished speaking, another shot came through the sliding
glass door, the round just missing his head. He jumped back, landing
on his butt and rolling legs over head until he was in a crouch again,
this time beside the sofa. The light spill from the bedroom was a
problem now, and he needed to deal with the open curtains, too.
Probably should have left them closed.
In the distance, sirens could be heard. Vestavia Hills was a quiet
and semi affluent community, not used to gunfire in the middle of the
night. So it was likely that someone had called the cops already and
they were on the way. If the remaining shooter or shooters outside
heard the sirens, too, mostly likely they’d be beating feet about now.
That is, unless they were on a suicide mission.
Somehow, Danny doubted this. Not in the nature of these boys.
Still there was no reason to take any chances. So he stayed where he
was, keeping an eye out as best he could on every possible direction
from where an attack could come. He also called to Heather Myers
again and told her to stay where she was, help was on the way. At least
he hoped that was the case.

VESTAVIA HILLS PD ISN’T A LARGE department, and they

aren’t used to dealing with the kind of violence that took place at the
Harvest Haven Executive Apartments late Monday night/early
Tuesday morning. So as soon as the first officers arrived on the scene
and secured it, learning what had happened from the state investigator
already there, actually involved, they contacted their captain at home.
The captain was, naturally, very happy to be woken up at one-thirty in
the morning, but as soon as he learned what happened, he called the
duty officer at the closest Jefferson County Sheriff’s station and asked
for county help.
The county arrived at Harvest Haven at two a.m. and took over the
scene. However, by this time, Danny and Heather Myers had already
departed, much to the dismay of the Vestavia Hills officers and the
Jefferson County supervisor and her deputies. There was a
confrontation between the two groups, the county believing that the
locals had screwed up by letting the only two witnesses leave the scene
before formal questioning, Vestavia arguing that they didn’t have the
authority to make a state cop stay if he didn’t want to; especially after
receiving a call from some brass hat chick from Montgomery. The
county could take it up with ABI and then fuck off!
It’s wonderful to see inter-jurisdictional cooperation is alive and
well.

DANNY WENT STRAIGHT BACK TO THE Residence Inn, having

already alerted the acting detail leader as to the situation. When they
pulled into the rear parking lot just before two, there was a four-officer
SWAT escort waiting, and they were wearing helmets. Danny parked
his Yukon between two police SUVs at the rear of the lot, then climbed
out, glancing around in every direction as he quickly moved to the
passenger’s door.
Heather Myers was as white as a sheet and nearly catatonic. He
took her arm and pulled her out of the vehicle, reaching for her
overnight bag on the floor as well. They moved rapidly toward the side
door, standing open, another SWAT officer posted there, scanning the
area as they approached.
Laura Copeland was waiting on the second floor just outside the
room where Danny and Heather had eaten their sandwiches earlier.
She took the campaign manager’s other arm, led her into the room
where she and Danny helped her sit down on the bed.
Danny dropped the overnight bag on the floor and knelt next to
the bed.
“Heather, we’re back at the hotel now, and you’re safe. Can you
hear me, can you understand?”
No response.
“There’s a doctor here now,” Copeland informed Danny. “Just
down the hall. I’m gonna get him to come have a look at her. I think
she’s in shock.”
“Good idea,” Danny said, his face showing worry. He knew she
hadn’t been physically injured in the attack, but two near death
experiences in the same day were bound to leave a person feeling very
vulnerable. He stayed with her while Copeland went to fetch the
doctor, stroking her hand and speaking soothingly.
Not much else he could do.

SPURNED ON BY THE LATEST ATTACK, (having been on the

phone with Danny as it actually begun) Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater left
her home in Montgomery a little after two a.m., her go bag already in
her official vehicle, a Black Ford Explorer. She was in Birmingham by
four a.m.
Her first stop was Vestavia Hills. There were some bruised
feelings and egos that needed massaging and Bobbi Atwater was quite
gifted in that regard, especially when dealing with men because she
could still turn her fair share of heads when dressed in blue jeans, too,
and batted her baby blues.
By seven, she was in Homewood at the Residence Inn, which
actually resembled a mini police outpost in the early morning light, all
the official vehicles from various departments lining the parking lot.
She wasn’t in uniform, but had her badge hanging around her
neck by a chain. Even so, as she approached the main entrance to the
hotel, she was stopped twice and asked to provide official ID, which
she happily did.
Up in the secure wing of the second floor, after identifying herself
to the SWAT officers posted just off the elevators, one of the special
agents from the DPU guarding the door to the senator’s room at the
far end recognized her. She said something to her partner, then
stepped away to greet Atwater.
“Lieutenant, we were told you were coming.”
Atwater nodded at the young black woman, surveying the
corridor.
“Looks like you’ve got the place pretty much buttoned up. The
senator up yet?”
“Don’t know,” the agent said. “She hasn’t come out yet. Or her son.
After what they went through yesterday, I wouldn’t blame them if they
slept the entire day away.”
“Me either. Where’s the campaign manager, Myers I believe her
name is?”
“Yes, ma’am, Heather Myers. She’s in the room down there with
the Homewood officer out front. She’s in a bad way. Doctor had to give
her something last night when Special Investigator Monk brought her
in. She wasn’t speaking, could barely move. Doc said it was shock. And
I can believe that. She damn near bought it twice in one day.”
“Where is Investigator Monk?” Atwater asked, glancing around
the long corridor again.
The young woman smiled then, nodded her head slowly.
“Well, ma’am, ‘round about four this morning, we kind of insisted
that he go lay his head down. He was exhausted, and seeing as how he
almost bought it last night too…”
 Bobbi Atwater grinned.
“Good for you, Agent Reese,” the lieutenant said. “He needed the
rest. Is Agent Copeland resting as well?”
“Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Pierce’s orders. She and Santos both.”
“Well then,” Bobbi Atwater said, suddenly feeling tired herself. “I
guess we can give them a little more time to rest, recover a bit. In the
meantime, I could use some coffee. Any place around here I can do
that? I can smell some coming from somewhere”
“Sure can ma’am. CP is just down here across from the senator’s
room. Hotel just brought up a fresh pot right before you came.”
“God bless you, Reese,” Atwater said, clapping the other woman
on the back as she was escorted down the corridor to the Command
Post. “I’m gonna recommend you for a medal for service above and
beyond.”
Reese chuckled and jokingly thanked the lieutenant, then led her
to the coffee.
 Chapter 20

Technically, he had been too tired to sleep. However, after nearly

being hogtied by the other DPS agents and a couple of SWAT officers
last night, Danny had relented and gone into a room between the ones
that Santos and Copeland were using on the same side as the senator’s,
said he’d lay his head down for a few minutes, not really intending to
sleep.
Then, five hours later, he woke up, the sun shining behind the
curtains. He checked his watch, nine-o-three. Holy Shit! He had slept.
Of course, now he felt groggy and slow, but at least his mind was
starting to come back, along with his concentration. He got out of bed,
stripped out of yesterday’s clothes, went into the bathroom to relieve
himself and take a quick shower.
The spray felt so good that the quick shower lasted fifteen
minutes. He shaved quickly, dressed in the spare set of undies, jeans,
and sweatshirt from his go bag, then went to the door of his room,
peering out through the peephole first. It was highly unlikely that the
hotel had been taken over by an angry horde of bad guys during the
night, but you never knew.
Satisfied that all was well, Danny went over to the desk next to the
window and picked up his pistol and his telephone. He’d reloaded his
weapon after leaving Harvest Haven last night, but it would need
cleaning soon. That could wait till later though. The calls he had to
make couldn’t.
He sat down at the desk and opened his phone, then saw two text
messages waiting for him. The first was from Filipa Whitaker, brief,
telling him that she had another piece of information for him but was
in Atlanta at the moment. The message had come in at six this
morning. She wanted him to call her later in the day so they could set
up a meeting time.
 He’d call her in a bit.
The second message, came in at seven-thirty, was from Kat Tully.
Also brief. Hope you’re all right! CALL ME!
Serendipity, he thought, because she was exactly who he intended
to call anyway.

KAT TULLY HAD BEEN AT HER DESK SINCE seven a.m.,

awakened early by her ringing mobile phone, Lieutenant Bobbi
Atwater telling her that she needed to get to the office right away
because there was an emergency and she would probably be needed
sooner rather than later.
Kat was alarmed because of the urgency in the lieutenant’s voice,
and also because Kat was not an agent, but an analyst, and rarely did
she get an early call, least of all from the unit commander.
Then Kat suddenly flashed on what had happened with Senator
Vail the day before, Danny rushing out of her office to get to
Birmingham, and her breath caught.
As casually as she could manage, she asked Atwater if it had
something to do with Senator Vail. Atwater confirmed that it did, then
mentioned the second shooting at Heather Myers’ apartment, in which
Danny Monk was involved.
Kat’s heart skipped several beats, but she managed to find her
voice eventually, telling Atwater that she would be on her way to the
office as soon as she could.
She had woken her son and taken him to her next door neighbor’s
house, telling the woman she had a work emergency and asked if she
would make sure he got to school. Her son and Kat’s went to the same
school so it wasn’t a big deal, both women having shared the
responsibility for the boys over the years.
When she got to the office, Kat turned on her computers and
began to search the law enforcement net for information on what was
happening in Birmingham. The shooting at the senator’s place in
Homewood was fully documented, and most of it Kat had read before
leaving work yesterday. Still no new leads.
Less listed, but available, was information on the shooting at the
Vestavia Hills apartment of one Heather Dyane Myers, forty-four,
listed as President and CEO of Myers Consulting, LLC of Minneapolis,
Minnesota, and currently serving as gubernatorial campaign manager
for Senator Helena Vail of Alabama.
Two dead bodies, as yet unidentified white males in their mid-
twenties. Listed as killed by police officer. Kat flinched when reading
that, already knowing who the officer involved had to be.
That’s when she sent Danny the text message, wanting to hear
from him, make sure he was all right, but also not wanting to disturb
him if he was busy. If he got the text and couldn’t respond right away,
he’d at least know she was thinking about him.
After that, she sat at her desk and started poring over everything,
searching every database she could, looking for more information on
both incidents in Birmingham. At some point she also remembered
the stuff Danny had asked her to do the day before, before he had
taken off for Birmingham. She had intended to get back into that this
morning first thing, but had been sidetracked.
Now she thought that maybe she should start to work on that as
well, maybe finding something that could help Danny identify the
people who were threatening Helena Vail and stop them before anyone
else got killed.
Especially Danny.
The complete life and history, as listed in every database she had
access to, of one James Thornton Nelson, also age forty-four, was
pouring across her screen when her desk phone rang at nine thirty-
five. Kat snatched up the receiver and pressed it to her ear, her heart
thumping in her chest.
“MIU Tech Support,” her voice cracked. “Katherine Tully
speaking.
A deep chuckle.
“I’d much rather hear Katherine Tully moaning,” said Danny
Monk through the receiver.
Kat burst into tears, mostly of joy, and could not speak for several
minutes afterwards. When she could, her voice was barely audible.
“You scared the fuck out of me, Mister,” she told him.
“Now that really would be a shame,” Danny quipped.
 And they both laughed.

BOBBI ATWATER AND LAURA COPELAND were in the

Command Post drinking coffee when Danny came in at ten. A
uniformed Birmingham officer worked the command console and the
laptop computer that had been set up some time since his last visit
earlier in the morning.
Atwater was wearing blue jeans and a light blue long sleeve
button-down blouse with the cuffs rolled back. Her long hair was tied
back in a ponytail and she looked as if she hadn’t slept all night, which
she hadn’t.
“I’d offer you coffee,” she said to Danny. “But I know you don’t
drink it. There’s hot water for tea, though.”
Danny shook his head, walking over to the two women,
“Later, thanks. Any news?”
“Jefferson County has identified the two shooters,” Atwater told
him. “They didn’t carry ID, but their prints hit in the system. Dale
Burke, twenty-two, and Brock Sandusky, twenty-three, both from
Oneonta. Both with minor records for drug possession. Sandusky got
popped on a weapons charge about a year ago, carrying concealed
without a license. Got a fine. Nothing else on either of them. The locals
are still checking, though. And I’ve put Kat on it, too.”
“There was at least one more,” Danny told her. “Whoever shot
through the window.”
Atwater nodded.
“Yeah. We know. But no sign of whomever that was. Found some
.308 shell casings in the woods, just like at the senator’s place, and lots
of tracks, also like at the senator’s place. They’re gonna run tread
patterns and all from both crime scenes, but it’ll probably only tell us
what we already know. The shootings are related.”
Danny nodded, feeling tightness between his shoulder blades. He
glanced around, saw the refreshment cart near the window, and
walked over. There were a couple of packets of Green Tea and some
Splenda. He smiled. Well at least something was going right this
morning.
 He set about making his tea, saw there was also whole milk, added
a couple drops, tasted it. As good as life can get.
He returned to where Copeland and Atwater stood, the former
with heavy bags under her eyes like she didn’t sleep much or well.
Which was true.
“What’s on the agenda today, Lieutenant?” he asked Atwater,
since she was the senior DPS/ABI officer on the scene.
Bobbi Atwater actually smiled for the first time since being
informed of the first shooting yesterday afternoon.
“Well,” she said after taking a large sip of her steaming coffee, “I
thought we might find out who is behind all this and go arrest them.”
Danny sipped his tea, smiled as well, only his eyes were not
joining the party.
“Now that sounds like a very good plan, ELLE-TEE. Really a grand
indeed.”

CAPTAIN RUSSELL ROWLAND ARRIVED at the Residence Inn

in Homewood just before noon, and he was in full uniform, trooper
hat with gold command braid prominently displayed, completing the
ensemble. Before he could make his way into the hotel he had to stop
and address the throng of reporters surrounding it, being kept at bay
by Homewood and Birmingham SWAT. The captain didn’t have much
new to add, and as quickly as he could, moved inside, SWAT covering
his back.
Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater was waiting just inside the lobby and
she led him to the small conference room on the back side of the first
floor that she had commandeered for their use this afternoon. Danny
Monk was the only person in the room sitting at the round table in the
middle of the room, mobile phone to his ear, laptop open before him.
Rowland and Atwater stepped inside and closed the door. And as
soon as they were in the room, Rowland set his hat down on the table
and started undoing the buttons on his jacket.
“Just me again,” Danny said into the phone as he glanced over at
the deputy chief of ABI. “Still trying to reach you. Call me whenever
you get this, I need to talk to you.” He clicked the END button, now
smiling at Rowland. “My, Captain, don’t you look dashing in all your
officialdom.”
Rowland hung his jacket across the back of a chair, then held up
the middle finger of his left hand.
“Now, Captain, I’ve told you before, you’re a married man and I
don’t want to break up a happy home.”
Rowland gave a grudging smile, then pulled out a chair and sat.
Atwater sat next to him, opening her briefcase on the table and pulling
out her own laptop.
“Glad to see you’re still in good spirits after last night’s festivities,
Danny.”
“If you can’t laugh, then you cry. And your mascara runs.”
Rowland chuckled again, this time with a tad bit more humor. He
had been up all night as well, plus had been involved in a couple of
very intense and strained conversations with the head of the ABI and
director of the Alabama Department of Public Safety. And they had
been in similar conversations with the governor and his chief of staff.
No one had gotten much sleep last night. However, most of them
hadn’t been shot at, so Danny didn’t feel a great deal of sympathy for
any of them.
“So where are we on this whole thing?” Rowland asked as Atwater
typed her password into her computer.
Danny glanced over at her.
“Well, Lieutenant Atwater is now in command of the
investigation,” he deadpanned, “so I think it would only be fitting if
she briefed you.”
Bobbi Atwater didn’t even glance up from her computer when she
gave him the finger.
Danny smiled.
“And what would Matt say about that, my dear Lieutenant?”
She ignored him, her fingers now flying across the keys.
Rowland was staring at Danny, so he sighed and started talking,
relating everything as it had happened, and where they were with their
investigation, which was not all that far, considering.
 “THESE TWO SHOOTERS FROM… WHERE was that again?”
“Oneonta,” Danny said. “Hicksville north of here in Blount
County. Less than an hour away.”
Rowland nodded.
“So these two guys from Oneonta have any connections to any
radical groups? Anti-gay, anti-liberal, anti-politician, anything like
that?”
“Not that we’ve been able to find out so far. Jefferson County got
on to their counterparts up there and asked them to start questioning
friends of the two guys, see if they can find out anything. So far they
haven’t heard back. Might not be a bad idea to send a couple of ABI
investigators to give them a hand. Impartial outsiders, so to speak.”
Rowland nodded, turning to Atwater.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, pulling out her mobile phone and
turning away from the table.
“What did they do for a living?”
“Sandusky was into construction. Did contract work for various
outfits. Nothing permanent. Burke worked in a furniture store in
stocking. Both guys grew up and pretty much stayed in Oneonta as far
as anybody could tell. They were known to like their guns, though.
Which is nothing new for Alabama boys, especially those from the
sticks. However, the weapons they had last night were modified ARs,
full auto. Illegal, even if they had a Class-3 license, which neither did.”
“No hint of militia affiliation or anything like that?”
“No, but you know all that stuff isn’t necessarily filed somewhere.
Membership lists and such, especially with the fly-by-night groups,
aren’t maintained in the Secretary of State’s office. They could have be
involved with some group, but if they were, the only way it’s gonna be
uncovered is by cops asking questions of friends and relatives. Maybe
something will develop that way. Kat Tully is working on family
connections now, and connections to any of the other people I’ve been
investigating.”
“People like Wendell Oxley?” Rowland asked.
Danny smiled.
“Now wouldn’t that be something if The Ox were linked to these
two yahoos?”
 Rowland shook his head as Atwater closed her phone and turned
back to the table.
“No, it would not. That would be a headache I really wouldn’t
need. Not to mention the whole of the republican establishment in the
state of Alabama.”
“But if he were involved…” Danny persisted, only half serious.
“Then I’d expect you to prove it and bust his fat ass, Special
Investigator Monk,” Rowland said, completely serious.
Danny nodded, glancing over at the lieutenant.
“It’s taken care of,” she told both of them. “Just got off the phone
with Lieutenant Coltrane, Region B, Area 3. She’s dispatching two of
her agents to Blount County to help the sheriff’s office with the
questioning.”
“Good,” Rowland said. “Keep me apprised, will you, Bobbi? I’m
only up here for a few hours, just to make an appearance, show how
committed we are to getting to the bottom of this. It’s your show. And
Funny Man over there.”
Danny smiled, then glanced at his watch and frowned.
“What’s eating you, Danny?” Atwater said. “You’ve been
preoccupied with something all morning, and about more than this
case. You’ve been making a lot of calls and leaving messages, too.
What gives?”
He stared at both of his superiors for a long time, weighing,
considering, then he sighed and sat back.
“Something that I haven’t mentioned to either of you before
because I wanted to wait until I had more. I’ve got a source that put
me onto a trail last week and I’ve been trying to run things down. Got a
little sidetracked with that Montgomery case yesterday, then the
shootings happened last night and I’ve been scrambling. The phone
calls I’ve been making and not getting a response to have all been to
my source. A woman who works for the Atlanta-Journal Constitution.”
Both lieutenant and captain frowned.
“A reporter?” Rowland said.
“A columnist, actually,” Danny said. “You ever hear of Filipa
Whitaker?”
“I have,” Atwater said, folding her hands behind her laptop. “Read
some of her stuff. She’s good. She’s covering the senator, right?”
“Yeah,” Danny confirmed. “And that’s how we met. She was at that
fundraiser at the Embassy Suites here in town weekend before last.
Actually, we didn’t so much as meet there as I bumped her out of the
way when I was running to help Santos and Copeland get Senator Vail
out of the ballroom when the trouble started. Anyway, she called me
last Friday night and we met for a talk.”
“About what?” Rowland prompted impatiently.
“About a threat she’s been investigating against Senator Vail,”
Danny told him.
Again, both captain and lieutenant frowned, glancing briefly at
one another.
“Okay, Danny,” Atwater said. “Maybe you better tell us exactly
what she told you.”
Danny nodded, sat forward, interlacing his fingers together on the
table, his eyes moving from one to the other of them as he began his
tale.
 Chapter 21

