Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2)

by Kris Michaels

  "I'm here to see Deputy Campbell."

  "Your name?"

  "Maliki Blue."

  "One sec." The woman turned, picked up a phone, and hit a button. He couldn't distinguish what the woman said, but the conversation took less than five seconds.

  "She'll be right up. You can take a seat." She pointed to the bank of plastic chairs that were connected by aluminum rods. It looked like it was made for kindergarteners. Yeah, not happening. He smiled and meandered over to the glass double doors he'd entered through. The little town was bustling and had grown up, which was surprising. When he was in high school, the town had been dead. A single screen movie theater was the height of attractions, but for him and a few of his friends who summered in the local area, it had been enough.

  "Dr. Blue?"

  Senior Deputy Campbell’s dark brown uniform highlighted her pale complexion and freckles. Those big blue eyes were sharp, intelligent.

  "Senior Deputy." He nodded.

  "You can come back." She held the door open and waited for him to pass her before she shut the door behind them. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come in."

  Maliki stopped and turned. She was looking down and nearly ran into him but skittered to a stop before she did.

  "Why? Did we set a time?" He knew they hadn't.

  "Ah... no we didn't, but it is after noon, and most people would have been down here first thing. Highly emotional events and requests from law enforcement tend to have people spring loaded."

  "Indeed, however last night wasn't a highly emotional event, at least not for me. I was, however, pleased I was able to help the young woman." He spoke to her back as she walked past him. And yes, he dropped his eyes and noticed that pert ass and those toned thighs. She made polyester look damn good. He noticed. Sue him.

  "Life at Guardian must be extremely interesting, then?" His eyes returned to her face when she turned her head.

  "Actually, lately, I'm bored to the point of tears." Which was the truth.

  The deputy pointed to a chair beside a desk. There were four other desks in the area, but only one other was occupied. "Sorry to hear that."

  Maliki mentally rolled his eyes. It was pretty damn obvious the woman wasn't, but hey, she was being polite. She had a way about her, too. Small things tweaked him to the fact she was probably prior military. The way she carried herself, the precise way she talked—small things that only another who'd served would probably notice.

  "I'd like to get your statement down on paper, and I have several questions."

  Maliki handed her a thumb drive. "My statement." He took a seat.

  She blinked and took the small silver capsule from him. He'd completed his statement last night while the event was fresh in his mind.

  "Oh. Thank you." She uncapped the cylinder and slid it into a USB port.

  Maliki leaned back in his chair. There is no way he would have done that. The jump drive could have contained a virus or malware. Damn good thing he was honest.

  It took several minutes for her to open the doc, read it and then print it. She handed him his statement. "Normally we require statements to be on our forms, but we'll consider this a professional courtesy. Sign and date please."

  He complied and handed her the pen back. "You said you had questions?"

  She slid the statement back toward her and opened her desk drawer, retrieving his driver's license. "Yep. Several. Why can't I find any information about Dr. Maliki Blue?"

  Mal shrugged. "What type of information are you looking for?"

  "Oh, you know, simple things. Driver's record, criminal record. Things that my background checks always provide." She leaned back in her chair with his driver's license firmly in her hand.

  "I'm sure you know the answer to that question."

  "As a matter of fact, I do. Not one minute after I ran your name in our system, it crashed. Hard. As in, went offline, and then not five minutes after that my boss received a call from the State's Attorney General's Office. That episode was a particularly unpleasant point in my morning. You have powerful employers, Dr. Blue."

  Mal tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught a question in any of that."

  "Why is your identity so closely guarded?"

  He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "They are trying to make sure the bad people who are looking for me don't find me."

  "Bad people?" The deputy leaned forward, lowering her voice.

  He nodded and added, "Very bad people." He leaned back, already bored with the sixth degree. "Are we done here?"

  "Not quite. My sheriff said he may have recognized you." She lifted his driver's license. "Said he thought your last name was Boswell."

  He hadn't expected that. His summers here were more than a few years ago. "Did he?"

  "He did."

  "Who is your sheriff?"

  "James Watson."

  "Sorry, doesn't ring any bells." James Watson. Nope. Not a name he recognized.

  "Too bad. He seemed to recognize you right off the bat. Anyway, I got interested in why someone would want to change their name. So, I did a search on Harrison Boswell, VI."

  Maliki officially lost all humor and patience. He stared at the woman. She might be beautiful, but right now she was a boil on his ass—one he wanted to lance, purge and forget.

  "Seems he dropped off the face of the earth."

  "Is that a crime?"

