Ghost Sniper by Scott McEwen Read Free Book Online

that evening, Vaught sat brooding on the floor in the corner of the living room, handcuffed to an eyebolt protruding from the concrete wall. Paolina sat on the leather sofa, reading a book to her young daughter, Valencia. Crosswhite had stepped out for more beer and limes.
    Vaught cleared his throat, and Paolina looked up to see what he wanted. He tugged at the handcuff. “Can I have my can of tobacco?” he asked in Spanish.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I don’t want you spitting in my house.”
    â€œCan I have a cigarette?”
    â€œWe only smoke in the bedroom.” She caressed the dark-skinned child’s curly black hair. “And never around my daughter.”
    Vaught sat looking at her. She was heartbreakingly pretty, but there was a stark maturity about her that he had to admit was intimidating.
    â€œWhat have you been through?” he asked.
    â€œNone of your business.” She returned her attention to the story­book.
    â€œYou know, you don’t have to put up with me,” he said after awhile. “Give me the key, and I’ll be gone in ten seconds.”
    â€œI would love to. Now shut up and let me read to my daughter.”
    Ten minutes later, Crosswhite arrived with more beer. “Did you make the salsa, baby?”
    â€œIt’s in the refrigerator,” she answered. “There’s guacamole also.”
    â€œHow’s our guest?”
    â€œAnnoying.”
    Crosswhite laughed from the kitchen. “Has he been giving you trouble?”
    â€œHe wants to spit in my house.”
    â€œI wasn’t going to spit in the house,” Vaught said in protest. “I’ll swallow it, for God’s sake.”
    Crosswhite came into the living room and offered Vaught a bottle of beer with a wedge of lime in it. “I don’t set the rules of the house,” he said in English. “I just live by them.”
    â€œI’m getting that,” Vaught said gloomily.
    Crosswhite took a pull from his beer. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had another dogface to drink with. Too bad you’re shackled—kinda feels like drinkin’ with a fugitive.”
    â€œThen let me loose.”
    â€œCan’t do it, not until I hear from Ortega.” Crosswhite went and sat beside Paolina, taking the little girl into his arms. She nestled against him, hugging a stuffed turtle and sucking her thumb.
    â€œIs there a woman waiting for you back in the States?” Crosswhite asked.
    â€œWould you give a fuck if there were?”
    â€œWatch your language around this little girl,” Crosswhite warned. “And I’m not the reason you’re here. You put yourself in this mess.” A phone rang in the other room, and he went to answer it. He came back a few minutes later and offered a satellite phone to Vaught. “Doctor Doom wants to talk to you.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œFields.”
    Vaught took the phone. “This is Special Agent in Charge Chance Vaught. To whom am I speaking?”
    There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “That sounded rather official coming from a man chained to a wall.”
    â€œThen who the fuck is this?” Vaught said, stealing a cautious glance at Crosswhite.
    â€œAgent Vaught, I’m Clemson Fields, CIA. I’m your handler, and you’re going to do exactly as you’re told until this situation has been resolved to the president’s satisfaction. Do you understand?”
    â€œI’ll tell you what I understand,” Vaught said. “I understand that I haven’t seen any credentials what-so-ever from Crosswhite here, and you could be anybody. So until I see some kind of documentation verifying this CIA bullshit, you’re just a voice on the goddamn phone. You copy that, asshole?”
    Crosswhite whispered to Paolina, who picked up the child and took her into the bedroom, eyeing Vaught coldly as she passed.
    â€œVery good,” Fields