TUSCALOOSA
James Thornton Nelson was an angry man. Enraged would be a
better way to put it. Alive with livid conflagration better still.
However you put it, though, he was not happy, and had not been
since learning of the failure in Birmingham yesterday. A simple job,
kill a godless whore and show those who supported her depravity
exactly how decent Christians dealt with filth. God’s righteous justice.
Just like in the Bible.
But it had not been God’s justice, it had been a total and complete
fuckup! Not only had the whore survived, but after failing to kill her,
the idiots who had been sent to do the job got the bright idea to go
after the campaign manager in her home later in the night. Not a
sanctioned operation, nor a goal of the overall mission, however, had it
succeeded, maybe a boost to the cause.
But it hadn’t worked. It had been a colossal fuckup as well. And
worst, two of the fools who had gone on the mission had been killed.
They hadn’t been carrying ID, at least they were smart enough to stick
to that mission parameter, however, in short order the police had
identified them through fingerprints and quickly found out where they
lived, who their friends and family were. Now they were all being
questioned. No telling what they knew, what the idiots had told them,
and it would not be long before the police learned it.
This is why Nelson was so angry. The operation had been handled
sloppily, too many loose ends, too little discipline. And the personnel
chosen could have been better selected. He now cursed himself for
delegating this task, however at the time he thought it best because he
had to deal with a more pressing matter, the leadership council of the
organization that funded The True Warrior Disciples of Jesus in
Alabama as well as JTN Security Services had summoned him for a
progress report on his efforts on their behalf. They could not be put
off, he had to attend. Therefore he had given the responsibility for
dealing with Vail to a trusted second.
Or a man who had been a trusted second.
“Why did you use those fools for this, Herman? They could barely
tie their shoes by themselves. Both their brains were burned out on
meth when they were still in high school. I told you about recruiting
trash like that. Even for scut work. Now look at the mess we’ve got on
our hands. You realize that if our benefactors were to learn that we
were behind that mess in Birmingham that they’d pull all funding
from us? Maybe worse!”
Herman Yardley, a small man in his late thirties with a deep
receding line of brown hair marching backwards on his egg-shaped
head, sat on the chair facing Nelson in the study of his home at the
family farm in Tuscaloosa. Although he faced him, he would not look
at the other man, too ashamed of his personal failure, disappointing
someone he had come to look up to over the past few years. Almost
worship.
Nelson sighed in disgust, standing up and reaching down, pulling
Yardley out of the chair and forcing him to look up.
“Goddamnit, Herman, look at me for fuck’s sake! Be a man,
damnit!”
Not an easy task for someone who was basically a puppy at heart.
This was why he hadn’t made it in the army, and later as a cop in
Talladega. Just didn’t have the edge to be a tough guy, no matter how
much he wanted to be. And he really wanted to be. That’s why he had
joined up with Nelson in the first place, not so much because he
believed in everything he said and stood for, but because he thought it
would make him more of a man, get him some power, some respect.
Nelson had made him regional manager of JTN’s operations in the
Talladega area, not much of an operation, seven actual clients, and
none of them big jobs, but still enough to swell Herman Yardley’s
unimpressive chest with pride. Or at least it had been.
Now he was the frightened little man he had always been, and
worse. He had disappointed the only man who had ever truly made
him feel anything other that worthless.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” was all he could manage to choke out, and it
sounded more like a sob.
Disgusted, Nelson tossed the other man back on the chair and
turned away. His own heart was racing, along with his mind. His
operation was in jeopardy, and if he didn’t act quickly to clean up this
mess, everything would come to ruin. Powerful people had entrusted
him with a mission that he could not fail, and if they found out that he
had risked it all for a personal mission of his own, they would not be
happy.
And unhappy powerful people could be really dangerous. He had
to clean this up, and fast. Actually, he had already taken the first step
toward that end, dealing with a pest who had come dangerously close
to his operation, getting her hands on information that she was not
supposed to have. A leak somewhere, something else for him to deal
with when he had more time. But for now…
He checked his watch.
“Yeah you little brown-skinned bitch! We’re about to take care of
you, too.”
For the first time since last night, James Thornton Nelson was
actually smiling. At least something was going to go right today.
Or so he believed.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA
FILIPA WHITAKER WAS BACK HOME DOING an interview for
another story she was working on, preparing to go to press in next
weekend’s edition. It was just after noon Eastern Time when she
wrapped up her meeting with a source in a room at the Hilton Towers
on Courtland Avenue and Baker Street Northeast in downtown
Atlanta. She was in the parking deck on the third level walking toward
where she had parked her car in the northwest section, which had
been relatively empty earlier, but not so now.
As she walked, she fumbled inside her oversized purse for her
Blackberry. She’d turned it off before going into the interview and
imagined that there were scores of voice and text messages waiting for
her.
 She was not wrong.
Her editor.
Her researcher.
Her mother.
Her ex-husband (ugh!).
Half a dozen others she knew she wouldn’t be returning any time
soon.
And then at least that many from Danny Monk. His she would be
returning. Probably in the next few minutes once she got into her car.
She was still scrolling through her messages, only casually glancing at
where she was going, a thousand things on her mind, including the
piece of news she wanted to share with the ABI investigator. She was
actually excited, having been able to come up with something more
substantial in such a short period of time.
Filipa turned down the aisle where she remembered her car was
parked, only looking around briefly, and then continuing on her way.
A minute later she was in sight of her car, sighed with a hint of
frustration, reaching back into her purse for her keys.
That’s when she sensed someone behind her, suddenly afraid,
turning quickly, but not quickly enough…
The last thing Filipa Whitaker saw that day was a blinding flash of
light. She didn’t even feel the impact of the bullet that struck her in the
head.
 Chapter 22

Danny finished relating his tale to Atwater and Rowland in the

conference room of the Residence Inn in Homewood just before one-
fifteen Central Time. For most of it, they had remained quiet, only
occasionally interrupting to get clarification on a point. When Danny
wrapped up, both superior officers glanced at each other, then back at
him, clearly not pleased to have been kept in the dark, even for a little
while.
“Danny, you should have come to us as soon as you learned about
this,” Rowland scowled. “Even if you didn’t have concrete proof, this
suggests an organized conspiracy against Senator Vail and that means
the danger to her is more significant than previously thought. As
evidenced by yesterday’s attack.”
“Now hold on, Russ,” Atwater cut in. “I agree that Danny should
have told us sooner, but if you’re suggesting that by his holding this
information back that he was somehow responsible for what happened
yesterday…”
Rowland waved a dismissive hand.
“Of course not, Bobbi. The people who did the shootings are
responsible. And Sandusky and Burke paid the price for their
involvement. I’m just saying that if we had known about all this before
now, maybe we could have taken some extra precautions, maybe
gotten approval for DPU to assign more personnel. Something. And
maybe we could have gotten Danny more investigative support.”
Danny nodded, showing some signs of contrition.
“Yeah, look, Russ, you’re right, I should have told you earlier, but I
was trying to wait until I had developed more, something independent
of what Filipa Whitaker told me. I gave all the names she gave me to
Kat and she’s running everything down now. I was in the process of
going over this with her yesterday when Bobbi called about the first
attack. She’s been really busy since getting to work this morning,
handling a bunch of different things, all related to this case though. As
a matter of fact,” Danny said, inspiration striking him like a lightening
bolt, “she could probably use some extra help. At least one other body,
maybe even two. I know the budget’s tight Russ, but tech support is
vital to the work we do, and Kat is stretched pretty thin handling all
the work for MIU.”
Bobbi Atwater almost smiled, but managed to maintain a straight
face, realizing what Danny was doing, and approving. She had wanted
to expand MIU’s Technical Support operations for more than a year;
however the money just wasn’t available to hire new personnel. But
maybe now…
Rowland shook his head slowly, and then did smile.
“Danny Monk, you wouldn’t be trying to use this situation to your
advantage would you?” He turned to Atwater. “Or to that of your
boss?”
“Of course not, sir,” Danny said innocently.
“Right,” Rowland said. “I don’t know about permanently, but for
now I can get her some help. Let me call my office. I think Mullins
doesn’t have enough to do in Administration. I’ll send him to help
Kat.”
Danny and Atwater remained silent, and Rowland shook his head
again, reaching for his mobile phone.
Atwater leaned on the table.
“Danny, we need to look into this more fully,” she told him.
“Explore all the names and their connections, see if anything gets us
from the two guys you shot last night to any of the other names, or
ones we don’t yet have. You said Whitaker called you yesterday but
you haven’t been able to get in touch today?”
“Yeah,” Danny confirmed, glancing at his watch again. “Message
said she was back in Atlanta but had something she needed to tell me,
suggested setting up a time and place to meet. I’ve been calling over
and over, but all I get is voicemail. I’ve also sent texts.”
“Well you need to keep trying. We need to find out what else she
has. And maybe we need to arrange for her protection as well. If these
people have starting shooting, she might find herself a target.”
 “I already thought of that,” Danny admitted. “One of the reasons
I’ve been calling her. I want to tell her what’s happened and warn her
to take precautions.”
Atwater nodded again as Rowland finished his call.
“Then call her again,” she said. “And if you get her, tell her that we
need to see her right away. No more coy games. If she doesn’t
cooperate, I’ll get a subpoena. That doesn’t work, I’ll get a warrant for
her arrest.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Danny said, pulling out his
mobile phone. “We go that route and the lawyers become involved.
Believe me, you don’t want that.”
Atwater sat back and grinned.
“Aren’t you a lawyer, too?” she said.
He glanced up at her as he accessed Filipa Whitaker’s mobile
number on his phone.
“So I know what I’m talking about,” he said, pressing SEND.

DETECTIVE MIKE HOGAN OF THE METROPOLITAN Atlanta

Police Department’s Homicide Unit stood back watching as the
Forensic Analysis and Crime Scene Unit technicians did their thing on
the third level northwest corner of the parking deck at the Hilton-
Atlanta Towers. They were carefully searching and documenting the
area around the crime scene, looking for evidence that could help
them solve the shooting of the as of yet unidentified middle aged black
woman a short time ago. Her purse had been taken by her assailant
and there was no ID on the body. They would be running the tags of all
the cars in this section of the parking deck to see if they could identify
her that way, and her fingerprints would be taken and run through the
Automated Fingerprint Identification System database to see if they
could get a match for the victim. But all this would take time, maybe
too much of it. Homicide veterans like Hogan knew that time was
critical, and often if too much of it passed before significant progress
was made, cases didn’t get solved for a long time, if ever. So they
would go balls-out for the first forty-eight hours, hoping like hell for a
lucky break. First, though, identifying the victim was critical.
Especially since she wouldn’t be any help in that regard. It also would
have been nice if the surveillance cameras in the deck hadn't been
down for their annual scheduled maintenance. Another lucky break for
the shooter.
“Hey, Detective, got something,” one of the techs called from
where she was kneeling beside a green Miata about twenty feet from
where the victim had fallen. “A Blackberry. Scuffed up, still got
power.”
Hogan ambled over, careful of where he stepped even though his
feet were covered in blue paper crime scene booties. The tech held a
Blackberry phone by the corners in her gloved hands, examining it.
Hogan took a look.
“Could be hers,” he said. “Might have dropped it when she was
shot. Could have been talking as she was walking to her car, and that’s
why she didn’t see the shooter coming till it was too late. Then she gets
popped, goes down, and the phone goes sliding across the floor to over
here.”
“Maybe,” the tech said, still looking at the phone. “And maybe, if it
does belong to her, her name is in it.”
“Worth a shot. Check it. Hopefully it won’t be password
protected.”
The tech smirked at Hogan.
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Hogan,” she teased.
Hogan grunted.
“Been a cop too long not to be, Lana.”
She was just about to see if she could get the phone to work when
suddenly the device started ringing, startling both of them.
“Incoming call,” Lana said, glancing at the detective.
“Yeah,” he said. “Caller ID?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Just a number though, no name. “Looks like a
334 area code. Don’t know where that is.”
“Alabama,” Hogan said. “I think Montgomery, but I’m not sure on
that part.”
“Okay,” she said. “What should I do?”
“Isn’t that obvious, CSI Murphy? Answer the damn thing.”
Another smirk, and then Lana Murphy pressed the ANSWER
button and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello…”

THE VOICE THAT ANSWERED ON THE other end of the line

was female, but not one that Danny had heard before. For a moment,
he thought that maybe he’d dialed wrong, but checked the display and
saw that he had not. Frowning now, he put the phone back to his ear.
“Hello, I’m trying to reach Filipa Whitaker. This is her mobile
number, right?”
A pause, hushed voices in the background, then a male voice came
on the line and suddenly Danny’s stomach sank.
“Hello,” the voice said officiously. “May I ask who is calling?”
“Who’s this?” Danny returned, his stomach knotting.
“This is Detective Michael Hogan of the Atlanta Police
Department, sir. Now I’ll ask you again, who are you?”
Danny’s breath caught, and he glanced across the table at Atwater
and Rowland. Then he cleared his throat, twice.
“Detective, this is Senior Special Investigator Daniel Monk of the
Alabama Bureau of Investigation. Tell me why you’re answering Ms.
Whitaker’s phone.”
And he did.

YOU CAN TRAVEL FROM BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA to Atlanta,

Georgia in about two hours and twenty minutes under normal
conditions. Or you can make the trip in about an hour and forty-five
minutes if you got a V8 engine and police lights.
Danny was at Atlanta Police Headquarters on Decatur Street
Southeast by four-thirty Eastern Time. Bobbi Atwater was with him.
Detective Hogan had come back from the crime scene and was in with
his boss when they arrived. He met them in the squad bay and then
took them to a small conference room just down the hall for a private
chat.
“What have you got, Detective,” Danny said without any further
delay.
“Still not a whole lot,” the burly detective admitted, sounding
tired. “Once you gave us her name, we were able to start running down
her activities for the day. Like I told you on the phone, they took her
purse, and from what we learned from her assistant, she had an iPad
thingy in there that she always had with her. So whoever shot her got
that, too.”
“You think robbery was the motive?” Atwater asked.
“Could be,” Hogan admitted, but he didn’t sound convinced. “But
most perps don’t do head shots to snatch purses. Not worth the cost if
they get caught. Death row for a few bucks. Still, could be that way. But
given that she’s a reporter, and according to what I know about her
now, one who’s pissed off a lot of people over the years, could be
something else. This has the hallmarks of a professional job. Or at
least semi-pro. Shooter approaches her in the parking deck when no
one else is around, pops her, takes her purse, scrambles.”
“You said that she was discovered quickly?” Danny said. “A couple
coming off the elevator on that side of the deck.”
“Yeah,” the detective said. “Scared the shit out of them, seeing her
lying there like that, blood pouring out of her head.”
“Which means that the shooter was probably still close by when
they got there,” Danny said.
“Yeah, we figured that. Questioned them about it but they don’t
remember seeing anybody. Surveillance cameras in the deck have been
out for a week, too. Annual maintenance, shooter probably had no idea
he'd get so lucky. I think it’s possible that the shooter got spooked
when he, or she, heard the elevator open. There’s a bell that dings.
Heard that, took off before the couple came over and he had witnesses
on his hands. Or her hands. Grabbed the purse first though, and
whatever was in it.”
“And maybe that saved her life,” Bobbi Atwater said. “Otherwise
the shooter would have shot her again.”
Hogan nodded, leaning his bulk back in his chair, groaning as he
tried to work out a kink in his back.
“Probably,” he said. “Doc says what really helped was the fact that
she turned her head right before she was shot, spoiling the shooter’s
aim. Didn’t get her full on, bullet mostly took a chunk out of the left
side of her head, but didn’t actually enter her skull. Really lucky. She
lost a lot of blood and still hasn’t regained consciousness, but they
think she’ll make it.”
“You’ve got security on her, right?” Danny said.
“Yeah,” Hogan said. “Round-the-clock. We want to make sure that
she stays safe till we find the shooter.”
“Me, too,” Danny told him. “And I hope this doesn’t offend you or
step on your toes, Detective, but I’ve asked a friend of mine with the
U.S. Marshals to lend a hand in that regard. Personal favor to me.”
The big Atlanta cop frowned and sat forward, fixing Danny with a
non-too pleasant look.
“Okay, Investigator Monk, you and the lieutenant want to tell me
exactly what’s going on here? What’s your involvement? What was
Whitaker up to that got her shot like this? It’s in my jurisdiction now,
and I don’t give a shit about the Marshals. They want to help provide
security, fine by me, but somebody tried to kill this woman on my turf.
I don't like that. I want to know what’s going on so I can find the
person who shot Whitaker and bust them. You either help me with
that, or you go home.”
Atwater touched Danny on the arm and he turned and looked at
her for a moment, then nodded.
“All right, Detective Hogan,” Danny said evenly. “I’ll tell you what
we know, and what we suspect. However, until we can talk to Filipa
Whitaker personally, there'll still be a lot of gaps. Maybe even after we
talk to her.”
Hogan nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket for a notebook and
pen.
“There always are in police work,” he said with a half smile,
flipping through notebook pages till he came to a blank one. “Now tell
me what you got.”