  "No. Not a crime, but a curiosity." She handed him his driver's license. "How long are you staying in town, Doctor?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe a week or so." He took the laminated card and stood, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

  "Damn, too bad."

  "Yeah, why's that?"

  "Well, I was thinking..."

  "Thinking? Odd habit for a cop."

  "Hmmm… funny, but I figured that a person who worked for Guardian would have… resources. That system crash and a call from the AG made me think that perhaps a concerned citizen could get some… assistance without a lot of fanfare."

  "Did you?"

  She nodded; the long ponytail moved with her head, drawing his eyes to her dark auburn hair. "Why would a concerned citizen need that type of assistance?"

  She glanced past him, and when her eyes landed back on him, she was deadly serious. "Have dinner with me tonight, Dr. Blue, and I’ll explain," she murmured. She leaned forward, picking up a piece of paper and lowered her voice even more, "I’d prefer to talk to you in private."

  "Poet, do you have that report on the fire at the Ogden estate done? I have an insurance company representative claiming he’s being stalled."

  Maliki turned to stare at the man who’d shouted the question. The name tag said Watson and the badge touted the title “Sheriff”. A tickle of recognition tugged at him, but he couldn't place the sheriff's face.

  "I submitted them right after we spoke this morning." The deputy didn't offer to introduce them, but the sheriff didn't seem to mind.

  He narrowed his eyes at Maliki. "The Attorney General called to personally ensure you're not hindered in any way." His eyes slid to Deputy Campbell. "You're not hindering the good doctor, are you?"

  "Nope. We are done here. Doctor Blue will never have to see me professionally again."

  His eyes bounced to her and then back to the sheriff.

  "Good. We appreciate your assistance with Shauna." The sheriff extended his hand. The grip was crushing but Maliki had been in pissing contests before. He bore down and watched the sheriff's eyes narrow even further before they released their grip by mutual accord. Watson spun and stomped from the office.

  "Normal behavior for your boss?"

  "Lately? Yeah; before that… not really."

  "You have my number, Deputy. Send me an address and a time." He turned on his heel and left.

  The drive to Carmichael’s diner took less than five minutes. The booth he sat in faced the street, providing only rare glimpses of vehicles driving past. He or
dered and drew a deep, revitalizing breath. Fuck, what a morning. His father was sick. Several TIAs, strokes, caused in part by the uncontrolled blood pressure his father wouldn’t address. Mortality meet pride, the conclusion was always the same. Mortality won every time.

  The waitress brought him his water and left. He took a deep drink of the ice water and leaned back into the booth. The changes to his mother, well, they were drastic. Not her appearance, rather it was the way she owned the fact that she'd fucked up. She didn't place blame; didn't tell him he should have done something differently. A sincere apology. God, he didn’t realize how much he’d needed that.

  He was halfway through his sandwich when Sheriff Watson entered the diner. The man waved to the waitress and made a direct line to his booth. He slid into the seat opposite and folded his hands in front of him on the table.

  "Do we have business?" Maliki asked with his mouth half full. He'd dropped any pretense of giving a fuck about this guy about point three seconds after the motherfucker had started that bullshit posturing handshake.

  Watson glanced around before a smarmy smile split his face. "Why the fuck is Guardian in my county?"

  He shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. He spoke around his food because he was fucking hungry. "Guardian isn't. I am. You look familiar. Do I know you?"

  "You work for Guardian, and we didn't run in the same crowd growing up."

  "Is that so?" He didn't doubt that. He'd grown up with the privileged in the area. He sighed and put his food down. He wiped his hands carefully. "Is it illegal to be on vacation in Pleasant County?"

  "Depends on the person and the reason."

  "I'm curious, Sheriff. What did I do that got your dander up?" Maliki picked up his ice water.

  "I don't appreciate the state's Attorney General calling my office and directing me to... extend every professional courtesy."

  Mal laughed so hard several heads turned their way. "Is that what you're doing?"

  "No, I'm trying to understand why Guardian is in my county."

  He threw his napkin on his plate. The asshole across from him ruined what was a damn good sandwich. "I'm not here in an official capacity."

  Watson pushed a finger at him and jabbed the air. "If that changes, I'm the first person you tell."

  He leaned forward and smiled evilly, channeling every mannerism he'd ever seen Joseph use. "If Guardian ever decides to muck about in your precious little piece of overpriced farmland, I'm sure you'll be the first person they contact.” He stood and the waitress was there a second later with his ticket. He took it from her and dropped it in front of the sheriff. "My good friend is buying my lunch today. Thank you for extending the professional courtesy." He turned and flipped Watson a middle finger salute, and headed out.

  He made it to his truck and turned it on before he keyed the numbers on his phone.

