“And boring as shit,” Reid added.
“Yeah, but hell, it’s necessary.” The man stared at him. “You hate flying.”
“It shows, huh?” He stared out the window past the guy and wondered if DB Cooper had just been claustrophobic.
“You’re going to see a girlfriend.”
“That obvious?”
“Yeah.” The Marine handed him a mini-bottle of scotch. “You’ll need fortification.”
Reid opened it and said, “Semper Fi,” before draining it in a single gulp.
Chapter Three
Less than six hours after Jack’s original call, the man was sliding files of the case—ones he probably shouldn’t have had at his house—across his kitchen table for Reid to go through. He’d also ordered pizza. His new friend had made up a guest room for him, because staying at a hotel with the feds was a way to rile them up. Reid figured he’d end up knowing a lot of the manpower on this case.
“Illegal cage fighting,” Reid mused, and Jack handed him another slice of pizza before taking one of his own.
“It’s getting a huge following. They say they don’t take anyone younger than eighteen but they do have eighteen-and-under fights, so how’s that for a nice fat lie.” Jack ripped at the pizza crust irritably.
“Dude, that’s the best part . . . although maybe in Texas, not so much.” He looked doubtfully at his own slice, because he’d turned into a pizza snob, thanks to the water in New York. But he was starving and dug in anyway. “Did this Benji kid get death threats?”
“Tons of them. He couldn’t walk into the courtroom without a bulletproof vest. This shit is like the new mafia or something—don’t talk about cage fighting is the first rule.” Jack sighed.
“Let me guess—the trial’s been constantly postponed by the league’s lawyers?”
“I knew you were more than just a pretty boy,” Jack told him, and Reid shot him the finger. He knew what Grier’s partner was doing—keeping things easy, keeping Reid from focusing too much on the fact that Grier was in the hands of some pretty bad-assed dudes as they spoke.
Reid understood, because when he’d thought about it on the plane, he’d wanted to yank the emergency exit open and parachute out in order to get here faster.
But he had to calm down, treat this like any other mission. Because personal and mission never mixed, and planning was the key to override that obstacle.
“You realize your phone’s been beeping constantly?”
Reid eyed it. “Yeah, they fixed it so I can never mute it. And they can turn it on remotely. Ignore it. Worst thing that happens is that they show up at your door. They won’t like the pizza, though. Go for barbecue. What’s the word on how they got to Grier?”
Jack looked at him, unblinking at both the prospect of mercenaries showing at his door and the rapid-fire change of subjects. “Official statement is that Grier was tailed from the attorney’s offices to the safe house.”
“What do you think?”
“Grier’s too good to be followed. That Benji kid had to be the one who called and told them where they were. I knew it was a mistake. He should’ve been under federal custody.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
“The DA insisted this was fine.” He stared at Reid. “That same DA was found beaten to death the night Grier went missing. They showed her no mercy. She never had a chance.”
Jack passed over the pictures and Reid forced himself to look at them, then said, “This trial was a goddamned joke from the start. Benji was a reluctant witness. The only reason he was doing it was to avoid jail time.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Murder.”
“During a fight?” Reid asked, and Jack nodded. “What made them think they could half-ass this conviction?”
“It’s an election year,” Jack offered, which meant that winning any high-profile case was only the tip of the iceberg. Meant reelection.
“I’ll go in. They have to have a lot of former soldiers fighting.”
“It’s invite only.”
Reid looked at his watch. According to the documents, the fights started at midnight and went on until four in the morning. It was only nine at night—plenty of time. “I’m sure I have a way in.”
* * *
“I’m sorry.”
Benji’s voice. Grier looked up to see him standing over her, his face drawn and tired-looking. He held out water to her and she shook her head.
“It’s not drugged—it’s mine,” he told her, forced it into her hand. “They’re going to make you fight and you need to get that shit out of your system.”
She pushed herself to sitting and took the bottle that he’d already uncapped. It tasted normal and she took several big grateful gulps before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She assumed that his “I’m sorry” was an admission that he’d called these men. Because he didn’t look any the worse for wear—no bruises. No signs that he’d been threatened or roughed up.
The sad part was, he looked like he belonged here in this fighting club, wearing his shorts and an A-shirt, hands wrapped in tape.
“You can still get out of this. Call the police, turn yourself in. You haven’t hurt anyone—you could still keep the same deal. Testify.”
Benji shook his head. “I never wanted that. I only agreed because these guys convinced me that was the best way to escape.”
He’d never been fully on board.
“They railroaded me, okay? They said I had a choice, and when I told the prosecutor I’d rather be in jail than testify, they told me that I’d be put into the general population and labeled a child molester.” He looked panicked even as he relived the conversation. “You know what that would mean for me. There are only so many men you can fight.”
“I didn’t know, Benji, but we’ll tell someone what happened. You should never have been given a choice like that.” She felt sick for him. Whatever his choices, he hadn’t killed on purpose.
“It’s too late. This is what I want to do. I just wish you didn’t have to