JASON POLIS WAS WEARING A BLACK suit, black shirt, and

black tie, looking somewhat like a young and slender version of
Johnny Cash, the other man in black. Danny found him leaning
against the wall a few feet from the Critical Care Section in the VIP
secure area of Emory Crawford Long Hospital on Peachtree Street
Northeast at ten minutes to eight, a tall cup of coffee in his right hand.
When Polis saw him coming, he stood straight and took a gulp of
his coffee.
“Can you do Ring of Fire?” Danny said, momentarily confusing
the deputy U.S. Marshal.
“What?” Polis said, then light dawned on him. “Of, so funny,
smartass. Last time I do you a favor.”
“You still owe me half a dozen,” Danny told him, the two men
shaking hands. “And thank you for this one. I know it’s not exactly in
your jurisdiction, being Fugitive Apprehension and all, but I
appreciate the help.”
“No sweat,” Polis told him. “From what you told me, this thing
looks like it’s interstate, so that’s federal, although more of an FBI
thing that the Marshals. I’ll keep them in the loop though. So how’s the
investigation? Any leads?”
“None so far,” Danny admitted, looking around a little anxiously.
“Shooter got lucky with the surveillance cameras being down for a
week of maintenance.”
“Or maybe he knew about that ahead of time,” Polis suggested.
“Perhaps, but he couldn’t have known she’d park there on this
particular day. Her assistant said she had a meeting with a source at
the Hilton today, for a story she was putting in her syndicated column
for this weekend. Just needed to get one more piece of information to
wrap up some loose ends. According to the assistant, the column was
mostly done.”
“And let me guess, the assistant doesn’t know the sources name?”
“Nope, but Whitaker does keep that stuff in a secure file on her
computer, and also backed up in a sky-drive. The IT people at the
Journal are working to access it now. Probably won’t matter much
though, whoever she met with today wasn’t involved in this.”
“You sure of that?”
“Pretty sure. But I want to see her files anyway. Whoever shot her
took her iPad, probably wanting to get their hands on whatever they
thought she had, research, stuff like that. Figured they could kill her
and take whatever she was working on and stop her investigation.”
Polis drank more coffee, staring at Danny for a moment.
 “Okay,” he said. “You want to give me some more details on all
this? You were kind of vague earlier. You said this all ties to some gay
senator running for governor of Alabama? A story I gotta hear.”
“She’s not gay, Jason,” Danny corrected. “Bisexual. And yeah, it
does have something to do with her. Just not sure what exactly. And
yesterday, somebody tried to shoot her as well.”
Polis frowned, lowering his cup from his mouth before taking
another sip.”
“You serious?”
“As a heart attack. Even more so about the attempt on her
campaign manager last night. This because at the time of that shooting
attempt I was with her, clipped two of the shooters, a third got away.
And then today the woman who put me on to the possibility of an
organized conspiracy against the senator—Helena Vail—is gunned
down in the parking lot of a hotel in Atlanta, execution-style. Her
purse and iPad taken.”
“Jesus,” Polis said. “Tell me all of it.”
Danny nodded, glancing around, that same anxiousness returning
to his expression.
“In a minute,” he said. “But first, where is she? I want to see her.”
Polis nodded, finishing his coffee and tossing the empty cup into a
nearby receptacle.
“Down this way,” he said, indicating a direction. “Two cops and
one of my guys are on the room right now. Nobody gets in without
being identified, even the doctors and nurses. They won’t get at her
here, my friend.”
“Let’s hope not,” Danny said tiredly. “She’s got a kid.”
“I know,” Polis said as they walked. “Her ex was here earlier. I
spoke with him. Kid’s with him right now, scared shitless.”
Nothing to say to that, so he didn’t, and they walked on in silence.

BOBBI ATWATER RETURNED TO ALABAMA LATE Tuesday

night, getting into Birmingham just before midnight Central Time. She
needed to get back to oversee the investigation into what had
happened Monday afternoon and Monday night. Lieutenant Pierce of
the Dignitary Protection Unit had completed his expedited
investigation into Laura Copeland’s handling of Senator Vail’s
protection detail, determining that no serious errors had occurred, and
now Special Agent Copeland was officially in charge once more, under
the close supervision of Lieutenant Pierce.
This was a good development because also late Tuesday night
Helena Vail had made a decision of her own. She was not going to run,
she was not going to hide. She had started something that she would
finish, and no one would frighten her off, no matter what they tried. It
came as no surprise that her twelve-year-old son backed his mom’s
play.
So Copeland and her team were back in business.
Bobbi Atwater would have preferred Vail go into hiding for a
while, giving her and Danny a chance to find out what was going on
and try to stop it, but that just wasn’t going to happen.
And speaking of Danny, he remained in Atlanta for two more
days, mostly hanging around the hospital to see of Filipa Whitaker
would regain consciousness and tell him what it was she had
discovered before she was shot. But she did not wake up, and after the
second day, her doctors became concerned about the possibility of
permanent damage because of some swelling they had noticed on an
x-ray. They would have to monitor her closely and additional surgery
might be needed if she didn’t improve soon.
As for the investigation into her shooting, some witnesses had
come forward claiming to have seen a young white male leaving the
parking deck via the south stairs on the afternoon of the shooting. He
was wearing a hat and glasses and a long overcoat that disguised most
of his features. The reason the witnesses remembered him at all was
because he was moving like he was in a hurry, and keeping his head
down, nearly running into a couple of people along the way.
Armed with this information, the police pulled video from other
surveillance cameras at the hotel (that were functioning), and some
from other nearby businesses, and were able to catch some images.
Not very good images, but enough to confirm the description and the
direction they guy headed in when he left the hotel. Detectives went
out to canvass again carrying copies of the grainy photos.
 IT techs at the Atlanta-Journal Constitution were able to access
Filipa Whitaker’s files with very little trouble, however management at
the paper was most reluctant to share any of the files with the police,
even if doing so could speed up the process of finding out who had
shot her. This frustrated Danny and the other cops, although Danny
fully understood the paper’s position, even supported it, in theory. But
right now that pesky First Amendment was getting in the way of him
solving several attempted murders (one on himself), and possibly
something a lot bigger. He needed that information.
Or he needed for Filipa Whitaker to wake up and tell him herself.
She hadn’t by Thursday night.
Lawyers were arguing back and forth with a judge about her files,
no decision would be rendered quickly, Danny knew this.
So on Friday morning at one a.m. he decided to go home.
Well, at least back to Alabama.
Montgomery to be exact.
 Chapter 23

Kat Tully was having trouble catching her breath. She was
sweating, quivering, and her heart was racing so fast she was afraid it
might beat right out of her chest.
Under different circumstances she might have been concerned,
worried even, but at this moment in time, worry was the farthest thing
from her mind. But she really did wish she could catch her breath, if
for only just one moment.
Kat fought to maintain her balance, digging her fingers into the
mattress, lowering herself closer to the bed, however, every time she
managed to modicum of control, she would lose it again when Danny
slammed himself into her from behind, driving her forward nearly
onto her face. If he hadn’t been holding onto her waist with his
powerful hands she would have long since fallen over, maybe even
smashed her face into the headboard just a couple of feet from her
head.
Kat had confidence in Danny, however, knew he wouldn’t let her
fall, or let her hurt herself. Still, he might just fuck her to death
because tonight he was like a man possessed by a demon. A demon
that seemed intent on taking her with abandon, no shame, no regret,
nothing beyond the act of intense carnal pleasure. And Kat loved every
damn second of it. Even if she couldn’t breathe.
When she’d come to work at the Criminal Justice Center Friday
morning just after eight, she found Danny already in the
conference/interview room that he used for an office. By his
appearance, he had been there for some time, busy at his laptop. He
was holding his mobile phone to his ear with his left hand while
working the keys on the laptop keyboard with his right.
Kat waved from the door and he nodded slightly, his focus on the
phone call and the laptop. She stood and waited for several minutes,
holding a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the
other, her laptop backpack hanging from one shoulder.
“Thanks, Deputy,” Danny said into the phone at last. “Appreciate
the update. If anything changes, please have someone call me. I’m
reachable at this number every hour of the day, even when I’m asleep.
That’s right, and thanks again.”
He ended the call and put the phone down on the table beside the
laptop, his full attention on the screen for a few more seconds before
glancing back over at Kat.
“Hey, hon,” he greeted her quickly. “Sorry to be so preoccupied.”
She gave a half smile and stepped into the room, setting her
briefcase down on the table, then her laptop bag. After shutting the
door, she walked around to his side of the table and put a hand on his
shoulder.
“Don’t worry about that,” she told him. “I know you’re busy. When
did you get back?”
“Few hours ago,” he told her, now working the keyboard once
again, typing in search requests and waiting impatiently for the
results. “Drove back from Atlanta around one or so, came directly
here.”
She squeezed his shoulder.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
He chuckled dryly.
“About a hundred years ago.”
“What I thought,” she said, putting her coffee cup down on the
table then using both hands to knead his shoulders. “You should take a
break, Danny. I know you’re busy, I know you’re in the middle of
something big, but if you keep pushing yourself like this, you’re not
going to be good to anybody, least of all yourself.”
He sighed, enjoying the feeling of her hands on his shoulders, but
also resisting, not wanting to feel joy or pleasure, not now, not till he
had some answers, and could put some people in jail. Then he could
relax, that is until the next special case came up that ABI needed him
to handle.
“Can’t right now, Kat. Too much going on. I’ve got to get to the
bottom of this mess. Senator Vail is still in danger, more so now that
she’s back on the campaign trail. Somebody tried to kill Filipa
Whitaker and damn near succeeded, and in doing so, they kept her
from telling me something that she thought was important. I need to
know what, and so I have to keep going. You’ve been a great help so
far, and I appreciate it. I’ve been going over the background reports
you put together on JTN Security and its key personnel. Now I’m
doing some independent searches. Have you been able to get a better
line on Nelson’s financing yet?”
Kat shook her head, moved over to the chair beside him and sat
down.
“Bunch of shell corporations in the way. As soon as I get through
one, I run into two more. Whoever set this thing up is very good, and
very rich, or at least has access to a lot of capital. It takes a good bit of
money to do something like this, to hide assets this way. Especially
with all the taxes and fees involved. But I’m still on it. Calling in some
favors from a buddy at the IRS. No matter how good somebody is at
hiding things, they can’t keep them from the IRS for long.”
“Let’s hope not,” Danny said irritably. “This guy Nelson is the key,
I think. At least a key part. His background says it all, even though
there is no direct link between him and this group Whitaker told me
about, The True Warrior Disciples of Jesus Christ in Alabama. Odd
really.”
“Yeah,” Kat confirmed. “Barely any mention anywhere about the
group. Really weird in this day of the internet. All I could find was
something vague in one chat room, but only a few lines. No mention of
where the group was based, just some talk about a rumor that it
existed. A lot more on JTN though, and Nelson himself. Plus those
other guys you wanted to know about. Nothing that links any of them
to Wendell Oxley though. Or anybody else that you’ve asked me about.
One of them could be financing this group though. Oxley’s got some
dough.”
Danny paused, shaking his head.
“Yeah, but I don’t think The Ox is the type to back a group like
Nelson’s. He’s an agitator, no doubt, a rabble-rouser, for sure, but
getting involved with people like James Thornton Nelson and outfits
like The True Warrior Disciples, I think that would be too much for
him. And there’s the fact that he’s black. This group smacks of White
Supremacy to me.”
Kat considered this for a few moments, then nodded.
“Me, too. Probably wouldn’t offer Oxley membership.”
“Doubtful. But it’s still worth trying to see if we can find a link.”
He stopped talking suddenly and yawned, long and hard.
“You need to take a break, Danny,” Kat told him firmly, a hand on
his forearm. “At least for an hour’s nap.”
He turned and stared at her for a long moment, nodded, then
went back to work.

BOBBI ATWATER HAD RETURNED TO Montgomery Thursday

afternoon, having done all she could in Birmingham. The locals had
the cases well in hand, still no major progress, no one in Oneonta
could come up with a reason why Burke and Sandusky would be
involved in a plot to kill Senator Vail. Though investigators did get the
sense that the Birmingham republican didn’t have a whole lot of
support in Blount County. After a few days, media interest turned
elsewhere and the whole affair was relegated to the back burner.
Vail was traveling the state, seemingly reinvigorated by the
attempt on her life, and that of her campaign manager. Heather Myers
had recovered herself after a couple days, gently refused her husband’s
insistence that she abandon her client and come back home to
Minnesota where no one was trying to kill her. She told him that her
place was at Helena Vail’s side, and she had to stay, had to keep the
campaign on track. Support was growing for Vail and even though she
still trailed the incumbent governor in the latest tracking polls, she
had gained two points since the shootings. With three months to go
before the nomination would be decided, they were in a real fight now,
a fight that many in the campaign had begun to believe that they stood
a realistic chance of actually winning. And in Heather Myer’s opinion,
it was worth the risks. Her husband didn’t agree, but was heartened to
learn that security around the senator had been doubled.
Laura Copeland had a team of six full-time DPU agents under her
command now, and all the local support she wanted wherever the
senator traveled. Every accommodation made. This due in large part
to the fact that no jurisdiction wanted to be remembered as the one in
which Helena Vail had been killed. Also due in part to advance calls
made by the deputy director of the Alabama Department of Public
Safety and the chief of staff to the current governor. Every little bit
helped.
But not enough, and that’s why Danny Monk continued to work so
hard throughout the day on Friday, ignoring calls for him to get some
rest, skipping lunch as he read reports over and over again, continued
to check in with security posted outside Filipa Whitaker’s door in
Atlanta, pestered the Fulton County DA for progress in their efforts to
get the Atlanta-Journal Constitution to part with Whitaker’s
computer records.
At two p.m., he took a call from Detective Coopersmith at
Montgomery PD Homicide. Good news, the detective had said. Rachel
Thurman of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had watched the
interview he had conducted with Maria Gomez and examined the
assembled case file, coming up with a couple of good suggestions right
away. Coopersmith and other detectives had followed up on those
suggestions and had gotten some good leads. They were now just as
convinced as Danny had been that Maria Gomez had at least been
involved in the killing of her grandmother, and were on the trail of
somebody who might be able to shed some light on what had really
happened that night.
That was good news, and Danny wished the detective luck, then
hung up the phone and quickly pushed that other case out of his mind.
Not his concern. Montgomery PD would either get the little psycho or
they wouldn’t. If they didn’t, she’d do something else later, wouldn't be
able to help herself, and then somebody else would nail her for it.
Maybe even Danny Monk.

AT FIVE O’CLOCK, RUSSELL ROWLAND and Bobbi Atwater

came into the interview-conference room and directly ordered Danny
to go and get some rest, no arguments! They would have ordered him
to take the weekend off, but knew he wouldn’t, but the rest of the night
was an insistence.
He was so tired by then that he didn’t even bother fussing about it,
simply nodded and powered down his laptop. They stayed to watch
and make sure he actually left the building, which he did fifteen
minutes later, telling Atwater that he’d be staying in town, at his usual
spot, the Days Inn-Midtown.
It was already dark and cold when he stepped into the parking lot,
heading for his Yukon. Before he was even halfway there, he hard his
named being called from somewhere off to his left, turned, saw Kat
Tully waving.
“Don’t you have that thing with your daughter this weekend?” he
said as she came over to him.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, hefting her laptop bag on her shoulder.
“Tomorrow actually. Both kids.”
“Then you should get home and get some rest. They’ll probably
run you ragged tomorrow.”
Kat grinned.
“No doubt. But I’ve got some time tonight, if you want to... talk.
My boy’s with his father this evening. Gonna come back to the house
tomorrow morning Janie comes over around ten.”
They stood and stared at one another for several moments, feeling
the cold swirl around them.
“You know, it’s really fucking cold out here,” Kat finally said. “Why
don’t we go some place warm for a while?”
Danny smiled, despite his exhaustion.
“I know just the place,” he told her, and she smiled, too.

KAT COLLAPSED ONTO THE BED, UNABLE to support her

weight any longer. Her breathing was labored, coming in large gasps,
her heart raced so fast she couldn’t distinguish one beat from the
other, and she leaked sweat from every pore on her body. She couldn’t
even raise her hands to brush the hair from her eyes, or her head for
that matter, and she was cumming again…
Danny didn’t stop when Kat fell onto the bed, he couldn’t, instead
lowering himself onto her back and continuing to push into her, to
drive his hips forward with deep, powerful strokes, feeling his erection
slide all the way into her, filling her center; gritting his teeth, groaning,
and then growling like a rampaging beast as the sweet joy of full
release overtook him.
Exhausted, he collapsed onto her back, managing to kiss the back
of her left shoulder, then unable to move any more after that. They lay
together like this for a long time, saying nothing, breathing hard, and
then laughing uncontrollably.

“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I WAS twenty? Or even thirty?

