HARD WIRED: He's an assassin, she's his target... (HARD Series Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  HARD

  WIRED

  Chloe Fischer

  Copyright © 2018 Chloe Fischer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher. Thank you for buying an authorized copy of this book and complying with copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Hard

  Wired

  Prologue

  New Haven, Connecticut – 25 years ago

  It was the first supper Drake Conway had eaten at home in over two months and he smiled lovingly at his wife, wanting to treasure every second of the idyllic moment. Who knew when he would be granted such an opportunity again? He was already taking a major risk being there that night.

  No one knew where he was; he had violated protocol to see his family and the consequences of such a blatant disregard for the rules could be devastating.

  Drake shoved the dark thoughts from his mind, turning his attention back to Shirley and the boys.

  I deserve to be a normal man for one night, he reasoned. I have earned it.

  “Darling, these potatoes are divine,” Drake announced and Shirley smiled beguilingly, placing her elbows on the table as she eyed her husband.

  “I put in a special ingredient,” she confessed, winking a light blue eye at him. “It’s like I sensed you coming home today and knew I needed to make them extra special.”

  Drake grinned, a surreal quality overtaking him as he looked around the mahogany table. It was difficult to reconcile Major Drake Conway, Department of Defence Special Forces with Drake Conway, husband, father and fantasy football player.

  They are two completely different people. I don’t even know if they would like one another if they were to meet, Drake thought wryly. He wondered if Bob next door would even recognize him in his other persona.

  “I no like potatoes!” Three-year-old Xavier declared, pushing his fork about the plate in disgust and the twins babbled in agreement. They smashed their tiny fists against the plastic trays of their high chairs, sending a spray of mashed vegetables all about the elegant dining room.

  Shirley sighed but before she could answer, Ryder, the oldest boy, interjected.

  “I don’t like potatoes,” he corrected his younger brother. Xavier shook his head.

  “No,” he insisted. “I no like them!”

  Drake grimaced slightly and turned to his middle son.

  “Your mother worked very hard on this dinner, Xavy,” he chided. “You should be thanking her, not criticizing her cooking.”

  “Drake,” Shirley laughed, rising to take the three-year-old’s plate from him. “He doesn’t know what that word means. Sometimes I think you forget how small they are.”

  Drake glanced at Xavier and they exchanged a private smile.

  “I don’t know, honey,” he replied, winking at the boy. “I don’t think you give them enough credit sometimes. Children are like sponges.”

  Shirley chuckled as she stepped into the kitchen, looking back over her shoulder.

  “I wish they were like mops,” she joked, disappearing with the dishes. “This house is in a perpetual state of chaos with all the testosterone coursing through it.”

  Drake laughed merrily at her assessment.

  “I suppose we will need to try for a girl then,” he called back to her. “Even out the hormones in here.”

  Shirley scoffed but didn’t answer, leaving Drake alone with his gaggle of children.

  As if he had issued a silent command, all four boys turned their attention on Drake in unison, their fussing forgotten.

  The twins, Xander and Aiden stared up at him from their elevated spots with pale green eyes, an identical pair of infant innocence.

  Xavier pressed his face into his folded hands, mushing his chubby cheeks as he studied his father inquisitively while Ryder seemed content in watching Drake through his peripheral vision.

  My sons, Drake thought, his heart filled with the proud beat which only a father could understand. I hope you know much you mean to me. I will always protect you.

  As if comprehending his silent tribute, they nodded almost imperceivably and returned to their supper as Shirley re-entered the room.

  The bond they shared was beyond that of simply father and sons; it was ethereal. Drake knew it would be years before the boys understood why, however. He would explain to each boy as they became of age, why they were vitally important to more than just Drake, but to the world as a whole.

  “Dessert!” the lovely redhead announced, placing a cherry pie on the center of the table.

  “I no like dessert!” Xavier exclaimed and his parents laughed.

  “Perfect!” Drake declared. “More for us!”

  Shirley pulled a knife out and began to cut the pie in pieces when Drake was suddenly overcome with a sense that something wasn’t right, that he had been there before.

  Oh no, he thought, his heart beginning to thud dangerously in his chest.

  A strange feeling began to course through Drake and time slowed as he watched the scene unfolding before him.

  Deja vu.

  Fear gripped his heart and he pushed backed the chair, rising to his feet just as the doorbell rang.

  “Who could that be?” Shirley asked, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.

  Drake opened his mouth to respond, panic sweeping over his body as he reached for the twins, snatching them from their chairs. Instantly they began to wail in protest as their father kicked over the table.

  “Don’t answer it!” he cried out as his wife hurried toward the front door. She turned to stare at him in stunned surprise.

