Shattered Highways Read online

  Tara N. Hathcock

  Shattered Highways

  Some Roads Lead Everywhere

  First published by Quiet Kin Publishing, LLC 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Tara N. Hathcock

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Tara N. Hathcock asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Tara N. Hathcock has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-7342018-0-2

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  This book is lovingly dedicated to the memory of the good pirate Magdalene and the brief, brilliant life that she lived.

  “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” Thomas Campbell

  Contents

  Preface

  Acknowledgement

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  Also by Tara N. Hathcock

  Preface

  While Quincy O’Connell is a fictional character and not based on any one particular person, I did draw many of her symptoms from my own experiences with migraines. If you suffer from chronic migraine, you understand the intensity of the pain, the inability to sleep no matter how tired you are, and the physical and mental exhaustion that comes from trying to live your life in spite of your circumstances.

  Depression is a very real consequence of living with that kind of constant pain and fear and, left unchecked, can easily and too-often lead to suicide. If you or someone you care about suffers from depression and persistent thoughts of suicide, I urge you to reach out for help. To a pastor, a police officer, a trusted friend - just reach out.

  https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

  Acknowledgement

  Lest no good deed go unpunished, I’d like to thank everyone who helped make this pipe dream a reality.

  To my brother and sister, who read the very first draft of the book. Thank you for volunteering your time and your patience. And thank you for not pointing out that when an older sister asks you to do something, it’s no longer considered “volunteering.”

  To my other brother, who was trapped under my roof while I was in the talking-instead-of-doing phase. Bless your heart for listening.

  To my parents, who keep telling me I can do anything I want to do. I guess I must have taken your words to heart.

  To my dear friend Joan, who read the final draft without knowing what she was getting herself into.

  And finally, to my Savior. We fought and we wrestled but you never let me give up. You give me the courage to try and I will do my best to honor you always.

  Your support and your encouragement helped shape this book and this moment. And because I don’t say it enough, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  PROLOGUE

  The Colonel

  One Year Ago

  The warehouse was damp and the evening chill had settled over the area hours ago. The day had been warm for this time of year and the change in temperature created a thick fog that crept along the ground and blanketed the area, keeping visibility at a minimum. It was his kind of night, to be sure. When one made a living by keeping to the shadows, dark, dreary, and remote was a fact of life. But why did it always have to be warehouses, he thought wryly, as his foot landed for the third time in one of the many puddles of dark, dirty water standing about the room. He resisted the temptation to shake the extra water from his pant leg through sheer will power built up over many a late night surveillance. He was the first to arrive and didn’t want to take the chance of giving away his position in case someone had eyes on the place, no matter how remote the possibility. The head of the corporation only rarely called him in for a chat, and never during daylight hours or on company property. His division was one of the company’s most valuable assets but only so long as they stayed off the books. Medical research was a booming business in today’s economy and the government had strict protocols and procedures in place to make sure companies maintained the highest level of ethics. Unfortunately, scientific advancement didn’t always thrive on integrity and rarely happened through humanitarian efforts. Which was the sole reason his division existed. He, and others like him, performed tasks that were imperative to the operation of the company but that no one else could, or would, touch. He had long since become accustomed to dirty hands. He didn’t classify himself as a bad man, or even a good one. He preferred to think of himself as a problem solver. A fixer. He did the job he was paid to do - no emotion, no hesitation, no qualms - no matter how unsavory or inconvenient the assignment. So he understood why he was never invited to the office Christmas party.
Why most of the department heads wouldn’t know him if they passed him on the street. Knowledge of his division was restricted to the highest levels of administration, and very little contact with anyone of actual authority. In fact, most of his communication was with the head of the company’s assistant since the man at the top would never risk his own security and reputation to meet with him. His team’s only communication came through him. They didn’t know who called the shots or paid the bills. It was cleaner that way. If one was exposed, the problem could be eliminated and the hole closed quickly and efficiently with little risk of exposure.