Instead you get to me now that I’m an old lady with knee and back
problems, and you wear me out!”
Danny chuckled, reached over and stroked her knee as it stuck out
from under the bed sheet.
“Hardly an old lady,” he told her. “And you seemed to give as good
as you got.”
Kat snickered, lying back and looking up at him as he sat with his
back against the headboard and she lay with her head at the foot of the
bed, a fluffy pillow supporting her, the top sheet mostly wrapped
around her body.
“Well I got really good,” she told him. “Seriously, I’ve never fucked
like that. Not with Marc, not with any other guy. Not that there’ve
been all that many, being married for most of twenty years and being
faithful to my husband. Even though he didn't always reciprocate.”
Danny stared at her for a moment, realizing this was the first time
she had hinted that her husband had been unfaithful. Not really
important he supposed, at least not to him. He continued stroking her
knee.
“I promise not to tire you out too much tonight,” Danny grinned.
“So your kids won’t have to roll you around in a wheelchair
tomorrow.”
“Might be worth it,” she cocked her head and arched an eyebrow.
“For another couple of orgasms like those last ones. Or another ten.”
“God, woman, you are demanding!”
“Damn right,” Kat said, sitting up, the sheet dropping from her full
breasts.
Danny’s eyes immediately zeroed in on her nipples, seeing that
they were already hard.
“I like it when they salute me,” he teased. "Kind of makes me feel
like I'm still an officer in the Navy.
Kat grinned and slid her foot under the blanket that was covering
his lower body, between his legs.
“Feels like he’s returning their salute, soldier,” she also teased.
Danny took hold of her foot, pulled her toward him so that her
legs were on either side of his, her pelvis lined up with his.
“Sailor,” he corrected, now lifting her hips until their lower bodies
were touching. “I was a sailor, not a soldier. And now I’m gonna teach
you a little game we used play when I was a wee cadet back in school.
It's called... Sink The Submarine!”
Kat laughed, then moaned and her eyes widened as she felt his
fingers on her clit.
“Jesus,” she whispered, and for a moment, Danny thought about
James Thornton Nelson and The True Disciples of Jesus Christ in
Alabama, but only for a moment. Barely a split second.
Then he was back in the current moment, his fingers probing Kat’s
womanhood as she stared at him with barely contained lust, her
temperature rising and her breath catching at the back of her throat.
Soon that lust was no longer containable, and it spilled out all over
both of them. And it wasn't the only thing that was spilled...
 Chapter 24

TALLADEGA
When Kat left his hotel room at midnight Friday, Danny took a hot
shower, shut his mind down, and climbed naked into bed, falling into
a deep and dreamless sleep. It was after noon when he woke up, the
sun shining bright in the clear sky, but when he turned on the Weather
Channel after a quick trip to the bathroom, he learned that the
temperature was in the high thirties, quite nippy. Typical for late
January though.
For a while he sat in bed with the covers pulled up to his stomach
staring at the television, memories of his time with Kat last night still
fresh in his mind, and now mixed with a lustful desire to drive back
over to Atlanta and pick up a certain dark haired meteorologist who
just didn’t know how to come to work without looking sexy. Danny
had no idea what her name was, and didn’t care. Probably never meet
her, anywhere outside his fantasies, but if he did…
Then he realized how hungry he was, having forgone food for most
of yesterday, then burned off all his reserves with Kat last night.
Definitely time to get something to eat, but that meant he had to dress
and go out. Or he could order a pizza, but nixed that idea, thinking
that pizza was too heavy for this time of day. So he’d have to go out,
find something nearby that struck his fancy.
Just over an hour later he found himself in the land of NASCAR in
Alabama, the city of Talladega. A little bit further than he had planned.
By nearly ninety miles.

HE FOUND AN ARBY’S ON EAST Battle Street about a mile east

of Bingham Park in Talladega and decided to eat there. The place
advertised free Wi-Fi so he brought his laptop inside with him and set
up at a back booth near the restrooms.
 By this time he was really hungry so he ordered two of his favorite
sandwich, the Beef ‘n Cheddar, with bacon, plus large curly fries and a
tall cup of lemonade. He ate one sandwich and half the fries before
powering up his computer and accessing the files that Kat had been
compiling for him for the past couple of weeks. There was one in
particular that he wanted to study now, that belonging to the
Talladega regional manager for JTN Security Services, one Herman
Yardley. He had read it before, three times in fact, and found it largely
unremarkable, as the man was himself. However, the thing that kept
bringing him back to it over and over again was simple strategy.
Find the enemy’s weak point and exploit it. Something that
Danny's ONI instructors had drilled into his brain time and time again
during his training to become a Naval Intelligence officer operating in
the field.
From what Danny could see in his file, Herman Yardley was the
weak link in JTN and The True Warrior Disciples of Jesus Christ in
Alabama, and maybe whatever else was going on that he didn’t know
about yet. So as he continued to eat his food, Danny reread the Yardley
file once more, absorbing, analyzing, devising. He didn’t have a plan
yet, but something was starting to develop in the back of his brain, so
he’d just sit back and see what came of it.
And by damn were those sandwiches and fries good. The
lemonade wasn’t half bad either.

IT WAS DARK WHEN HE DECIDED TO leave the restaurant. Not

very late, but the sun went down early this time of year, and clouds
had started rolling in late in the afternoon. Danny climbed in his
Yukon, started the engine, and backed up, not quite sure where he was
headed, but the truck seemed to know where. Just over a mile later he
was driving past the small office park on Ironation Road in which was
housed the office of the Talladega branch of JTN Security Services.
Everything was closed on Saturdays, not a car in the lot. Danny drove
by, circled the block, then pulled into the lot on the far side in the
shadows. The street didn’t appear to be a heavily traveled one and
traffic was probably really light on weekend nights.
 Danny sat with the engine running for several minutes, looking
around, watching the empty two story brick building. A marquee out
front listed the names of the businesses in the park. Seven in total.
JTN was third from the top, along with a suite number.
He couldn’t see any surveillance cameras anywhere, but that
didn’t mean there weren’t any. Still, since he didn’t really plan on
anything illegal…
Shutting off the engine, Danny zipped up his jacket, put on a
watch cap and gloves, and climbed out of the Yukon. He walked over
to the entrance door in the center of the building, found that it was
unlocked, walked inside to the empty lobby. Still no surveillance
cameras visible. Someone really ought to speak to the owners about
security, Danny thought with an ironic smile, also thinking about the
fact that JTN Security had its office here.
A quick tour around the downstairs area told Danny that the suite
he wanted was not on the first floor, so he went up the stairs to level
two, finding JTN’s office at the far end of the hall. A glass frosted door
with the company name painted across it in large block letters. In
smaller letters was the name of H. Yardley, Manager. Must be the
place, Danny thought.
Not a whole lot to see, even with his maglite. So after a few
minutes consideration, a consultation with his watch, Danny decided
to leave.
Back in his Yukon, he sat for a few minutes, more consideration
followed. Then a decision.
He cranked the engine, put on his seat belt, and pulled out,
heading west on Ironation.

HALF MILE NORTH ON HAYNES Street across from a KFC was a

Super 8 Motel that Danny had noted on his earlier drive down to
Ironation. He figured that it wouldn’t be too hard to get a room
tonight, not much going on this time of year after the holidays and
before the big races in a couple of months. The parking lot was almost
as deserted as the one at the office park had been and when he went to
check in, the pretty little Latina at the desk told him he could have
practically any room he wanted.
He chose one the back side of the second floor, got his overnight
and laptop bags from the truck, and headed up. The room was clean,
which was good, but the furniture was a bit frayed. That didn’t really
matter. He didn’t plan on staying long. Probably just the night. Made
more sense than driving back to Montgomery for the night then
driving back in the morning.
After a trip to the bathroom, Danny came out and sat on the front
edge of the bed, taking out his mobile phone. He called the duty phone
for the marshals on duty outside Filipa Whitaker’s room in the
hospital in Atlanta. The deputy who answered was a woman, and she
recognized Danny’s voice at once, having talked to him yesterday
around the same time.
“Sorry, sir,” the deputy said with regret. “Still no change. The
doctor said that if there’s no improvement by tomorrow afternoon,
then she’ll more than likely schedule surgery for Monday morning.”
Danny took the news with a sigh, asked how security was holding
up, then thanked the young woman, hanging up.
“Damn!” he swore, slamming his mobile phone down on the bed.
“Goddamn and fuck!”
He thought about calling Detective Hogan to see if he had made
any progress on finding the shooter, but then nixed that idea, figuring
that if he had he would have been in touch before now. Which meant
everything was at a standstill investigations-wise. Not good, because
whoever was threatening Helena Vail was still out there and planning
their next move, a move that Danny was sure would be fatal for the
senator if they succeeded.
He set his laptop up on the desk by the window, stripped down
and went to shower. Long and hot.
He came out and put on sweatpants and an old blue T-shirt he’d
had since his Navy days, mostly faded now. There wasn’t a whole lot in
the files that he didn’t already know, but he spent an hour skimming
anyway, making a few notes on a pad. Then he checked his email
accounts, found one from Sin Lukes, read it, saw she had included a
couple new photos of her one year old granddaughter. She was
growing up every day, happy kid. If only she could stay that way
forever.
“If only we all could.”
He sent a quick reply to Sin, then sent updates to Lieutenant
Atwater and Captain Rowland, letting them know where he was, just
in case he disappeared without a trace in the next day or so. Then he
sent the computer to sleep, stood and stretched.
Barely ten o’clock. But he was tired. He lay down on the bed and
picked up the clicker, aiming it at the TV. Flipping channels for a
while, he ended up settling on the A&E Network. They were running a
The First 48 marathon. Oddly, Danny actually liked this show. No
actors involved, just real cops doing real work and not always coming
up with the best results. Just like he himself. Although he did try really
hard.
Ten minutes into the program, he was sound asleep, the remote
slipping from his left hand. He had taken the precaution of setting the
sleep timer for an hour so it wouldn’t stay on all night if he fell asleep.
Forty-nine minutes after he dropped off, the TV said good night
and did the same.

SORGHUM LANE IS LOCATED ABOUT four miles south of

Ironation Road and deadends in the woods. Not an easy place to
conduct surveillance, especially if you’re an unknown party. And if
you’re a black unknown party. Danny’s Yukon didn’t have state plates,
but there were two communications antennae attached to the back
which were dead giveaways. Didn’t really matter though, he had no
plans to be subtle.
Herman Yardley had a small cottage-like house at the end of
Sorghum, almost right in the woods. Danny drove past the house at
seven-thirty Sunday morning, giving the place a thorough once-over
before reaching the end of the street and turning around, coming back
even slower. One vehicle in the driveway. According to his file, Yardley
was single, never married, no kids. Kind of reminded Danny of
someone else (himself), only Yardley was a fruitcake radical who was
part of a plot to kill a woman because she didn’t share his views and
values, whatever the hell they were.
 Danny drove past the house and looked around the neighborhood
for a while. He wouldn’t be able to remain there for long before
someone called the cops, and once Talladega PD heard a strange SUV
with a black guy in it was trawling through one of their more peaceful
neighborhoods, they’d respond, probably in force.
So he pulled back onto Highway 77, found a quiet spot, then took
out his mobile phone. For times just like this, Danny had long ago
entered into his phone the duty numbers for just about every local
police department and sheriff’s office throughout the state of Alabama.
He scrolled through until he found the number he wanted.
“Dispatch, Sergeant Christie speaking, how may I help you?”
“Sergeant Christie, my name is Danny Monk, I’m with ABI.”
“Yes, sir, how can I help you this morning?”
“Well, Sergeant, I just wanted to inform you that I’ll be operating
in your jurisdiction today. Actually, I’m already in town. Right now I’m
on Highway 77 near Sorghum Lane. I wanted to give you my personal
description along with my vehicle tag and description so if you get any
calls…”
“Gotcha, Mr. Monk. Shoot.”
Danny gave the information. The sergeant paused while he wrote
everything down, including Danny’s badge number and contact
information for ABI’s weekend duty office if the sergeant wanted to
check further—which he should if he was doing his job properly.
“So anything we can help you with, Investigator Monk? We’re kind
of stretched thin on Sundays, but if you need something…”
“Appreciate it, Sergeant, but I think I got it covered. Just a little
Q&A and some recon. Nothing really major. Just tying up some loose
ends on a case.”
The sergeant didn’t sound as if he actually bought that
explanation, probably wasn’t happy to have a state investigator
wandering around on his turf without a local escort, but he didn’t
press it.
Danny hung up, then sat for a while. He was hungry again, and
there was no telling when of even if Herman Yardley would be leaving
his place today. The stomach was going to win.
Danny put the Yukon in gear and headed out to find a nearby
place to satisfy his gut.

HERMAN YARDLEY LEFT HOME AT ten-thirty, climbing into

his five year old Dodge pickup truck wearing his Sunday bests. Danny
was pretty sure he knew where the man was headed, and waited until
he was nearly out of sight before pulling away from the spot he had
been parked at near the woods just past the house. He didn’t know if
Yardley had seen him or not, he wasn’t that hard to miss, but if he had,
he didn’t appear to be alarmed.
Ten minutes and four miles later, Yardley pulled into the parking
lot of a small Baptist church on Creek Street about half a mile past the
restaurant where Danny had had breakfast a couple hours ago. The lot
was nearly full when Yardley arrived and he had to park near the back.
Danny drove on past, figuring he had plenty of time to drive around
before Yardley was likely to leave. He hadn’t spent much time in
Talladega prior to this and took the opportunity to do some exploring,
even heading over to the superspeedway and having a look at the
track. Deserted this weekend, but twice a year it was the center of
redneck attention all around the country. Oh NASCAR!
Church services ended at noon and Danny was waiting at the
corner of the cross street down from the church when everyone began
to file out. He had a pair of binoculars to his eyes, checking faces,
observing that almost everyone coming out of the building looked the
same. Male or female, adult or child. Didn’t matter much. And
Herman Yardley was no different.
After a few quick conversations with other congregants, Yardley
got back into his pickup truck and took off. Danny waited until he
drove past, then pulled out behind him. This time he was pretty sure
that the other man had seen him, and now he’d wait to see what he
did. Maybe try to shake him, perhaps call the cops or drive by the
police station. Or maybe he’d pull over and try to confront Danny.
That would be fun. For Danny anyway.
When they came to the turn for Sorghum, Yardley gave no
indication of turning, kept going straight. Perhaps he was going to
lunch somewhere before heading home, or meeting a friend.
 A few miles later, Danny got his answer when the Dodge turned
onto Ironation Road.
“Well, well, Hermie, looks like you’re not going to keep the
Sabbath. Working on a Sunday. Tsk, tsk!”
Danny drove past the office park slowly, watching as Yardley
pulled to a stop right in front of the entrance to the building. He sat for
a few moments, then climbed out, looking around nervously. Yeah, he
knew he was being tailed. Good, Danny thought.
“Good.”
He drove on for another two blocks, did a u-turn, and came back,
suddenly feeling a tightness in his gut. He was reassured by the weight
of the SIG .45 on his right hip, and the small SIG .380 on his left ankle.
And a few other items of interest scattered about his person.
He pulled into the lot and parked next to Yardley’s truck, shutting
off the engine.
Could be walking into a trap.
Guy could be waiting in there to ambush you.
Could be. And so what if he is?
Danny sighed, groaned as his back stiffened up. This brought back
an immediate memory of Friday night and Kat Tully. He pushed those
thoughts aside, opened the door, climbing out.

DANNY WAS WEARING DARK SLACKS, a dark sweater, and a

heavy dark-colored windbreaker as he stepped into the reception area
of the building, still as empty as it was upon his last visit. He glanced
around for a moment, then walked down to the stairs, looking around
again. No sign that anyone at any of the other offices had decided to
come to work after church. Danny quietly ascended the stairs, pausing
at the top landing, listening.
He stepped out and glanced down the hallway toward the JTN
office. The door was closed, but he could see a light on behind the
glass. So Yardley had gone inside. Or perhaps he’d turned the light on
as a distraction and was lying in wait somewhere else.
And perhaps Danny just had an overactive imagination, he
thought, smiling to himself and proceeding down the short hallway.
He knocked once on the glass, more of a pound actually.
No response.
He knocked again.
“Yeah?” a timid voice called from the other side of the door.
“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”
Not very friendly, thought Danny. Could be turning down a major
piece of business without even a courtesy invite. Not a very good
businessman.
Danny knocked one more time.
“I said we’re closed!” came the louder response. “Come back
tomorrow!”
Danny tried the doorknob. It turned in his hand, the door was
unlocked. Maybe this was a trap. Brushing his elbow against the SIG’s
butt, he turned the knob all the way and pushed the door inside.

HERMAN YARDLEY WAS SEATED AT one of the two desks in

the small room, the one further back by the window that overlooked
the back side of the building. When Danny pushed into the office,
Yardley appeared as deer caught in headlights. First there was fear,
then more fear, ending with a halfhearted attempt at indignation. But
fear was the most prevalent thing.
“Hey, you can’t come in here! I said we’re closed! You’re
trespassing!”
He was saying all the right things, exactly what he was supposed
to say, but there was no real strength behind the words, or the
indignation.
Danny closed the door, locked it, just in case, and walked over to
the desk where Yardley sat, still not getting up. He stared down at the
man for a full minute, and in less than ten seconds Yardley had to look
away.
Danny pulled his credentials out of his jacket pocket and
presented them.
“Mr. Yardley,” he said formally. “My name is Senior Special
Investigator Daniel Monk. I’m with the Major Investigations Unit of
the Alabama Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to speak with you if that’s
all right.” And even if it’s not, he didn’t add.
Now the fright was palpable on the small man’s face, his whole
body seeming to shrink into his wrinkled gray suit. He tried to speak,
had to stop to clear his throat—twice—and he still couldn’t meet
Danny’s eyes directly.
“Wh-what do you want to talk t-to m-me about?” he stammered.
“I haven’t done nothin’.”
Guilty people always started off by denying things before they
were even asked a question. Well, stupid guilty people anyway. And it
was quite apparent that Herman was a stupid guilty person. Danny
almost felt sorry for him.
But not really.
He put his creds away, slipped off his windbreaker and tossed it
on the desk to his right, pulling out the client chair in front of Yardley’s
desk, making sure the other man got a good look at the SIG on his
right hip, then he sat down and shifted around until he got
comfortable. By that time, Yardley was anything but. As Danny had
intended.
He smiled at the JTN regional manager, as warmly as a snake
staring at a mouse.
“We’ve all done something, Herman,” Danny said coldly, his eyes
never wavering from the other man’s face. “Some of us more than
others. Anyway, I won’t take up too much of your time this morning, it
being a Sunday and all. Was the service good?”
A blank stare.
“Church service. You just came from church, right?”
A slow nod.
“H-how’d… Was you following me?”
“I was.”
Another stare, this one filled with panic. His voice was lost again.
Danny leaned forward, his hands on the edge of the desk.
“What’s say I talk and you listen, Herman? And you don’t have to
say anything afterwards. I just want to tell you a story. You feel like
adding something, that’s okay, if not, I leave and you won’t hear from
me again. Well, that’s not exactly true. You’ll hear from me when I
come back to arrest you, slap the cuffs on and read you your rights.
But that could be a while from now.”
Yardley looked at him sharply at the mention of arrest, but said
nothing.
Danny settled back in the chair, crossed his legs, and began to
speak at length, his voice low and even, no hurry in his tone. Herman
Yardley sat and listened quietly, straining to hear everything Danny
said in his low tone, and feeling sicker by the second, suddenly
realizing that his entire life was about to completely fall apart.
Actually, it already had, from the moment he had let a small piece
of information slip from his lips, just trying to impress someone with
how important he was, let them know that he wasn’t the loser
everyone always thought he was. And in doing that, he had become the
biggest loser of all.

