Contract to Kill by Andrew Peterson Page B

through his ear speaker. “A few people looked out their windows, but no one’s coming out.”
    “Keep eyes on the stairwell. We’re secure in here.”
    His radio clicked.
    Chip had the woman on the ground, his hand firmly across her mouth. She wasn’t struggling, but that could change. Mason stepped forward, took a knee, and pressed his pistol’s suppressor against her forehead.
    Her eyes widened.
    “If you scream, you’ll never finish it. Now, my associate here is going to remove his hand. Give me a nod of understanding.”
    When she didn’t respond, Chip maintained his hold.
    “Hablas inglés?”
    A nod.
    “Do you know who I am?”
    She shook her head.
    Mason squinted and pressed the suppressor against her head hard enough to force it back.
    “One more time. Do you know who I am?” Chip removed his hand so she could answer.
    “Yes.”
    “And . . . ?”
    “You’re from BSI.”
    “Did Mr. Haynes tell you what he saw tonight?”
    Her eyes reflected indecision.
    “The truth, please.”
    She nodded.
    “We know Mr. Haynes didn’t call the police; we’ve been monitoring our scanner. Did you or Mr. Haynes tell anyone else?”
    “No.”
    This woman’s lack of hesitation with her answer had Mason believing her. In Afghanistan, he’d conducted many interrogations and he usually knew when people were lying. “You’re wearing a ring; are you and Mr. Haynes married?”
    “Engaged.”
    “My associate here is going to escort you into the other room to secure your hands and feet and apply a gag. We aren’t planning to hurt you; all we want is information. If you don’t remain calm, your alternative is unconsciousness. I trust that won’t be necessary?”
    She shook her head.
    After Chip escorted her out of the room, he heard the telltale sound of disposable handcuffs being applied. They sounded like oversized zip ties, and basically were.
    Chip reentered the living room. “She’s pretty freaked, but I don’t think she’ll make trouble.”
    Hahn helped him hoist Haynes into a dining room chair. The big man groaned but offered no resistance.
    After they secured his ankles and wrists, Mason said, “Wake his ass up.”
    Chip activated a smelling salt pack and wafted it under Haynes’s nose. The ammonium carbonate did its job, making Haynes stir and shake his head. With anger on his face, he jerked his weight against the binds. Mason was no stranger to this sort of thing and recognized defiance—not a good sign.
    “I don’t see any reason to waste time,” Mason began, “so let’s get right to it. We know you saw what happened at Hickman Field. Your fiancée already told us.”
    Haynes looked around the room.
    “And we know you didn’t call the police.”
    “Where’s Mara?”
    “In the bedroom.”
    Haynes began a violent struggle against the plastic cuffs. “If you assholes hurt her, I’ll—”
    “Let me guess,” Mason interrupted. “You’ll kill us.”
    Haynes didn’t say anything, which Mason thought was appropriate. Any response would sound lame, and the man probably knew it.
    “Chip, please fetch the young lady, so Mr. Haynes can see she’s unharmed.”
    A few seconds later, Chip returned with the woman in tow. Her bound ankles forced her to shuffle her feet. A cloth gag occupied her mouth, probably a T-shirt, and her hands were secured behind her back.
    “Are you okay?” Toby asked. “Did they hurt you?”
    With her eyes full of tears, she shook her head.
    Mason motioned with his head, and Chip escorted the woman back to the bedroom.
    “It’s okay, Mara,” Toby called after her. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
    “That’s true for now, Mr. Haynes, but things could change. Chip doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
    “Please don’t do that—”
    “The truth then. Who else knows about tonight?”
    Haynes licked his lips. “No one. I swear.”
    Mason went into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic garbage bag from under the counter.
    In a quick move, he pulled it over the top of