The Export by J.K. Kelly (read along books txt) 📕

up and spun his stool to greet Sam’s wife, Liz. Pretty girl, great smile, tight jeans and very successful veterinarian in the area, specializing in treating large animals. She was a good catch but Sam’s long hours had put a strain on their marriage.

“Nothin’ honey,” Sam said with a smile. She had heard that too many times from her sheriff husband and others he knew in law. She punched his arm, not hard but enough to get his attention.

“One of these days!” she said, laughing as her husband rubbed his arm. “Now, are either of you boys going to buy this lady a steak dinner, or do I have to go hustle a few tourists?”

“That’s it,” Sam shouted. “Check, please!”

After a great meal and visit with his friends, Matt reset the security alarm at the house, tucked the Colt under his pillow, and fell fast asleep. The next morning, the door entry alarm signal went off as two of the ranch’s household staffers entered, waking him from a sound sleep.

“Coffee!” he begged after he exchanged greetings through the bedroom door. He had a lot to do in a short period of time. After catching up with them and downing at least four cups of coffee, he grabbed a warm cinnamon roll from the cook and ran out the door. He arrived at the funeral home just before 10 and took possession of his aunt’s remains. He stopped off at a FedEx office and slid the one test tube sample that he had wrapped in a hand towel into a shipping box, addressed it to Dale’s assistant – not to Dale herself – at the FBI, and sent it priority so it would arrive there early the next morning. He’d paid cash for the shipment and used a fake name and local address. With the boxed remains now riding shotgun beside him, Matt drove straight to the ranch to address the ranch’s staff of five full-time employees.

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling down at the box, “slow down, young man!”

He placed the box in the safe behind a large mirror in the master bedroom. He wasn’t sure what he would do with her remains yet, but he knew they’d be safe there for the time being. He also placed her father’s 45 with it and locked the door.

As quickly as he had come, before long, he was back at the Jackson airport boarding a commercial jet for the long ride home to Washington. Soon he’d be back in his condo, dropping his bags and changing into shorts and sneakers before heading down to Bella for beer and, hopefully, for some much-needed distractions.

Summertime fireworks would be flying over the capital soon. He’d confirmed with Dale that he was safely back in D.C. Out of curiosity, he texted Eve to find out what part of the world she might be in these days. When he’d finished his fifth beer, he left Bella and headed to the outside bar for a nightcap, deciding that a Jägerbomb, a mixture of Red Bull and Jägermeister, would be appropriate. The alcohol had only slightly dulled his senses, and it wasn’t long before the stimulants in the energy drink got his mind revving again about what had happened in Jackson Hole.

Matt had thought about his aunt all the way from one airport to the next. He was sure, not just because of the ring but because of his instincts, and the unexpected call and comment from the president, that something bad had happened to her. The alcohol allowed paranoia to set in. He’d asked himself the same questions over and over since he left Wyoming.

Was her security team in on it? Was her staff? Could Sam or the coroner have been a part of it? If Sam had been involved, would he have still helped with the blood samples? Could that have been his way of showing Matt that he was indeed on his side, leaving him open to Matt’s movements and strategies going forward? If there was nothing wrong with the sample, what did the ring move really mean? When POTUS mentioned old goat, was that coincidence, or was he somehow involved in the attempted blackmailing and embarrassment of his late friend, the dead ambassador?

There was nothing he could do until morning, but luckily, what he really wanted to get his mind off things turned up almost right on cue. “Buy me a drink?” the beauty in the Nationals t-shirt asked as she sat down beside him at the bar.

“Can I get a hug? I really need one,” he said, turning on his charm.

“Sure, for starters,” she replied.

That was the last thing he remembered until he woke up, hands and feet zip-tied together, gag in his mouth, and a dark hood over his head.

As he began to regain consciousness, his head was still spinning from the booze and whatever someone had slipped him. He was groggy and nauseous and realized if he got sick he would choke to death on his own vomit. The night air helped clear his head slightly and then his worst fears were realized. He was being held upside down and being lowered, very slowly, headfirst into the Potomac. Whoever was doing this knew what they were doing. It was his Achilles. In moments, he would be drowning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Matt choked for air as he was pulled back up out of the water. He was disoriented between the water and the alcohol, blowing out water through his nose mouth and trying desperately to suck in what air he could before he went in again.

He tried to process what was happening to him, but within a few seconds, he was dunked again and then again. If this nightmare wasn’t enough, whoever was treating him like a tea bag punched him in the stomach to force the air out and more water in every time. As he was pulled up once more and dropped on what must have been