YARDLEY WAS NOT IN A TALKING MOOD when Danny

finished. He seemed on the verge of tears. Danny could have pushed
the issue, but opted not to go the hard route for now. He had already
pushed the man far enough, too much more pressure and he might fall
apart and be useless. Danny didn’t actually have anything to arrest
him on right now, nor anyone else who might be involved with the
attacks on Senator Vail, Heather Myers, or Filipa Whitaker. Yardley
was the best link he had right now and he needed to take care in
dealing with him.
So he left the office, went back out and got into his Yukon. It was
one o’clock and he was hungry again, but first there was something he
had to do.
Interrupt someone else’s Sunday afternoon plans.

RUSS ROWLAND ANSWERED HIS MOBILE phone on the third

ring, sounding a little out of breath.
“You having a heart attack or having sex?” Danny quipped.
“Neither,” Rowland replied, chuckling. “But one could lead to the
other at my age. You calling me on a Sunday afternoon is never good.
What’s up?”
“Sorry to call, Russ, but I need a favor. What judges do you know
that could be persuaded to issue wiretap warrants on a Sunday
afternoon?”
A pause, then a deep inhale of breath, the sounds of furniture
being moved around in the background.
“Okay, first you better tell me what you’ve got going on. And if
you’re gonna need a criminal defense lawyer later.”
Danny snickered, then leaned back in his seat, watching the front
of the building he had just come out of. As succinctly as possible, he
told the deputy chief of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation
everything. Well, close to everything.
Everything he needed to know anyway.
When he was finished, Rowland took a few minutes to process
everything he’d been told, then said okay.
“I can get on to Judge Binkman. She owes me a couple of favors.
And she’s a good friend to cops. Doesn’t mind a little constitutional
infringement as long as we nab the bad guys without too much fuss. I’ll
give her a call. You staying in Talladega tonight?”
“Not sure yet,” Danny admitted. “I’m gonna play it by ear. If the
judge signs off, how long do you figure it’ll take for the phone company
to come through?”
“Probably not today,” Rowland admitted. “Unless we get really
insistent. Think I should?”
“It would be appreciated.”
“All right. I’ll push. And I’ll have someone from our Tech Ops set
up the monitoring link for you. They’ll email you the URL when it’s set
up. If they get it done today. If they can’t…”
“Gotcha. Thanks, Russ.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. This goes south, forget you know
me.”
“Know who?” Danny said, then hung up.
He sat for a while longer, then hunger got the better of him once
more.
“Arby’s again,” he said aloud, starting the engine and slipping on
his seatbelt.
 Chapter 25

PELHAM
Helena Vail and company spent Sunday in Pelham visiting with
select groups of voters in various private residences around the city,
each attendee carefully vetted by the senator’s protective staff several
days in advance. Movement for the day was tricky, but manageable,
the owners of the houses they visited were very cooperative with
security arrangements and tolerant of the necessary intrusions. They
were supporters of Helena Vail for the most part, and none of them
wanted to see her hurt.
Later in the evening there was a big rally at the Pelham
Amphitheater and that would be a pain to cover. The event was well
publicized in advance which meant anyone intent on doing harm had
had an opportunity to advance the site as well. Laura Copeland had
the full support of the small Pelham PD and the Shelby County
Sheriff’s Office, and had managed to get additional troops from the
local ABI Area 3 commander. Even so, she worried that it wasn’t
enough.
It was never really enough. Bad guys only needed to be lucky once,
and it was all over. One slipup on the part of the security team and
they lost a client, no second chances. They had to be on top of their
game at all times, ready for anything. Laura Copeland knew she was
the best at her job, and trusted the rest of her team. The local cops
were the weak link. She hadn’t had the chance to work with many of
them before and had no idea where their true affiliations lay. She
could only hope they were all true to their oaths to serve and protect. If
not, they were her enemies and would be dealt with as such.

“ALPHA THREE, POST CHECK?”

“Alpha Three here. Post clear, boss. All’s quiet on the western
front.”
“That’s funny, Eddie,” Copeland said into her wrist transmitter.
“Because I assigned you to the east side of the house.”
“Oh, that explains why the sun is setting in the other direction.”
Copeland grinned, shaking her head, then continued on with her
other post checks. Same status all around, clear. A quick sigh of relief,
but not too big. No need to jinx herself.
She checked her watch from her post at the front door of the small
ranch style house on Maple Leaf Circle, calculating that if everything
was on schedule—and Heather Myers was very good at making sure of
that—then they should be leaving in another ten minutes. One more
stop to make before heading back to the hotel to get cleaned up and
changed for tonight. Still so much to be done before then. Once Vail
was at the hotel, not scheduled to be at the amphitheater until seven-
thirty, Copeland planned to leave Miguel Santos in charge and head
over to make sure all the arrangements at the venue were what they
should be. If she had even the slightest doubt about something, she
would make sure it was taken care of before her client arrived. No
matter who she had to kneecap.
Heather Myers stuck her head outside the door a few minutes
later, shivering as the cold hit her.
“You think I’d be used to this stuff living up in Minnesota,” she
smiled. She had fully recovered from the shock her system had
received following the murder attempt on her life. Although Copeland
could detect signs of stress around her eyes from time to time, and her
startle response was more excited than it had been. But she had held
up remarkably well for someone not used to that kind of violence.
“Imagine how I feel,” Copeland gave her a half smile. She was only
wearing a pantsuit, no overcoat. Something she intended to rectify at
the next house if she had to wait outside, her coat being in the back of
the vehicle that Santos was now using to advance the last house on
their list.
“Poor baby,” Heather Myers chided. “Didn’t your momma ever tell
you not to go out in the cold without a coat? Well we’re wrapping up
now. Helena will be ready in about two minutes?”
“Copy that,” Copeland said, and the other woman nodded and
went back inside, firmly closing the door behind her. Copeland
shivered now, then raised her wrist transmitter once more.

THE PELHAM AMPHITHEATER WAS NEARLY at capacity that

Sunday night. Something that the manager remarked was remarkable
considering there was no concert going on, just a political rally; for a
woman most people wrote off as having next to zero chance of
succeeding.
However, if crowd excitement counted for anything, then Helena
Vail might just pull off an upset. Laura Copeland thought grimly that if
that happened, then somebody really would have their work cut out
for them fulltime trying to keep Governor Vail alive. She wondered if
she’d be offered the job. The governor’s detail came from DPS’
Dignitary Protection Unit, and if she managed to keep the senator
alive long enough to become governor… The thought of being assigned
to the protection detail for the state's chief executive made her smile, a
nice feather in her cap if she could pull it off.
Of course, Vail had to win first. Not nearly as plausible a thing as
some seemed to think. But not impossible either. Anything could
happen in politics, and the bad thing was that it usually did.
Copeland was standing stage-right just out of sight of the audience
below the stage as Helena Vail, dressed in casual clothes, stood before
a bulletproof podium and revved up her supporters with many of her
signature slogans, receiving enthusiastic cheers in response as camera
flashes went off repeatedly. With each flash, the knot in Copeland's
guts tightened just a little bit more. This caused her to think that
maybe protecting Governor Vail fulltime might not be the best thing
for her health. Physical or mental.
Copeland glanced over to the opposite end of the stage, seeing
Santos standing there also glancing around the amphitheater, his eyes
coolly assessing everything within his visual range. Their eyes met
briefly, then continued moving on.
In the front row, supporters held up signs exalting their love for
their candidate, and pledging their everlasting support for her.
Copeland absently wondered how long everlasting would be if Vail was
elected and started doing what politicians always end up doing.
Disappointing their supporters by cutting deals which helped them to
govern. Then how many of these people will become detractors, even
threats?
She was still pondering this cheery thought when the trooper
manning Command Post communications interrupted her thoughts
with an urgent call.
“Shit!” she swore softly. When she glanced over, Miguel Santos
was staring at her, having heard the radio call, too. It only took a single
nod of her head, a return nod from Santos, the message sent and
received, then Copeland turned, summoning the uniformed Pelham
officer just a few feet away. She spoke close to his ear, speaking as
clearly as she could, making sure he understood that he should allow
no one up onto the stage from this direction. And that meant no one!
Briefly she indicated Agent Santos at the opposite end of the stage.
“And if you do, that man over there is going to shoot you,” she
added, no trace of humor in her voice.
The look Santos gave the officer indicated that he was fully
capable of doing what Copeland had suggested. With the officer in
place, Copeland turned and moved away quickly, picking up her pace
to a run when she cleared the stairs that led down to the back-of-
house.

THE COMMAND POST WAS ON THE SECOND floor in the

manager’s conference room adjacent to his office. When Copeland got
there the hallway was filled with uniforms and guns. Too many.
Alarmed, she went up to the senior most officer, a lieutenant from
Shelby County, and demanded to know why so many personnel had
been pulled from their posts.
“Hang on, Agent Copeland,” the man drawled, instantly annoying
her with his condescending expression and easy manner. “I pulled
some of the boys up here to cover this fella. My call. Didn’t want to
take no chances.”
“With one guy?” Copeland said, incredulous. “You didn’t want to
take chances with one guy? You do realize that he could be a decoy and
that there might be others out there? Lieutenant, get these men back
on post! Now!”
Angered to be rebuffed by a statie, and a woman at that, the
Shelby County supervisor initially hesitated, but seeing the
determination in Copeland’s dark eyes—probably also realizing that
she could be right—he quickly hustled to carry out her instructions.
Copeland stood watching, took a deep breath as she shook her
head. When the hallway was mostly clear, she turned to the door
leading to the conference room, guarded by two officers, one a state
trooper she recognized. She walked over and both officers came to
attention. The lieutenant followed her.
“Look, Copeland…”
She turned and cut him off with a stern look. No time for soothing
egos or listening to excuses now. She was about to reach for the
doorknob, thought better of it, stepped away.
“All posts, this is Copeland,” she said into her communicator.
“Report your status now.”
She didn’t start breathing again until the last post reported clear.
Then she glanced at the lieutenant once more, the man staring at her
harshly, but exercising good judgment this time by keeping his mouth
shut.
“Okay, Lieutenant,” she said to him, pushing off the wall she had
been leaning on. “Let’s go talk to this fella.”
She walked over to the conference room/Command Post and
opened the door, stepping inside, the lieutenant reluctantly following a
few seconds later.

IN THE FAR CORNER OF THE ROOM, two Shelby County

deputies stood over a pale faced young man of about twenty wearing a
beat up brown windbreaker, a funky looking turtleneck, black jeans,
and dirty black combat boots. He was clearly nervous, scared shitless
would actually be more accurate.
Copeland walked over and told the deputies to give them some
space. They both looked toward their lieutenant and he nodded, then
they complied. Copeland ignored the slight, moved over and pulled a
chair from the table nearby, sitting down opposite the young man. One
of the deputies handed her a wallet and she opened it, reading the
state ID card, no driver’s license.
“Anthony Burke,” she read, glancing over at the young man. “Says
here you live in Oneonta. Long way from home, especially since you
don’t have a driver’s license. Hope you didn’t drive down here
illegally.”
Burke folded his arms across his chest and looked away, trying for
stoic and tough, failing miserably, and coming off as dimwitted.
“Mr. Burke, you know why the deputies detained you, don’t you?”
Nothing.
She turned back to the deputy who had given her the wallet, held
out her hand. He passed a plastic evidence bag to her. The bag
contained a folding knife. She opened the bag, pulled out the knife,
flicked it open.
“Pretty cool blade,” she remarked, examining the sharpened
surface. “Razor sharp, too. Also, quite illegal in this state. You could be
charged on that alone.”
“Got no right to hold me,” the kid muttered, but not looking
directly at Copeland. “They shouldna searched me. No right.”
“Actually, they did have the right, Mr. Burke. You were overheard
by several people in the crowd making threats against Senator Vail. So
much so that some of them became concerned and reported you to
officers. That’s why they detained you. And incident to that
detainment, as a safety precaution for you and them, they searched
you, found this knife. This illegal knife, by at least three and a half
inches. Believe me, in court, it’ll stand up, and you’ll do time. Might
even be able to charge you with making terroristic threats against the
senator. That’s a crime, too, you know. You’re in a whole mess of
trouble here, Mr. Burke. But I could help you out. Maybe. If you talk to
me.”
He had begun to shake and Copeland was sure that soon he’d be in
tears. She didn’t have time for that, needed to determine quickly if he
was an actual threat and if so, was he a part of something larger. So
she decided to push hard now.
“We’re gonna run you through our databases, Mr. Burke. If you’ve
got any outstanding warrants, any history of criminal activity that
suggests you could be involved in something sinister, I promise you,
we’re gonna nail your ass to the wall! Now is the time talk to me, tell
me why you came here. Were you planning on attacking Senator Vail?
Are you working with somebody else? You better answer to me now,
damnit, while you can still help yourself!”
Now he was crying, and shaking violently.
The lieutenant had gone over to the officer working at one of the
laptop computer set up at the front of the room and was now coming
over to Copeland with a printout. She took it, stared at it for a few
minutes.
“Yeah, this part I already figured out. Thanks.”
She gave Burke another twenty seconds, then reached out and
took him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at directly at her for the
first time.
“You don’t have any warrants,” she told him. “Good for you.
Although you’ve got three DUIs, which explains why you don't have a
license. Pretty bad for somebody who just turned twenty-one five
months ago. Curious thing though, your family relations. I should offer
my condolences to you for your recent loss, Mr. Burke. You did
recently lose your older brother, right?”
Burke said nothing, stared at her with eyes that were rimming
with tears, his face red.
“Yeah. I figured out who you were as soon as I saw your name and
saw where you were from. Dale Burke was your older brother.”

“I BELIEVE HIM. I DON’T THINK he showed up to do any actual

harm. Just full of anger and didn’t know what else to do. He’s not the
brightest bulb in the chandelier. Admitted to driving down from
Oneonta without a license. Said he always carried the knife. Records
search came up blank with any known affiliations to radical groups. Of
course, the same could be said for his brother and look how he ended
up. I turned him over to Shelby County and they’ll book him for the
knife, keep him for a day or two until a more thorough check can be
done.”
 “And everything else went smoothly?” asked Lieutenant Bobbi
Atwater through the phone.
“Smooth as silk, Lieutenant,” Supervisory Special Agent Laura
Copeland confirmed. “Long day, but it went well. Vail seems to have
bounced back stronger than ever. And her supporters are really
enthusiastic. You know, if I were the current governor, I might be
worried right now.”
Atwater snickered.
“I’m sure he is. But this is still Alabama, after all. He’s probably
safe. But it would be something if she actually pulled it off. If that
happened, would you be willing to sign on to her protection detail for
four years at the governor’s mansion?”
Although she had been considering just this very thing earlier in
the day, the suddenness of the question from Atwater took her off-
guard. Not wanting to seem too eager, she hesitated before
responding.
“Actually, Lieutenant, I really haven’t had time to give it much
thought.”
“You really do need to work on your lying skills, Special Agent
Copeland,” the other woman told her. “Of course you’ve thought about
it. And I’ll share a confidence with you, just because I’m in the mood.
Lieutenant Pierce is thinking about it, too. So if you want the gig, and
it does materialize, all you have to do is ask.”
Copeland didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
“Anyway, thanks for the check in,” Atwater told her. “Thanks for
keeping me in the loop. I’ll pass it on to Captain Rowland in the
morning. Anything develops, don’t hesitate to call.”
“I will, Lieutenant. Have a good night. Oh, by the way, any word
on Danny’s investigation?”
Atwater hesitated this time, then sighed.
“He’s on to something,” she said finally. “Not quite sure what
though. He’s playing it by ear, and for now is out on his own. But you
know Danny. He does things his own way. And usually gets good
results.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Copeland agreed. “Good night, then.”
“Night,” Atwater said, hanging up.
 Copeland closed her mobile phone as she stood just outside the
front door to Helena Vail’s Homewood condo, repaired and once more
livable. Miguel Santos was just coming down the hallway, trailed by
two other special agents from the Dignitary Protection Unit. The night
shift.
A quick shift change briefing took place and then Santos and
Copeland were relieved for the night. Five minutes after eleven.
“All the advance stuff done for tomorrow?” Copeland asked as
they reached the first level, passing a uniformed Homewood officer
posted there, nodding at him.
“Done, checked, and rechecked,” Santos confirmed. “And you
don’t have to look at it till the morning if you want. But I know you
will, so I already emailed the itineraries and the changes to you.”
She grinned tiredly as they pushed through the front door and
headed out into the side parking lot, passing another officer on the
way.
“I might just surprise you, Mike,” she said, reaching into her
pocket for her keys. “Might go back to the hotel and just go to bed, not
even turn on my computer.”
Santos chuckled, shaking his head.
“And tomorrow I’ll come to work wearing high heels and pearls.”
By the time they reached their SUV at the far end of the lot, both
agents were cracking up and had to lean against the fender until they
could catch their breath.
 Chapter 26

Danny spent another night at the Super 8 on Haynes Street in

Talladega, mostly sitting at his laptop listening to the audio taps on the
home, office, and mobile phones belonging to Herman Yardley. Russ
Rowland had been able to get Judge Binkman to issue the necessary
warrants Sunday afternoon, and then had pushed the phone company
hard to make it happen by nightfall. Once that was done, it was a
simple matter for the Technical Services Section of the Alabama
Bureau of Investigation to set up a secure link that Danny could
monitor via URL from his laptop. Simple in relative terms, as far as
Danny understood it. He wasn’t the most technical minded of
individuals, but at least he could turn his laptop on.
Unfortunately, Yardley didn’t make any calls worth the effort on
Sunday. Actually, besides ordering a pizza in the evening, the only
calls were ones he received. Two of those were work-related, JTN
officers on post checking in, which probably meant they didn’t have a
weekend dispatcher for the office. Kind of strange given the size of the
operation, being based in Tuscaloosa and all. Should be able to call in
to a central dispatcher and not have to bother the regional manager.
Unless that was how he wanted it.
Danny fell asleep on the bed with the laptop on his thighs around
two a.m., woke up an hour later, went to the bathroom, then set the
computer down on the bed beside him, turning the volume all the way
up. Hopefully, if anything developed, he’d be awoken.

HE NEEDN’T HAVE BOTHERED. NOTHING happened Sunday

night, at least not that involved Yardley and a telephone conversation.
Danny had also asked for a tap on his email accounts but that couldn’t
be done until Monday at the earliest. When Kat got to her office he’d
ask her to set up a monitor on that end of things, and go back and
check for anything that might be incriminating.
When he woke up he felt groggy, glancing at the clock and seeing
it was a quarter to seven. First a shower, then some breakfast.
Back to Arby’s!