  But it was too late.

  The door flew inward and they drew in, like a swarm of buzzards converging on a corpse. Their leader smiled coldly at Drake, raising his weapon to fire once between his wife’s eyes, ending her scream before it had a chance to start.

  Drake had no chance to think, only react, throwing the twins into Ryder’s arms as he scooped Xavier from his chair.

  Their wailing filled his ears as he reached into his ankle holster and began firing at the half dozen men dressed only in black.

  His bullets did not slow them and they drew closer as the children took cover beneath the buffet, quaking in fear.

  When the first round hit him, Drake’s only thought was that it was his fault. He had brought a plague on his house when he had been warned time and again about the consequences.

  His shoulder was
on fire but he did not stop pulling the trigger again and again, hoping to take out as many of them as he could.

  One less of them is one less threat, he told himself as more ammunition riddled his body but he knew he was outnumbered and sadly, ultimately outsmarted.

  He had lied to his sons.

  He could not protect them. He had unwittingly brought danger directly to their doorstep.

  Oculus had finally found them.

  And the children would never be safe again.

  Chapter One

  Cumberland, Maryland – Present Day

  “This is a bad idea.”

  Solis scowled, steering the car toward the double gates of the maximum-security prison.

  “I heard you the first six times you said that,” he snarled. “Stop repeating yourself. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Catriona didn’t seem to care.

  “It is. It’s a bad idea,” she parroted herself. “My Spidey senses are telling me we need to turn around and go home.”

  He resisted the urge to reach out with a gloved hand and throttle her, knowing precisely what the backlash for such an action would be; he would be dead before the car moved another inch.

  She might be ditzy, but she’s a killer at heart, Sol thought with begrudging affection.

  “Why do we need him, Sol? We can do this ourselves – “

  “Catriona, if you say one more word, I am leaving you in the snow.”

  His empty threat did not silence her babbling and he wondered how much more he could bear. It had been a six-hour drive to North Branch Correctional and the entire trip she had not shut up for more than ten minutes at a time.

  “It’s not too late,” she continued as if she was alone in the car. “Turn around and – “

  “Identification.”

  The guard’s mechanical voice piped out through the intercom and Solis swatted at his partner on the arm.

  “Give me your licence,” he hissed, pulling his up through the window.

  Catriona glared at him balefully.

  “Lady, do you have ID?” the man in the booth demanded, his steely eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  For a fleeting moment, Sol hoped she would refuse. That way he wouldn’t have to listen to her second guessing him a minute longer.

  To his chagrin, she seemed to reconsider her own actions, and he watched as she reluctantly reached for her wallet.

  “Next time have your papers available,” the stoic voice came from the box.

  “There’s not going to be a next time,” Catriona muttered, thrusting the plastic card at Sol who passed it to the guard. “Next time I’ll be home and you can do something so stupid yourself.”

  The words were meant for Sol, but the office smirked slightly and shook his head.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Smith, huh?” he growled, eyeing them with suspicion. “That’s original.”

  Instantly, the duo grinned disarmingly.

  “We get that all the time,” they chorused. “No relationship though.”

  The officer glanced back at the identification and at them one last time before waving them through the gates.

  “Keep your identification handy,” he instructed. “You’re going to need it again.”

  At the second set of iron gates, Solis handed their paperwork again to the teenaged looking sentry, but he was not fooled by the man’s apparent babyface.

  He would shoot me dead for looking at him funny, Sol knew. He had no intention of testing his theory.

  “All aspects of your visit will be recorded visually and audio,” the child-faced man told them in an almost bored tone. “You may not have physical contact with the inmates. You may not provide the inmates with any materials. You will be frisked upon entry. Upon entering the facility, you do so at your own risk and cannot hold the state of Maryland responsible for any injury incurred within the walls of North Branch. Do you understand and agree to these terms and conditions?”

  Solis and Catriona nodded, but he could see his companion visibly swallow at the list.

  She talks a big game but at the end of the day, she’s glad we’re doing this. She doesn’t want any more blood on her hands, especially not that kind. And she doesn’t even know the half of it.

  They were waved through again and Solis stepped on the gas of the rental, surging through the entry point before Catriona could open her mouth again.

  They parked in their allotted spot and glanced at each other as they approached the building.

  “You heard what they said about recording,” Catriona muttered under her voice. “We have to be careful.”

  Solis shot her a perplexed look.

  It’s like we haven’t done this before, he thought, rolling his eyes.

  “Identification,” the desk officer asked as they entered, and they handed off their fake IDs for the third time in ten minutes.