  He would kill for a cigarette right now. Something, anything, to pass the time and provide a little warmth. He wasn’t as young as he once was. Damp nights like this had a way of seeping under the skin and prickling at his weaknesses. He was under no illusions about his chosen career. And he had chosen it - no pretenses, eyes wide open and all that. As former military intelligence, he was used to finding needles in haystacks, plugging holes, etcetera. He was good at his job and he knew it. Which is why the company had come calling in the first place. They had been following his career for some time, apparently, and decided a man of his abilities and scruples, or lack thereof, would fit well into their organization. They made him an offer that was most generous and he had never looked back. Except during these late night meetings. They always seemed to feel the need to meet in wet, unpleasant places. Minor annoyances, but annoyances nonetheless. He had gotten to the meet early enough to clear the building and pick an observation point. He liked having his back to a wall and being the first to arrive let him watch for any surprises the other party might be planning. The company had never tried to screw him over but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

  The boss’s assistant wasn’t exactly stealth. The man, young and nervous, had shown up almost five minutes ago but he’d let him sweat for a while. Wrong-footing your opponent was just part of the process. Any advantage was worth exploiting and he let the kid get good and uncomfortable before stepping from the shadows and clearing his throat.

  “What’s the word Ronald?” he asked casually.

  The man’s name wasn’t Ronald. He didn’t actually know the man’s real name. At their first meet, the man had stammered something about being instructed not to give any names and keep things as general as possible. And he could certainly appreciate the wisdom in that. The less information each person had, the more protection afforded the rest of the circle. But he wasn’t going to spend the length of his employment without having something to call the guy. Kid looked like a prepster, dressed immaculately without fail. His hair was conservatively cut and he was always impeccably groomed. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, the kid even enjoyed the services of a good manicurist. So he decided to call him Ronald. Seemed to fit. Tonight, Ronald was dressed to impress as usual. If Armani had an espionage collection. The black turtleneck under a black sport coat did nothing but scream clandestine. He rolled his eyes. Big business power-types were tough in a boardroom but soft outside their own turf. Which was why they needed men like himself, he supposed. Circle of life and all that. At least the outfit let him know that, whatever the reason for the meeting, it was serious.

  Ronald had spun to face him at the first sound and took an instinctive step back. At least Ron’s instincts were decent. He practically oozed menace and he knew it.

  He gave the nervous little man in front of him a moment to collect himself before saying, “You know I don’t much like to repeat myself.”

  Ronald swallowed compulsively and grabbed for a tie that wasn’t there. He had noticed Ronald seemed to feel better when he had the tie to worry at. It was one of his many nervous tells and he doubted the man would go with the turtleneck again. He almost felt sorry for the kid. He was playing way outside his league and they both knew it. He hoped the pay was worth it. But he didn’t have the time or the patience to drag this out and Ron knew it. He managed to compose himself enough to extend the portfolio he had been clutching to his chest.

  “Our tech team managed to partially recover the research from Dr. Garrison’s protected files. This is all we have from the patient data he was reviewing. It looks like he managed to delete all identifying information on the patients but we have their medical information and most of his case notes. My boss asks that you track down each patient as quickly as possible.”

  Ronald was always so polite when handing out his boss’s orders. But not always thorough. He stared at him, waiting for the rest. When nothing else was forthcoming, he tried, and failed, to not roll his eyes.

  “How would your boss like me to proceed?” he asked.

  When Ronald floundered, unsure how to respond, he allowed a slight sneer that had the man taking another quick step back.

  “Do you want them dead or alive Ron?”

  Ronald flinched as if he had taken a shot at him. But he was mildly impressed when Ron managed to reign himself in. It was entirely too late in their acquaintance to fake confidence but he squared his shoulders and stood as straight as he could and good for the kid for trying.

  “Alive is the preferred delivery method, of course. We can learn so much more if they’re living.” He took a moment to steel his facial expression before continuing, but it still looked like he was trying not to be sick. “But we’d rather have a dead specimen than no specimen at all.”

  He was already flipping through the files in the portfolio but nodded his head once in acknowledgment. “I’ll be in touch when I have the first delivery.”