OF COURSE, HE SET HIS LAPTOP up on the table next to him

while he ate, using a Bluetooth earpiece to receive audio so no one else
could listen in. The office phone received two calls while he was eating,
both rolling over to the answering machine. One sounded like a wrong
number.
Danny was finishing the last of a potato cake and contemplating a
quick trip to the bathroom when Yardley made a call on his mobile. He
paused to listen carefully. Yardley was calling his office as well, and
Danny felt a letdown, figuring he was just calling in to check messages.
He was getting ready to stand again when he heard Yardley’s
nasally voice on the line, leaving a message for his secretary. He wasn’t
coming in to the office today. Might be gone a couple of days but
would be reachable by mobile phone.
“Well now,” Danny perked up, once again forgetting about the
bathroom. Not going to work, maybe for a couple of days. Could he be
spooked, deciding to run? Or could there be something else at work?
And did it have anything at all to do with Helena Vail?
Only one way to find out, he thought as he stood up, closing the lid
on his laptop. Bathroom first, then tail.

IT WASN’T REALLY NECESSARY FOR DANNY keep visual

contact with Herman Yardley in order to follow him. That is, as long as
he didn’t ditch his mobile phone. If he did that, and Danny was too far
away, then Mister-Investigator Monk was well and truly fucked. So he
wouldn’t stay too far behind.
After coming out of the bathroom at Arby’s, Danny went out to his
SUV and set up the laptop on the front passenger's seat, using his
wireless card to establish an internet connection. A few taps and clicks
later, and he had the signal from Yardley’s mobile phone registering
strong and clear on the map program on the screen. GPS transmitters
were a wonderful tool for law enforcement nowadays, and for the bad
guys too if they had the technology.
Yardley didn’t leave his home until after nine, and made no calls
on either home or mobile phone before then.
Danny decided he needed to be closer than five and a half miles to
Yardley’s place, so he left the restaurant just after eight and drove
down to Riddle Lane less than a quarter mile from Sorghum Lane and
parked at the end of the block in front of a house with a For Sale sign
in the yard and no vehicles in the driveway. He hoped he wouldn’t be
there long enough to cause suspicion from the neighbors, not really
wanting to call Talladega dispatch again, but if he had to…
While he sat and waited and watched his laptop screen, he took
out his phone and called Kat, thinking she should be in her office by
then.
The office line rang four times and he thought she might be
getting a late start after her weekend with her kids. He’d hang up and
try her later. He could call her mobile phone but didn’t want to disturb
her if she was stuck in Montgomery traffic.
He was just about to press the END button when a breathless
voice answered.
“Yeah, MIU Tech Analysis, Kat Tully speaking.”
“Well, Ms. Tully,” Danny said sardonically. “Hope I didn’t catch
you doing something strenuous.”
Kat chuckled, trying to catch her breath.
“Nothing more strenuous than running to get the phone without
spilling my coffee,” she rejoined. “Why, jealous?”
Danny laughed.
“Of the coffee?”
“Funny. Where are you?”
“Talladega,” he told her. “How was your weekend?”
“Great,” she told him, slightly distracted. He imagined she was
sitting down at her desk still trying to get organized, finding a place on
her crowded desk to put down her coffee cup. “Enjoyed some good
family time with the kids. Just what we all needed.”
“Glad to hear it. Also glad to hear you weren’t too worn down after
our, ah, festivities late Friday night.”
 She snickered.
“By festivities, do you mean your fucking my brains out in your
hotel room Friday night?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling at the recent memories of Kat’s naked,
sweat-slickened body in his arms.
“No, I was fine. A little weak on Saturday morning, and sore, but
in a good way. And the kids didn’t notice. Well maybe they wondered
why I was smiling so much, but other than that…”
Danny chuckled, checking the laptop monitor.
“By the way, Captain Rowland sent me some help Friday
afternoon, forgot to mention that. You didn’t have anything to do with
that, did you?”
“Who, me?” he said innocently. “What makes you think I have that
kind of clout? Besides, if I were going to give you help, it would be in
the form of something stiff and brown.”
Kat burst into laughter, nearly dropping the phone. She took a
minute to recover and Danny found himself grinning.
“You made me spill my coffee, Danny! I’m gonna spank you good
for that!”
“Can’t wait, babe,” he told her. “Love to be there to help you rub
out the wet spot.”
“Oh hush!” she shot back. “Or there’s really gonna be a wet spot
somewhere around here. Give me a minute.”
She put the phone down for a bit and Danny glanced around the
street, watching as some people came out of their houses and got into
their cars, none of them seeming to pay him any attention. Good.
Kat was back.
“So, you’re still in Talladega? What’s doing?”
“Not too much time to go into it. Highlights…”
He finished in a couple of minutes and didn’t pause for her to ask
questions because he saw on the GPS monitor that Yardley was on the
move. Or at least his mobile phone was.
“Anyway, shortly, hopefully, you should be receiving a copy of a
warrant authorizing you to tap into the emails of one Herman Yardley,
regional manager of JTN Security in Talladega, Alabama. Work and
personal. I need you to go through them and look for anything
suspicious, specifically pertaining to Senator Vail.”
“Okay,” Kat said urgently, scribbling notes on a pad on her desk,
the phone resting in the crook of her shoulder. “I can do that. Now that
I’ve got some help, I can do a better job of juggling fifty things as
once.”
“Well you’re already pretty good at juggling from where I’m
sitting.”
“You mean that thing I do with your balls while your cock’s in my
mouth?”
Caught off guard, Danny choked, then laughed, feeling a warm
surge to his crotch.
“I wasn’t, but now that you mention it… I’ve got to go right now,
Kat. Looks like Yardley is on the move.”
“Gotcha,” she said about to let him go, then remembered
something. “Hey, Danny, did you hear what happened in Pelham last
night at the senator’s rally at the amphitheatre?”
A cold feeling moved into his guts.
“No. Somebody try something?”
“No, nothing like that. Or I suspect you’d already know about it.
No, last night the security detail picked up a guy in the crowd who
turned out to be the brother of one of the guys you killed weekend
before last. Dale Burke. Brother’s name is Anthony. He was there last
night, some people were concerned about some of the stuff he was
shouting, alerted security. They found a knife on him, illegal length.”
“Was he actually trying to do anything?” Danny asked, half his
attention on the blinking light moving on his laptop screen.
“Nah,” Kat told him. “Laura questioned him, said she thought he
didn’t really know why he was there, just angry. Didn’t have anything
but the knife, didn’t appear to be with anyone else. Said he carried the
knife all the time and Laura believed him. Got some DUIs is all.
Nothing else. License was revoked but he drove down from Oneonta.
Shelby County’s holding him for the knife while a more thorough BI is
done. My assistant will be taking care of that when he gets down here
in a little while.”
“He?” Danny said, now sounding jealous. “Don’t tell me he’s cuter
than me?”
 Kat laughed.
“Well he is,” she teased. “But you need not worry, lover. He’s most
gay, and I don’t mean happy either. Well, he’s that, too, but…”
“Ah,” Danny said. “Matt Thompson from Computer Fraud.”
“Yep. He’s a doll. Hope I get to keep him.”
“Me, too,” he said absently, reaching for the gearshift. “Gotta go
now, babe. Check in later. And let me know if you find anything in
those emails.”
“Sure will, Danny. Be careful.”
“I will,” and he hung up, pulling forward and U-turning to head
back in the opposite direction.
The blinking dot was now a mile north of his current position and
gaining speed. When Danny reached the intersection of Riddle and
Highway 77, he took the right fast, cutting off a pickup truck coming
from the south. The other driver honked, but Danny ignored it,
pressing his accelerator almost to the floor and listening as the big V8
engine surged with power.

IT WASN’T UNTIL YARDLEY TURNED on to I-20 West in

McCalla that Danny was certain he knew where the other man was
going. Tuscaloosa, most likely. Although he could be going to
Mississippi for all Danny knew. Even California for that matter.
Somehow Danny doubted either possibility though, and thirty-
three minutes later when Yardley’s pickup turned off on Hargrove
Road East, he knew he wasn’t going any farther than Tuscaloosa. With
that realization, Danny suddenly remembered something else, the
speech he was scheduled to give this Friday at the Tuscaloosa
Chamber of Commerce. Something he had completely forgotten about
in recent days.
But now he was here, and if he needed, had a perfect cover. Funny
how things worked out sometimes, he thought, also taking the
Hargrove exit, still keeping some distance between he and Yardley.
Now all he had to do was figure out what the members of the True
Warrior Disciples were up to and if they had any nefarious plans for
Senator Helena Vail in the near future.
 Oh, and yeah, how to stop them without getting killed in the
process.

DETECTIVE OLIVER GAMMON HAD been with the Tuscaloosa

County Sheriff’s Office for nearly twenty-five years now, the last seven
as the senior detective in the Robbery-Homicide Division. Danny had
met him a couple years back while assisting Tuscaloosa in tracking
down a multi-jurisdictional fugitive with a penchant for assaulting,
robbing, and raping women over sixty. He and the detective had made
the collar together in Northport and the suspect had been helpful
enough to resist arrest, making it necessary for the officers of the law
to use reasonable force while restraining him. Afterwards the twenty-
six year old piece of dung had spent several days in the county jail
hospital ward recuperating; Gammon had taken Danny out for a steak
to celebrate closing the case, and the ruling by the review board that
their actions during the arrest were justified.
Following that, they had occasion to work together several more
times, got along well, sometimes called or emailed one another just to
check in. They also traded information as well, keeping one another
current on crime trends and such, occasionally trading scuttlebutt, too.
As soon as Danny had learned of the possible connection of James
Thornton Nelson and his Tuscaloosa-based security company to the
threats to Helena Vail, he had contacted Gammon to find out if the
detective had anything to say about the man or his outfit. Not
surprisingly, the veteran detective knew plenty and had plenty to say.
Most of it not good.

“BUNCH OF FUCKING COWBOYS is what they are. Like to think

of themselves as some kind of modern day version of Old West
gunfighters hired on to defend the railroads and stage coaches. Always
somebody or other complaining about being roughed up by one of
their guards, but they got good lawyers, and some people in the county
like the idea of having these tough guys out there, so they get a pass
lot of the time because the people involved usually are pieces of shit
themselves. As for Nelson himself, he’s an asshole. Used to be a cop
and makes sure everybody knows it, but don’t let on that he couldn’t
hack it as a cop and did less than two years on the force before he
quit…
“…no real trouble as far as an actual crime that I know of, but he
does have his share of questionable personnel on the payroll. Couple I
know got records for violence, which means they can’t carry a gun.
Still, he has them working for him. And you know, the curious thing
that I always wondered about was where he gets the money to run an
operation like that? There was that incident at the bank where he
busted up a robbery just before it happened—folks was real grateful—
but I don’t think the bank actually made him a loan. Even if they did, it
wouldn’t have been for much. They weren’t that grateful…”

DETECTIVE GAMMON HAD TOLD Danny that he would ask

around discreetly, see what else he could find out, and unofficially
keep an eye on Nelson and his people in Tuscaloosa County for him,
let him know if anything odd happened. Danny appreciated this, and
had been in regular contact with the detective over the course of the
past couple of weeks. Most of the effort had been fruitless, it wasn’t
exactly easy to get close to JTN’s operation because it was located on a
private ranch off County Road 47, and not too many people they did
business with were willing to say much about them, but Gammon did
have a few sources. One was a contact at the bank where Nelson had
foiled the robbery several years earlier.
From this source the detective was able to learn that Nelson was
granted a small loan for ten thousand dollars as a favor from the bank
manager, a small gesture of thanks for what he had done. At the time
Nelson was on the verge of losing his farm and was desperate to find a
way to save it. The ten thousand dollars wouldn’t actually cover the
back taxes he owed, but it might be enough for him to hold things
together for a little while longer. It was the best the manager could do
without approval from higher up, and that approval would not come
because Nelson was just too bad a credit risk.
However, an interesting thing happened within a couple of
months of that incident at the bank and the extending of the ten
thousand dollar loan. One day a directive came in from the bank’s
headquarters in Oxford, Mississippi instructing the branch manager to
extend a loan of one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars to Mr.
James Thornton Nelson of Tuscaloosa, Alabama for the purpose of
establishing a business start-up, and requiring only his signature, the
terms of repayment listed as most generous. Something that neither
the bank manager nor Gammon’s source had ever seen before or since.
Following this, Nelson, and later JTN, became a favorite customer
of the bank. More loans were extended, again, generous terms, and
after several years, the bank began to see a return on the investment,
but the risk involved had been substantial and unprecedented. The
source was unaware of the reason someone in Oxford was willing to
take on this kind of risk, nor were they sure exactly where the order
had come from in Oxford, but it was reasoned that such a directive
would have had to come from near the very top. Close to CEO level.
When Danny learned this, he placed a call to his favorite forensic
accountant in Birmingham, asking that when she had time, could she
please have a look into the finances of JTN Security Services in
Tuscaloosa and its relationship with Ole Miss Financial out of Oxford,
Mississippi. He also asked Kat Tully to research the senior leadership
at the bank, looking for connections to Nelson, hoping to find out why
someone there would take the risk of loaning several hundreds of
thousands of dollars to someone who at the time didn’t seem to have
any hope in hell of of ever paying it back. Not a smart move, and
definitely not something a bank was likely to want to do in such
uncertain financial times.
Quite curious. But was there anything illegal there?

DANNY FOLLOWED HERMAN YARDLEY ALL the way to his

destination, which turned out to be what he expected. The
headquarters of JTN Security Services at the Nelson farm in
Tuscaloosa. Danny stayed well back of the entrance, having already
pulled up a satellite map of the area and knowing how close he could
get before coming within sight of the access road. He wasn’t sure if
there was a manned guard gate but didn’t want to take the chance of
being spotted yet. Just wanted to confirm that Yardley had in fact gone
in. Which he had.
Ten minutes went by, enough time so that it wouldn’t look like
surveillance following Yardley. Hopefully. Danny pulled from the side
of the road spot where he’d been parked and casually drove up the
road until he was parallel with the entrance drive to the Nelson farm
and JTN headquarters. There was a gate, and a guard. Actually two of
them. One in a booth, one outside patrolling. And to make matters
more interesting, there was a sign posted at the gate that warned of
Vicious Guard Dogs on Duty!
Great.
Danny drove on by, not sure what his next move should be. He
was at a loss, sure that whatever was going on regarding the attacks
against Vail involved Yardley and Nelson, and probably several others,
but having no actual proof. Filipa Whitaker had something, but right
now she was in a coma, about to undergo major surgery. Whatever she
knew might never be known. Or it might be too late when she was
finally able to tell him.
He should call Atlanta and see if they had anything, maybe had
some luck persuading the newspaper to release her files, or got a court
order to force the release. He was looking for a place to pull over when
his mobile phone buzzed. He pulled off the road onto the dirt shoulder
and slipped the selector into PARK, reaching for his phone on his belt.
The display showed a Montgomery area code, probably somebody
from the Criminal Justice Center using a central line.
“Monk,” he said, glancing into the rearview mirror, seeing a dark
pickup truck slowly approaching his position.
“Danny, it’s me,” said Bobbi Atwater. “Got something that I
thought you should know right away.”
“Okay,” he said, still watching the truck approach. “Shoot.”
An unfortunate choice of words because in the next two seconds
that’s exactly what was happening, only it wasn’t Lieutenant Atwater
shooting words, but rather the occupant in the passenger’s seat of the
pickup truck behind him shooting very real bullets into Danny’s
Yukon.
In Montgomery, Bobbi Atwater screamed into her phone after
hearing the spray of full automatic fire, glass shattering under heavy
impacts. The phone seemed to fall onto the floor and was perhaps
kicked away as more shots rang out, more breaking glass…
Then nothing. The line went dead.