  “Don’t they touch base with each other?” Cat grumbled, and Sol nudged her in the ribs.

  The officer did not seem to hear her or else he simply ignored her.

  “Inmate’s name?”

  “Van Hoyt.”

  He gazed up at them as if suddenly seeing them for the first time.

  “The Van Hoyt?” he asked with curiosity and Solis nodded. The guard chortled and nodded.

  “Good luck,” he snorted, pushing their identification back through the bulletproof glass.

  They were directed toward the metal detector.

  They passed through, were frisked and checked with a hand wand before being permitted to enter the inner area of the prison.

  “You will have to leave your bag here, Mrs. Smith,” the officer informed her, and Catriona looked at him defiantly.

  “This place is filled with thieves,” she protested. The man smiled cruelly.

  “Mostly murders, rapists and pedophiles,” he replied easily. “The thieves get minimum or medium security.”

  She scowled, her dark eyes flashing but she reluctantly handed her oversized Gucci purse to him, watching closely to ensure he didn’t meddle with the contents.

  They aren’t going to steal anything with you watching them! He almost yelled at her, but he supressed the urge. Some days he wondered how they had been paired for so long without killing one another.

  There’s still time, I suppose.

  Some days he tried to remember a time when he was free of the too-intuitive brunette. It was impossible after fifteen years.

  Hopefully I will know that freedom again, he thought grimly.

  “This way.”

  They followed the lumbering man through another set of security doors and Solis could see sensor cameras following his every move like ten sets of intrusive eyes undressing him.

  I could never do porn, Sol thought wryly but he didn’t share his observation with his partner. He had a feeling Catriona’s mood was not as light as his.

  She takes her women’s intuition thing way too seriously. She needs to lighten up.

  But even as he thought it, he recalled how many times Catriona’s gut instinct had gotten them out of trouble.

  This time, I can’t afford to listen to her. There’s too much at stake here.

  “Wait in here. Hands on the table at all time. The inmate will be cuffed to the table and unable to touch you. If for some reason things go awry, hit the panic button and guards will be in to subdue him.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ,” Catriona muttered. “Who is this guy? Hannibal Lecter?”

  Solis scoffed as the guard left them alone.

  “He’s killed more people than Hannibal Lecter,” he retorted. “You know that as well as I do.”

  “This place gives me the creeps.”

  “It’s a prison, Smith. It’s not supposed to be cheery.”

  “I know,” she sulked, flipping a perfectly shaped calf over her knee and Solis could not resist staring at the smooth olive of her skin.

  I better loosen her up or there will be no love when we get back to DC finally.

  Sol felt a fami
liar tugging in his groin, his ears tuning out Catriona’s prattling as he focussed on her full mouth, envisioning how much sexual energy she would have after the day was done.

  At least one good thing will come from all of her stress.

  The door opened again, and Cat abruptly stopped speaking to turn and stare at the man joining them in the sterile grey room.

  Solis had seen pictures in the file of the elusive killer before them, but nothing had really prepared him for the person who entered the room.

  Instinctively, Sol went to rise, staring in awe at the notorious character sauntering toward him.

  “Sit down! Hands on the table!” The guard yelled, and Sol instantly sat, stunned that he had moved. It had not been his intention but being in the presence of such a man was enough to inspire awe in the most stoic of men.

  “Your mouth is open,” Catriona hissed. “Close it.”

  “You have fifteen minutes, Agents,” the officer informed them. “Don’t forget, use the panic button if you need it.”

  But Sol’s attention was focussed strictly on the prisoner. His broad shoulders and thick neck hinted at the strength hidden beneath the orange jumpsuit, and his shaved head gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights of the room.

  His visage screamed ‘assassin’ to Sol, made worse by the forbidding look in his eyes and the neck tattoo creeping up his clean-shaven neck like a slithering serpent to lick his chin.

  Sol could not make out the details of the ink, but he knew by reading his file that the man had a full body design, covering his entire muscular frame.

  Well, I mean, I don’t know if it’s everywhere…Solis thought guiltily, shifting his eyes around as if the others could sense his thoughts.

  He would have paid good money to see the entire artwork, but no one needed to know about Sol’s homoerotic tendencies.

  Van Hoyt’s arresting sea green eyes were carefully covered behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, but he moved with a graceful fluidity as he sat before them, his mouth curving into an almost welcoming smile.

  “You will have to forgive me,” he said quietly. “Your names do not ring a bell. I can only assume you are from one of those save your soul societies, brought forth by Jesus Christ himself. I should warn you, I have found Jesus but he decided I was not really worth the hassle and took off in the laundry cart a few weeks back.”