  He expected Ronald to leave immediately. He usually did. But this time, he hesitated. “My boss asks that you remember to only contact him through the…”

  Ron’s words faded at the look on his face. Did the boss really think he needed to be reminded of the contact protocol?

  “Get out of here Ronald, before I get offended.” Ronald backed slowly towards the door, towards his car and the false sense of security it represented, while he turned back to the files. He never left until Ronald was gone.

  “Hey Ron,” he called, right before the man made it to the door. “You’re in the wrong business kid. You know that, right?”

  He didn’t glance up but heard the shaky sigh, acknowledgement and weariness all rolled into one small sound, and then Ronald was gone.

  He didn’t bother sparing Ronald another thought. Finally, something concrete to wrap his hands around. He’d been months without a solid project to work on. They’d had him running surveillance on the doctor for a while but that was a soft job and he’d farmed most of it out to one of his newer hires as a way of giving the man some field experience. Of course, if they’d thought Garrison was going to run, he’d have handled the entire job himself. The fact that Garrison had completely vanished had been an interesting surprise but no matter. He would find Garrison by finding Garrison’s pets. Tracking and detaining these people wouldn’t exactly be difficult, considering they were ordinary civilians who weren’t hardwired to expect danger in their everyday lives but still, they were living, breathing targets to chase. The lack of identifying information wouldn’t hinder him. He had prey to track. He thrived on having a goal, a target. And now he had 5. He tucked the portfolio under his arm and headed back out into the cold, wet night, blending seamlessly into the shadows. No one ever saw him coming or going and these unfortunate people would be no different.

  * * *

  Eight Months Ago

  In the last four months, the assignment he’d considered a cake walk had turned out to be anything but. Well, maybe that was a bit of an overstatement. He had located, detained, and delivered four of his five targets without difficulty. He’d run a routine background check on each and hadn’t discovered anything to make him wary or cautious. No law enforcement or military personnel in the bunch, no one that would try and play the hero. He’d decided on the soccer mom in Poughkeepsie first. He made visual confirmation during her weekly yoga class, watched her for a week (a bit of overkill but he wasn’t in a hurry), and made
the grab during a Saturday soccer game. The day was bright and sunny and Amy Madison had separated herself from the pack to run to the family minivan for juice boxes and fruit snacks, a mistake she’d never get the chance to repeat. The nightly news reported the disappearance and featured the crying five-year old left behind most prominently.

  After the first grab, he’d been assured that his read on the situation was accurate and there would be no surprises in this group. He’d settled for the construction worker in Brooklyn next. Mostly it was a tactical decision. Brooklyn was the closest target to Poughkeepsie; the rest of the targets were spread around the country. And this guy was likely to be his biggest challenge. He was a former college football player and at 36, as foreman on a construction crew, likely to still be in pretty decent shape. So he went with a lighter touch on this one. He’d observed for a couple of days but it didn’t take long to figure out the bar across the street from the guy’s third floor walk-up was a routine stop after work. So he’d gone in and bought the guy a drink, slipping a little something in to help him relax. Two hours later and he had the guy down, out, and on his way to the company’s black site. And then things started to get tricky.

  His third target had seemed completely routine as well. College kid, early 20s, took classes at the local junior college and worked as a waitress at a truck stop on the outskirts of Boise during the night. An easy enough target. He had taken a seat in a corner booth, facing the door and windows, and ordered coffee, black. And then he’d settled in to wait. His intel had found Gracie Elliot worked every Monday and Wednesday evening, and every weekend. A college kid with a work ethic. An oddly pleasant anomaly. He had pulled her records from the college, which came with a photograph, so he knew what he was looking for. Average height, thin, but he hadn’t expected her to look so small when she came in. Lack of emotion was par for the course with this job but still...he felt like he was snatching a kid off the street. Her long blonde hair was pulled up in a sloppy tangle at the back of her head and she wore very little makeup. Add that to the oversized Joey’s Diner t-shirt and scruffy jeans and she looked much younger than she should have.