BOBBI ATWATER’S HEART WAS RACING as she hit the redial

button on her phone, but instead of being answered, the line rang and
rang, eventually switching over to voicemail. She slammed down her
receiver and leapt from her chair, knocking it backwards as she ran
around her desk, out her office, and across the short hallway to Kat
Tully’s office, not bothering to knock on the closed door.
Kat was sitting behind her desk telling a story to Matt Thompson,
her temporary assistant, using her hands to gesture as she spoke,
about to deliver the punchline to the story, when her unit commander
burst in, her expression pained to the point of distress. Something that
she could never recall seeing on Bobbi Atwater's face before. This
frightened her.
“Kat, get onto the vehicle tracking system and pull up the GPS
coordinates for Danny’s SUV right now!”
“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Kat said, turning to her, her own face
now worried, her voice strained.
“No time to explain, Kat, just do what I told you. Now!”
Truly frightened now, Kat turned to her keyboard and began to
type urgently.
Atwater turned to Thompson, sitting frozen on his chair, a laptop
on his lap.
“Thompson, right?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” the kid stuttered.
“Get on to the Tuscaloosa County Sheriff’s, the Tuscaloosa PD,
and the Area 4 duty officer and tell them all we’ve got an officer in
distress in their area and prepare to render assistance forthwith.”
Thompson was still frozen, his mouth gaping. Atwater walked over
and grabbed the young man by the arms, pulling him to his feet. He
nearly dropped the laptop but Atwater caught it before it fell.
“Thompson, I need you to move your ass now! We’ve got a man in
trouble. Make the calls! Tell them we’ll have the coordinates
momentarily!”
Thompson nodded, snapping out of his daze, went over to the
phone on the opposite side of Kat’s desk. Of course, then he realized
that he didn’t have any of the numbers he needed.
Already knowing this, Kat tossed him a call sheet from her middle
desk drawer.
“All you need is on there,” she told him, barely managing to keep
her anxiety concealed. “I’ll have the coordinates in just a few seconds.”
Thompson started dialing, Kat’s fingers worked furiously on they
keyboard, her eyes locked on the screen, her mind going numb with
worry. Bobbi Atwater stood feeling helpless, her stomach in her throat,
her fear nearly palpable.
Thompson was on with Tuscaloosa County now, relaying what
Atwater had told him. Kat turned.
“Got it, Lieutenant.”
“Give me the phone,” Atwater said, Thompson complied, glad to
be relieved of his unwanted duty.
“Who am I speaking with?” she said into the mouthpiece. “Okay,
sergeant, this is Lieutenant Atwater of the Alabama Bureau of
Investigation. I want you to listen very carefully, this is urgent, life and
death! One of my people is in your jurisdiction right now and he’s in
trouble. I was in the middle of a phone conversation with him about
five minutes ago and somebody started shooting at him.”
Kat’s heart sank again, she stopped breathing for a moment.
“God!” she said quietly, tears springing to her eyes. “Danny!”
“That’s right,” Atwater continued on the phone. “Shots were fired,
I heard this clearly over the phone. You’ve got to get help to him now!
Here’s the GPS fix on his vehicle…”
 Chapter 27

As soon as he had seen the pickup in his rearview mirror, Danny

had sensed danger. He couldn’t really explain why, had never seen the
pickup before, but something in his guts started churning. Which is
why as he listened to his boss over the phone, he had undone his
seatbelt and started reaching between the front seats of his Yukon.
By the time the passenger’s side window of the pickup was halfway
down, Danny was already diving to the passenger’s side floor of his
vehicle, his phone dropped without regard as he sought cover from the
impending incoming fire.
Seconds later he heard what sounded like a submachine gun, then
glass breaking, metal being perforated, sparks flying upon impact.
Yep, someone was definitely shooting at him again. Seemed to happen
more and more since he became a cop. Maybe it was his personality.
He’d have to think on that long and hard later. Assuming, that is, there
was a later for him.
Screeching tires told him the pickup was stopping, and quickly,
meaning he only had split seconds to act. Reaching up for the door
handle, he pulled it and pushed the passenger’s door open, lunging
through the doorway as more auto fire slammed into the Yukon, this
time lower than before, narrowly missing him as he rolled onto the
ground and toward the rear of his vehicle.
He could see feet on the other side now, two sets wearing brown
work boots. One set moving in each direction, trying to box him in.
What he had been reaching for between the seats just before the
shooting started was the weapon he always kept there for emergencies,
a stainless steel Smith & Wesson Model-66 .357 magnum. Easy to
operate and totally reliable.
Without hesitation, Danny shoved the weapon under the Yukon
and fired two rounds at the feet moving toward the rear, hitting an
ankle and being rewarded with a howl of agony, the owner of the ankle
in question now jumping up and down and cussing as blood poured
from his wound.
This froze the other pair of feet moving toward the front, and he
took cover behind the front driver’s side tire. Smart of him, at least for
the moment.
“Willie! You hit?”
“Fuck yeah! Bastard shot me in the ankle! Shit, man, this hurts!”
“Stay behind the tire, man, he can’t get at you then!”
Not exactly true, but it didn’t matter anyway because Danny was
now behind the Yukon, inches away from the man called Willie. He
glanced over at the pickup, saw one man still in the driver’s seat
looking around anxiously, no weapon in sight. Of course that didn’t
mean he didn’t have one.
“Just stay there, Willie and I---”
He was cut off in mid-sentence by the appearance of the man they
were trying to kill. Danny had stepped out so quickly that neither man
had a chance to react, and Willie was really in no shape to do so
anyway. Danny grabbed him by the collar of his jean jacket, spun him
around and relieved him of the MAC-10 he’d been holding down by his
side, then stuck the barrel of his magnum into the man’s ear.
“Drop that fucking gun or I kill him right now,” Danny said coldly,
no trace of hesitation in his voice, his eyes steady, his finger resting
tightly on the trigger of his weapon.
“Hey, man,” the man at the front of the Yukon said, his eyes
widening. “Hey, man, look, we was just sent to do a job. Nothing
personal here.”
“Drop the gun,” Danny said again, his voice even colder. “Last
warning.”
“Do it, Andy!” Willie shouted as Danny cocked the weapon. “Do it,
man!”
Andy looked toward the man in the front seat of the pickup.
Danny could see him out of the corner of his left eye, still couldn’t see
a weapon, but again, that didn’t mean much. As it turned out, it really
didn’t.
“Can’t do it, Willie,” Andy said, a sudden sadness in is voice. The
MAC in his hands came up and he fired, catching Willie full in the
chest and knocking him back.
As soon as Danny had registered the look in the other man’s eyes,
heard the tone in his voice, he knew what was going to happen, had
begun to step backwards. When the MAC came up he was already
behind the Yukon, dropping down low.
Willie’s bullet riddled body struck the ground a few feet away,
dead, and then Danny heard the bolt on the SMG close on the empty
chamber.
“Shit!” Andy yelled, working desperately to reload.
Danny leaned around the back edge of his SUV, saw the driver of
the pickup climbing out on the other side, and saw Andy putting a
fresh magazine into his weapon.
Danny shot him twice in the chest and rolled back behind his
truck, narrowly avoiding a full onslaught of shotgun fire from the front
side of the pickup truck, the few remaining pieces of unbroken glass on
his truck now shattered, bits showering down on him.
In the distance he thought he heard sirens, hoped he did. Probably
did.
Since he’d been talking to Bobbi Atwater when this whole thing
started, chances were good she’d gotten a GPS fix on his vehicle and
then called the locals for assistance. Either that or somebody heard all
the shooting and called the cops. This was a less traveled stretch of
road and so far no one had come by—lucky for them—but there were
farms around besides the Nelson place, perhaps someone on one of
them had called. Either way, the sirens sounded like they were coming
his way. So all he had to do was stay alive for a few more minutes.
Not nearly as easy as it sounded when someone was blasting away
at you with a shotgun and getting closer every second.
Danny dropped the magnum and reached for his SIG, cocking the
hammer. Behind him were some woods about ten feet away. If he was
quick enough he could make it, but if he wasn’t he’d get nailed in the
back by the shotgun-wielding driver. That could really ruin his day.
Danny was hiding behind the rear passenger’s tire, hoping to keep
his profile as low as possible. Apparently the shooter figured this was
where he was hiding and fired a round under the Yukon’s carriage
right into the tire. Danny wasn’t hit, but the sudden explosion of the
tired scared the hell out of him. Time for a trip to the woods after all.
A deep breath, then he pushed off from the truck, not bothering to
glance back. He was halfway to a clump of thick trees when he heard
the distinctive click of a shotgun trigger being pulled and nothing
happening.
Change of plans.
Danny skidded to a stop, dropped, and spun around.
The shooter was just tossing aside his shotgun and going for a
pistol on his left hip. He had it halfway out of his holster when the first
Tuscaloosa PD cruiser rolled onto the scene, followed quickly by
another, and then a state trooper car. None of this mattered to the
man though, his focus still on Danny, his weapon coming out and up
on target.
Training and instinct had taken over some time ago, Danny now
on professional automatic. The SIG 1911’s front sight landed in the
center of the driver’s chest and a millisecond later the trigger was
pulled. Once, twice, three times. All three shots landing on target in a
tight group less than a quarter inch apart.
The shooter never managed to acquire his target, however, as he
was struck, falling backwards, dead before he landed, his finger
spasmed on the trigger and discharged the pistol once into the ground.
More screeching tires, vehicles coming to hard stops. Doors
opened, armed officers filed out of their cars, careful approaches.
As soon as Danny saw them, he raised his weapon in the air, let it
hang by his index finger.
“Danny Monk!” he shouted. “ABI!”
“Yeah,” said one of the officers as he approached, weapon still
drawn but not pointing at Danny. “Lieutenant Atwater called and told
us you were up here and somebody was shooting at you. Said you
needed help, but from where I’m standing, not really.”
Danny smiled, then sat down on the ground and took several deep
breaths. He was shaking and couldn’t quite control his limbs. The
officer who had spoken came over and knelt beside him.
“You all right?”
“I will be,” Danny managed. “Need to find out who these guys are,
Officer. Check ‘em for ID. Got a pretty good idea who sent them, but I
need proof.”
“Will do,” he assured Danny. “Got a coroner on the way, too. Plus
a lot of bosses.”
“Make sure somebody calls Detective Gammon with County
Homicide, please. I need to speak with him.”
The officer nodded, standing.
More cop cars arrived, and ambulances, which weren’t really
necessary. The medical examiner would be sufficient. And eventually
she arrived, too.
Along with Detective Oliver Gammon about twenty-five minutes
after the first officers had arrived on the scene.
Danny was sitting on the back bumper of one of the ambulances
being looked after by a cute EMT named Emily. She had just taken his
blood pressure and remarked that it was a bit too high. Danny joked
that it was probably because she was standing so close to him. This
made her smile, and Gammon rolled his eyes.
“Maybe you ought to rest a bit before you start hittin’ on the
ladies, slick,” Gammon drawled. “At least until all the paperwork is
done. Probably sometime by mid-June.”
Danny grinned at the detective, thanked Emily, then stood up.
“Glad you could make it, Gam,” Danny said as the two men shook
hands, examining the still busy crime scene.
“Well this is the county,” he said. “Would have had to come out
anyway. Just glad not to be investigating your murder.”
“You and me both, pal. We need to talk, but first I need to make a
call to my boss, let her know I’m alive. But in the meantime, I need you
to have some people sit on the Nelson property and make sure if
anybody leaves they have a tail.”
“Figured this was related to that,” Gammon admitted. “The close
proximity and all. I’ll get some of my guys up there, but I’m gonna
need to have some justification for my captain pretty soon.”
Danny nodded, reaching for his mobile phone.
“You’ll have it. But right now…”
Gammon nodded, also reaching for his phone.
Both men started dialing at the same time, then waited for their
calls to be answered.
 Chapter 28

Kat Tully’s fingers flew across her keyboard like a grandmaster

pianist, only she wasn’t making music, but rather accessing
information, and doing it almost quicker than her machines could
process. In front of her desk, Bobbi Atwater stood speaking on her
mobile phone. She was talking to Danny Monk and this made Kat’s
heart sing. She had been scared to death when Atwater had first come
into her office and dropped the bombshell about Danny being under
fire somewhere in Tuscaloosa. That had probably taken five years off
her life. Something she would be sure to express to Mr. Monk when
next they saw each other in person, then demand that he make it up to
her. This thought made her smile and warm inside because she knew
precisely how he would accomplish this.
Now that she knew he was safe, she could work again, and her
motivation had never been greater. Danny had relayed the names of
the men who had tried to kill him. Two were carrying ID and there was
a tag on the truck which came back to the driver, the man with the
shotgun. She had already accessed their criminal records, for two of
them at least, and was now searching for any connection to the two
men who had come after Heather Myers at her place in Vestavia Hills
on the same night that Helena Vail had been attack in Homewood.
“All three are employees of JTN Security,” Bobbi Atwater was
saying into her phone. “Cole and Ziggler are listed as consultants.
They’ve got records and aren’t supposed to be carrying guns, so they
can’t be guards. Guess they can try to kill state police investigators,
though. Last guy, Riker, he’s a licensed guard, been with JTN two
years, works the Northport area.”
“That enough to get a warrant for the Nelson place?” Danny asked
through the phone.
“To me it is,” she said. “Already got Russ talking to Judge
Binkman. Looks like you did spook the crap out of Yardley over the
weekend. But this was dumb. You think Nelson sanctioned it?”
“Well we aren’t too far from his place,” Danny said. “And Yardley
works for him. Plus from what little we know about it, this other
group, the Warrior Disciples, is purely Nelson’s. Either way, doesn’t
matter much, you get me the warrant and we’ll go up and have a look-
see.”
“You be damn careful, Danny,” Atwater admonished. “These guys
are liable to be heavily armed and expecting trouble since the guys
they sent out after you didn’t come back.”
“Understood,” he assured her. “And not to worry. Oliver Gammon
is organizing a multi-agency strike force. We’ll go in hard.”
“Keep me posted,” she said, glancing over at Kat Tully. The other
woman had just stopped typing and was staring at her. “Looks like Kat
has something to tell you.” She handed the technical analyst the phone
and stood watching.
“First off, you scared the shit out of me, Mr. Monk,” Kat couldn’t
help but saying, despite her commanding officer being in close
proximity.
“Sorry about that, babe,” Danny said. “But I’m okay, promise. And
you can inspect every nook and cranny later for personal verification.”
Kat fought hard not to blush, failed, then sighed.
“Anyway,” she said, feeling her temperature rise. “Got some
interesting stuff on this guy Cole…”
A sudden clicking on the line halted her and she glanced at the
phone.
“Think you got another call, Lieutenant,” she said.
“Shit,” Atwater said, taking the phone back. “Hang on, Danny, let
me get rid of this other call.” She switched to the other call, prepared
to hastily end it, but then stopped quick when she realized who was on
the other line.
“Jesus!” she said after a minute. “Jesus, that is good news. I’ve got
Danny on the other line right now. Let me tell him. Hang on.”
Another click over.
“Danny?”
“Yeah, Bobbi?”
 “Great news!”
“I could use some right now, considering how sucky my morning
has gone.”
“Well this will brighten up your morning, I promise. Filipa
Whitaker is awake.”
“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “Well that does brighten up the day. Can
she talk?”
“She can.”
“Out-fucking-standing!”
“Got Jason Polis on the other line, I’ll switch over so we can all
talk.”
A moment later…
“Jason, Danny’s on now.”
“Well, well, Mr. Monk, looks like the Marshals are about to do you
another solid,” said the senior deputy marshal. “While you’re cooling
your heels over there in Montgomery, we’re over here keeping a
potential witness in your ongoing case safe from harm.”
Danny chuckled.
“If you only knew, Jace. But right now, no time. Tell me
Whitaker’s talking and she’s got something good to say.”
“Yes, on both accounts,” Polis said. “She’s weak, but insisted on
talking, against her doctors' wishes, too. Even in her current state she's
still a formidable woman. I recorded her just to be sure. They’re still
thinking about doing surgery, though. But at least it looks like she is
improving. Anyway, take a listen.”

AT NOON, DANNY AND THE STRIKE TEAM hit the Nelson

farm. They were loaded for bear, but it turned out not to be necessary.
There was no resistance. The guards laid down their weapons, the
dogs were muzzled, and in less than twenty minutes the police had
complete control of the compound. Ten minutes after that, they found
Herman Yardley.
He was in James Thornton Nelson’s office, but the company
president was not there. Actually he wasn’t anywhere on property and
no one seemed to know where he was at the moment. He left on
business over the weekend and said he’d only be reachable by mobile
phone and email until later in the week.
Herman Yardley had not been scheduled to come to Tuscaloosa
this week, but since he was a senior member of management, no one
questioned his unexpected appearance. Nelson’s secretary said he
came in earlier in the day, went into Mr. Nelson’s office, and a few
minutes later summoned Mr. Cole, Mr. Riker, and Mr. Ziggler. They
left the office about five minutes later, not saying anything to the
secretary.
Herman Yardley had stayed in the office, making no calls that the
secretary knew off. She continued to do her work for the rest of the
morning, was about to go to lunch when the guard at the front gate
called to tell her the police were there, saying they had a warrant to
come onto and search the property. She called Yardley in the office
and relayed this information to him. He hung up without a word. A
minute later she heard a gunshot…
Yardley had blown his brains out with a Beretta 92F compact,
single shot to the right side of the head. Obviously self-inflicted,
Gammon commented as he examined the body.
“We need to find Nelson,” Danny said as he and Gammon stood in
front of the desk behind which the corpse still sat. “He’s the key to this.
Based on what I know now, this thing with Vail isn’t the main event,
he’s part of something larger. And chances are good that the people
he’s involved with aren’t too happy about the way this thing with Vail
has turned out.”
“Maybe they’ll take him out then,” Gammon offered hopefully.
“That would be nice,” Danny admitted. “But then it would be
harder for us to get to them. No, our best option right now is to find
him. Your guys have searched his quarters?”
“Yeah. Zippo. He owns two vehicles. A green Tundra, which is still
here, and a black Dodge Ram. It’s not. Got a BOLO out on it now. Plus
putting his description out to every cop shop in the state.”
“Make it the surrounding states, too,” Danny said. “In particular
Mississippi.”
Gammon looked curious.
“Want to share?”
 “I will,” he said. “But right now it’s too complicated. “Let’s just say
you were right about the money.”
More curiosity, but the detective quickly realized that Danny
wasn’t going to say anymore and let it drop for now.
“I’ll do it,” he said, reaching for his mobile phone.
Danny looked over at the dead body of Herman Yardley one more
time, shook his head in disgust, then pulled out his phone and called
Bobbi Atwater one more time.
“Bobbi,” he said when she answered two rings later. “I need
another search warrant…”

HERMAN YARDLEY’S HOUSE WAS FAR neater than Danny

would have thought for a bachelor, but then he thought of his own
place and reconsidered. Being a single guy didn’t automatically mean
being a slob. And from the standpoint of someone who had to search
the house, Danny was rather pleased with this development; made the
whole process easier.
There was a floor safe behind the desk in the den. Took a deputy
from Talladega County forty-five minutes with a drill to get it open.
While he was making the attempt, Danny and two other ABI
investigators and three other deputies took apart the rest of the small
house, finding no less than half a dozen firearms, three of them
illegally converted to full automatic. Had he not been dead, Mr.
Yardley would now be placed under arrest for violating several federal
firearms laws. However, he was dead and Danny wasn’t really
interested in those charges anyway. Although he did find the weapons
troubling. The implications rather clear, given what they now knew
about Yardley, Nelson, and several of their other associates.
The rest of the search was fruitless. There was a desktop computer
in the den but it was password protected. Danny knew that as soon as
he got it to Kat she’d have no trouble cracking it, but that would take
time. Perhaps something they didn’t have a lot of.
The deputy with the drill finally got through the safe’s lock, sitting
back on his hunches and raising the face shield on the protective
helmet he wore. He was sweating but had a grin on his face, as if he’d
accomplished something great.
Danny would be the judge of that, he thought to himself as he
moved past the man and knelt down to open the safe, simultaneous
sensations of expectation and dread playing through him.

“IT WAS FILLED WITH DVDs and some old comic books. Real
old stuff, from the 50s. Probably worth a lot. His nest egg I guess.
Anyway, couldn’t access the DVDs because they’re password protected
just like his computer, so I packed everything up and brought it back
here to Kat so she could have a go.”
It was almost midnight and Danny had put in nearly three
hundred miles of hard driving today, the last half in a borrowed SUV
from ABI Area 4 because his Yukon was in no shape to travel at the
moment, and might never be again. Something to worry about later.
He was in the conference/interview room in MIU, the place
normally deserted at night, now a buzz of high activity. Standing with
him at the conference table watching as Kat Tully worked at her
laptop, a portable hard drive next to it, were Captain Russ Rowland
and Lieutenant Bobbi Atwater, both in civilian dress, both looking
haggard, but both also anxious to know what if anything significant
was contained on the computer or disks brought back from the late
Herman Yardley’s residence.
“Anything on the BOLO on Nelson?” Danny asked.
Rowland shook his head distractedly.
“Not when I checked before coming down here,” he said. “I’ll get a
call or a page as soon as something comes of it though. If it does.
Dispatch has been told I have a personal interest.”
Danny nodded. A personal interest from a deputy division chief
was like a commandment.
“So you think Yardley ordered the hit on you on his own?” Atwater
asked. “Then when it went south, he decided to take himself out?”
“Don’t know what to think, Bobbi,” Danny admitted. “This whole
fucking thing is bizarre. All of it. I pushed him hard yesterday, trying
to shake something loose. And I didn’t exactly make it a secret that I’d
be watching him, although I didn’t let him see me following him.
Countersurveillance could have been set up around the farm that I
missed though. Or he could have just thought I’d follow him. Could
have seen my truck when it was parked in the lot of his office
yesterday, knew what to look for. Decided I was more trouble than I
was worth. Don’t really know.”
“And this thing that Whitaker told you about?” Rowland said.
“What do you make it that?”
Danny paused, listening to Kat’s fingers fly across the keys. Then
he looked at Rowland and Atwater and signaled that they should step
out and let their ace tech analyst work in peace.
They went down the hall to Atwater’s office, passing several
investigators moving to and fro, quick bathroom trips, or even quicker
trips to the coffee machine. Everyone was busy tonight, no time to
waste.

ATWATER SAT DOWN BEHIND HER UNUSUALLY cluttered

desk while Danny and Rowland took the two chairs across from it. As
soon as he sat down, Captain Rowland had to cover his mouth as he
yawned.
“Now don’t start that shit, Russ,” Atwater admonished, right
before she began to yawn.
Danny grinned, and yawned as well.
“I’m allowed,” Danny said. “Been one bitch of a day. Not to
mention long.”
“Yeah,” Rowland said, glancing sideways. “I’ll bet from your
perspective. When Bobbi called to tell me what happened, I damn near
dropped the phone. Glad you’re all right.”
“Me, too,” Danny said to him. “And thanks for the concern,
Captain.”
Rowland smirked.
“Well, it wouldn’t look good for the numbers if we lost a man at
this point in the budget year. It’d screw hell out of finances too if we
had to pay for your funeral, and some kind of memorial plaque to go
on the wall, then hire a new investigator to replace you. Probably be
six months or more before he or she was up to speed.”
 Danny laughed despite his near exhaustion.
“Always said you were a man of heart, Russ.”
“Anyway,” Atwater put in. “We’re all glad you’re okay, Danny. Like
I told you earlier, when I heard those shots, I was sure you were dead.
But I should have known better.”
“Yeah,” Danny told her. “Yee of little faith. But thanks for the
concern just the same. Now, as for everything we’ve learned so far.
Still confusing as hell, but I think we’ve got more than one thing going
on here. I don’t think the trouble Vail is having is directly linked to
what Filipa Whitaker tumbled to, although it might explain the reason
she was shot.”
“How do you mean?” Atwater frowned.
“Hard to put it into the right words, Bobbi,” he said, staring at her
and thinking hard, his brain still processing all the information he had
received over the past few days, still missing some essential bits, too,
and other pieces that didn’t yet fit; some that probably never would.
“Okay, on the one hand you have James Thornton Nelson and his
merry group of nutjobs, The True Warrior Disciples of Jesus Christ in
Alabama. To be honest, my read on this is that it’s probably just a
group of rednecks with guns and a lot of hatred for people who don’t
look or think like them. They’re suspicious of the government—all
governments—heavily armed, and not very enlightened on what really
goes on in the world. They all have military and law enforcement
experience, but if Yardley and Nelson himself are any indication, they
all washed out. Which only feeds their suspicion of formal institutions,
not to mention an unhealthy persecution complex. Anyway, it’s not a
stretch to see why they wouldn’t like someone like Vail to be governor,
considering what she stands for, what she’s trying to change in the
state. She’d be a perfect target for these guys, a justified kill in their
book.”
“So you don’t see it as a part of something larger, this other thing
out of Mississippi, for instance?”
Danny shook his head.
“Honestly, Russ, I don’t,” he said. “Actually what I think is that
this has nothing to do with that, that it was a rogue operation run out
of Tuscaloosa.”
 “You don’t think Yardley did it on his own authority?” asked
Atwater.
Danny shook his head.
“Bobbi, that guy had no actual authority. I mean, sure, he was a
regional manager, but only with a handful of clients that he ran out of
that dinky office with a secretary and a few guards. Not much of an
operation. He was a lackey to Nelson, nothing more. If orders were
given, they were given by JTN himself.”
“So the security company is a front?” Rowland asked.
“No, I think it’s legit, or at least started out that way in the
beginning. And over time Nelson recruited some real winners to the
company. Especially during the past three years. I’ve had a look at
their entire employment roster, the names are already being run
through every law enforcement database in the country. At least ten so
far have major felony convictions, six have active felony warrants.”
“Peachy,” Atwater said. “Wonder what the state's security
licensing board’ll have to say about that?”
“Probably not much,” Rowland said. “The rules for private security
licenses in this state are still laughable. And not every person who
works for a company has to be licensed individually if they don’t do
actual security work. JTN might have done nothing illegal with their
hiring, which means the board didn’t fuck up. The legislature did when
they crafted the rules. Another story, though. Talk to me about
Mississippi, Danny. The connection there?”
“Tenuous,” he admitted. “We know that when Nelson was
financially strapped, about to lose his farm and everything he had, he
went to the Tuscaloosa branch of Ole Miss Financial to try and get a
small business loan, proposing to open what would later become JTN
Security Services, Inc., however, without collateral and a sound profit
plan, he was doomed to failure from the start. Then fate stepped in in
the form of two idiots with guns who tried to rob the place while
Nelson was there. He stopped them; everybody called him a hero,
which I suppose he was. The bank was grateful for what he had done,
and nobody got hurt. The branch manager, in an act of kindness, I
suppose, granted him a signature loan for ten thousand dollars. Not
enough to save his farm, but a gesture anyway. Then a short time later,
an order from headquarters in Oxford directs the branch manager to
extend a second loan to Nelson, in the amount of one hundred twenty-
five thousand dollars.”
Atwater whistled and sat back.
“Well now that’ll buy a lot of biscuits,” she said.
“And butter,” Rowland quipped.
“And pay off back taxes and help a guy get organized to set up his
own business. Over the course of the next two years, Nelson got other
loans, all on his signature alone, and at the direction of someone in
Oxford. We still don’t know exactly who that someone is. Yet. Total
amount, just over half a million dollars.”
Another whistle.
“And all on his signature?”
“Yep.”
“He ever pay any of this back?”
“Eventually. Years later. Not a smart business investment for Ole
Miss Financial, at least at first. But eventually…”
“Unless someone was looking to get something else in return,”
Rowland offered.
“Exactly,” Danny said.
“I remember reading in the background report that Nelson went
to Ole Miss for a while before dropping out,” Atwater said suddenly.
“He did,” Danny confirmed. “And that’s a connection that’s being
looked into. So far we can’t find a link between anyone he might have
gone to school with and Ole Miss Financial, but it would seem logical
that he met someone there. Perhaps someone he was close with.”
“Who owns the bank?”
“Surprised you don’t know, Captain,” Danny smiled.
“Humor me,” Rowland smiled back.
“Well from the time the bank was formed back in the 1920s, the
majority stockholders have all had the same last name, Donaldson. For
the past fifteen years, the Chairman of the Executive Board of
Directors and majority stockholder has been one Phyllis Geraldine
Donaldson, age seventy-five as of last November.”
“Jesus Christ!” said Rowland.
“Fuck!” said Atwater.
 “Yeah,” said Danny.

“THE GODDAMN DONALDSONS! THIS IS all we fucking need.

The governor will go bat-shit when he hears.”
“Probably not a good idea to involve the politicians until we sort
this mess out, Russ,” Atwater cautioned.
The deputy chief of ABI glanced at the MIU commander for a long
moment, nodding slowly.
“But you don’t think that they’re the ones behind the attacks on
Vail?” Rowland said almost pleadingly.”
“No,” Danny said after a pause, just to needle his friend and
superior a little bit. After all, it was he who was ultimately responsible
for Danny being on this bastard of a case in the first place. “I think that
the crowd from Mississippi have something a lot more sinister in
mind, which seems to be supported by what Whitaker said. She’s
authorized the Journal to release her notes by the way. We should be
getting copies soon. She’s gonna be laid up a while, even after the
surgery. Figured it was better that law enforcement pursue this for the
time being. As long as she gets the exclusive.”
“I’ll want to see that stuff as soon as it gets in,” Atwater said
vehemently. “And don’t worry, Danny, I’ll assign another team,
supervise it personally. When you’re done with this, you’ll have earned
a break.”
“All expenses paid trip to the Bahamas with the two supermodels
of my choice?”
Now it was her turn to smirk.
“More like a hearty handshake and a few days off with pay.”
“What a bunch of cheap bastards I work with,” he said, and
everyone started laughing.
Short-lived. A few seconds later, Matt Thompson knocked on the
door and told them that Kat Tully had something. Everyone rose in
unison and filed out the door.
 Chapter 29

The Center for 21st Century Alabama is a proud sponsor of the

Civil Rights Memorial in Montgomery, largely responsible for its
creation many years ago. The co-founder of that organization, and
current chairman-emeritus, Myron Mercer, was equally proud to be a
sponsor and supporter of Senator Helena Vail for governorship of
Alabama. This despite the fact that Mr. Mercer was a live-long
democrat and proud liberal in the traditional sense of the word. He
liked most of what Helena stood for and was honest enough with
himself to admit that a democrat probably wasn’t likely to be elected in
the state again any time soon. Vail was the best they were going to get,
which really wasn't so bad in Mercer's mind.
So when he had been contacted about holding a fundraiser for the
state senator from Birmingham close to the end of January, Mr.
Mercer had jumped at the opportunity, saying that he thought such an
event would be ideal for the Civil Rights Memorial Center on
Washington Avenue in downtown Montgomery, ironically just a
couple blocks west of the First White House of the Confederacy
museum.
The last Wednesday afternoon in January was sunny and
unusually warm, which was good because it had been planned for
Senator Vail to give a fifteen minute welcome speech out in the
courtyard where the memorial to all those who had died in the struggle
for civil rights was displayed in granite and marble. The good weather
ensured a good crowd and excellent press coverage. Although the
latter was probably assured anyway, given Helena Vail's current high
profile.
Since this event had been on the agenda for most of the month,
Laura Copeland had had adequate time to do advance preparation and
make proper security arrangements, calling in additional local police
and troopers. Still, the night before, while the senator was still up in
Birmingham with the rest of the team, Supervisory Special Agent
Copeland had come down and walked the property with a
representative from the memorial and another agent from the
Dignitary Protection Unit who would be providing backup and support
to her operation. All plans finalized, multiple contingencies set up in
case they were needed.
When she went to bed Tuesday night Laura Copeland felt as good
as she could have about her mission, which, despite everything, still
wasn’t all that good. She only managed a couple hours before the
tossing and turning began. And then the sweating.
Maybe if Vail did manage to get to the state house Copeland would
decide on another career course, this kind of minute preparation and
fulltime about all the things she might have missed would probably kill
her before she turned forty. And that date wasn't all that far off.

HELENA VAIL WAS HALFWAY THROUGH HER speech when

James Thornton Nelson and four of his Warrior Disciples showed up
to kill her. Because the plan of attack had been found on one of the
encrypted disks kept in Herman Yardley’s safe—probably
unbeknownst to Nelson or anyone else—Danny and ABI knew they
were coming, how they planned to carry out the attack, and even their
planned escape routes.
There had been a fierce argument between he and his superiors
about how best to handle the situation, with them preferring to cancel
the fundraiser and continue to hunt for Nelson and the rest of his
people until they found them, while Danny argued that if they did that,
Vail would continue to be in danger and eventually Nelson might
decide to make a move that they couldn’t predict, perhaps with deadly
consequences for the senator and anyone else around her.
In the end, he won the argument. One concession to the bosses
had been that Senator Vail be told what was going on and that if she
chose to pull plug… But she hadn’t, actually liked Danny’s idea best,
preferring to get it over with quickly and put the whole sordid mess
behind her and the campaign. Not everyone in her camp shared her
enthusiasm for Danny’s plan, least of all Heather Myers, and especially
not Laura Copeland, but the senator overruled their objections,
actually smiling at Danny and thanking him for all he had been doing
on her behalf.
He found that a little odd; to thank a man for knowingly putting
your life at risk with a bunch of heavily armed, hate-crazed killers on
the loose, but it took all kinds, he supposed.
This was the chief reason that Laura Copeland had not slept well
the night before, she knew for certain that someone would be trying to
kill her client today, and even though she knew their plan—assuming
what they knew was accurate—there were still thousands of things that
could go wrong. Probably would.
Danny hadn’t slept Tuesday night either, nor had the senior
supervisors of the Montgomery PD and Department of Public Safety
SWAT teams. They had spent the evening and the early morning hours
putting their plan of counterattack into place, posting personnel,
discreetly shifting the advantage in their favor, and cutting off all
avenues of escape once the opposition committed itself.
By ten minutes after three p.m., everything had been bottled up,
the hostile team inside the kill zone. They just didn't know that
Senator Vail was no longer the target. They were...

“TAKE THEM,” ORDERED DANNY through his communicator as

he watched the monitor screens in back of DPS' Mobile Operations
Command Center parked half a block away from the Civil Rights
Memorial Center.
The takedown went as smoothly as it could have, the would-be
shooters caught completely by surprise, unsure what to do when they
realized that they had been badly outmaneuvered. All surrendered. All
but one, and this, too, was predictable.
James Thornton Nelson wore a scowl of outrage on his face as the
two SWAT officers came out of nowhere pointing automatic weapons
at him, FN P-90s. He was holding an M-4 assault rifle, later
determined to be fully automatic as well. He held it at the high ready,
SWAT were pointing theirs directly at his center mass. Still, he went
for it, and they cut him down with quick and precise bursts of silenced
5.7x28 millimeter rounds from less than ten feet away.
“Dumbass,” muttered Bobbi Atwater over Danny’s left shoulder.
“Predictable,” Danny said, releasing a long held breath. "And yeah,
a total dumbass.”
No one at the fundraiser heard a thing, and it continued without
disruption. Laura Copeland began to breathe again as well once she
heard that all the hostiles had been taken, and James Thornton Nelson
was dead.
Atwater clapped Danny on the shoulder.
“Good work, Investigator Monk. Buy yourself an extra order of
fries out of petty cash. Just get a receipt in triplicate, though.”
She laughed at her own joke, as did Danny. Old cop joke, and bad,
but good, too.
Mission accomplished. Sort of.

FILIPA WHITAKER’S SURGERY WENT WELL but her recovery

time would be long, and while she recovered she intended to continue
to pursue her story, wherever that would take her. With Nelson and
Yardley dead, especially Nelson, there was no direct link between their
operation and whatever was going on in Mississippi and Phyllis
Donaldson, although everyone knew something was going on. Proof
was another thing, however, and when dealing with someone as
powerful the woman dubbed Mother South, you didn't take her on
without proof undeniable.
With nothing else to pursue, those threatening Senator Vail
satisfactorily dealt with, ABI closed its investigation. A decision that
displeased both the head of the Major Investigations Unit and the
Deputy Chief of ABI itself, but orders from the top were orders from
the top.
Helena Vail continued her campaign, her poll numbers steadily
climbing little by little. It remained to be seen whether or not she
would actually be able to knock off the incumbent governor in the
primary, but hopes were on the rise as well. And because of that, Laura
Copeland and her people were still on the job, ever vigilant.
 Danny had a mountain of paperwork to take care of and it took
him the better part of a week to get it all done. He wasn’t any happier
with the investigation's ending than Atwater or Rowland, but took it
more so in stride. His background in Naval Intelligence and the Secret
Service better prepared him for messier endings where politics took
precedence over doing the right thing. Which was why he had left
those worlds behind. But you could never truly escape bureaucracy
and political expedience, not while accepting a government paycheck.
Something to think about for the future. When all the paperwork was
done!

FOLLOWING THE REVELATION THAT A major business within

the city limits of Tuscaloosa was involved in a plot to assassinate a
gubernatorial candidate, the Tuscaloosa Chamber of Commerce
rescheduled its conference on workplace violence, and neglected to
extend an invitation to anyone from ABI when it did take place. Danny
was quite delighted by this occurrence, seeing as how he had never had
a chance to prepare a presentation anyway; he really didn’t like public
speaking, despite being quite good at it.
Things wrapped up by the end of the first week of February.
Danny asked for and received his well-earned time off. And as luck
had it, Kat Tully had some off time coming to her as well. They took a
long weekend down in Fort Walton Beach, still easy to get around
before the start of Spring Break in March.
The mornings they spent on the beach, although it was too cool for
bathing suits and swimming. The afternoons were spent in their hotel
room expanding their knowledge of all things carnal. Nighttime was
when they went out and found different places to eat, new experiences
to try, and special little adventures.
On one occasion, one of these adventures nearly got them arrested
for public indecency, but sometimes having a badge of your own is a
really good thing when the cops come a calling.
After that, all their post-dinner libidinous activity was confined to
the interior of their hotel room where they didn’t have to worry about
extraneous interruptions. Just lots and lots of orgasms.
 Something that Kat and Danny discovered they both enjoyed quite
a lot.
And both were very good at causing in the other.

IN LATE FEBRUARY, Danny got a call from his friend Jason Polis
at the U.S. Marshals Service as he was sitting in the
conference/interview room at the Criminal Justice Center that he
sometimes used as an office.
“Danny, think I got what you were asking about,” Polis said.
Danny had been working on a report for Bobbi Atwater when the
call came, but now he put it aside and glanced toward the open door of
the room.
“One moment,” he said, standing and going over to close and lock
the door. When he was seated again, he lowered his voice and spoke
into his phone. “Okay, tell me.”
“Phyllis Donaldson has a son who was at Ole Miss around the
same time as James Thornton Nelson. Name of Patrick Harold
Gordon, Gordon is her late husband’s name. She stopped using it after
he died, though. Anyway, Patrick and Nelson took a couple classes
together before the latter dropped out.”
Danny nodded.
“Well, well,” he said after a pause. “Do tell?”
And Deputy Marshal Polis did just that.
 [i]
Office of Naval Intelligence.
[ii]
Commonly referred to as a “mole”, a turncoat who still operates
inside his/her own service or country.
[iii]
Mom I’d Love to Fuck!
[iv]
Shit Outta Lock!
[v]
Person being protected.
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