  "I'm not joking. I think I do talk to you more than Ember."

  Maliki watched from his seat in his SUV as the sheriff left the diner. His eyes tracked the man to the decked-out patrol car. "You know every class I've ever sat in on, the person leading it always says, trust your gut."

  "Yeah. What do you got?"

  "An achy gut."

  Joseph sighed. "Hold on." Joseph's voice muddled, but he heard his boss say, "Blake, take your homework and work with Mommy, okay?" He heard Blake’s voice and then Joseph's laughter before the man came back on the line. "Lay it out for me."

  He described the encounter with the sheriff. "The fucker sends up warning flags. He's ringing bells. Something irritating around the edges of my memory. I don't know why, but when you add it to the fact that the deputy wants to meet me for dinner, it's lighting me up."

  "Whoa... what?"

  "The deputy I gave my statement to wants to meet me away from the Sheriff's Department to talk. Privately. I have no idea what type of drama is going on."

  "Sounds like a regular little Peyton Place. Follow your nose on this, Mal. If you smell something rotten, you dig, but if you're going to do that, I'll need to make a few calls, and you'll need to arm up."

  "Arm up? Where the fuck am I going to get a gun?"

  "You have a Guardian SUV, right?"

  "Yeah." He glanced around.

  "There are two keys on that ring. One for the engine. One opens the armory."

  He palmed the key ring and looked at the keys. "Get the fuck out of here."

  "Dude, seriously how many times have you driven one of our vehicles?"

  "Ah… never?"

  "No fucking way."

  "Seriously, I have my own money. I've always rented a car, taken a taxi, or Ubered it." Mal looked over his shoulder. "Where's the armory?"

  "Open the back hatch."

  He followed Joseph's instructions and flipped up the carpet as Joseph detailed the process. He inserted the key and opened the latch. "Holy fuck."

  "Armory."

  He whistled. "Son of a bitch. I'm impressed."

  "You should be, and you should be briefed better. Damn, Jason is going to have my ass if you shoot off your fucking foot."

  He slammed the door of the armory and locked it as he said, "I'm an expert marksman. The only foot I'm going to shoot off is yours if you keep being a dick." He climbed back into the front of the SUV. "Wait, why are you calling Archangel?"

  "Follow the bouncing ball, Mal. You can't be tracking down shit without a way to defend yourself and credentials that cover your ass. You can't use the weapons unless you have a permit to carry. You can't get a permit to carry without Guardian's blessings. You are not an operative. You don't have creds and need them. Tell me how I'm going to get all of that without briefing Jason?"

  He dropped his head back against the headrest. "Shit."

  "Eloquently said for an office worker."

  "Fuck you."

  "Again, not interested. You'll need a concealed carry permit and Guardian credentials. Yeah, fuck. Okay, I'm going to put together a folder on you. Every class you've taken, the scores on your physical evals and training runs. Can you keep your ass out of trouble long enough for me to make you legal?"

  "God, I sure as fuck hope so." Sheriff Watson's car passed by his SUV and the man stared at him. He lifted his hand and waggled his fingers at the guy before he flipped him off again. Probably not smart, but if the bastard was going to come after him, he wanted him good and pissed off. Mad people made mistakes.

  "Get somewhere and hole up until tomorrow. I'll give you a call when we've got this shit sorted."

  "Roger that," he acknowledged and cleared the line. His phone vibrated and he checked the text.

  > 1900hrs. 4894 Lincoln Avenue. Park across the street. Apartment 5C.

  He read the text again before he fired up the SUV. Well, he could honestly say he was no longer bored.

  Chapter 5

  Stupid. She was absolutely stupid... or paranoid. Yep. Paranoid and maybe delusional. Poet stared at the computer files and shook her head. There was absolutely nothing connecting these women. Nothing. One died of an overdose, although to anyone's recollection she wasn't a junkie. That case was closed. The second woman had no cause of death other than the fact she stopped breathing. The medical examiner couldn't find any other reason. No needle marks, no bruises, no wounds, nothing except she'd… died. They'd found her behind the wheel of her car. Rigor had broken, so there was no telling how long she'd been sitting in her vehicle. She was a local woman who'd moved back to town recently. The third woman, when she was found in her own vomit, reeked of alcohol. They were waiting for the bloodwork to come back, but discussion with the medical examiner suggested the death resulted from acute alcohol poisoning, however the cause of death was asphyxiation of a foreign substance, i.e., her own vomit. But why would a woman drive to the middle of nowhere and pound a fifth? Her coworkers and everyone else interviewed said she was a careful, social, drinker.

  She stared at the documents depicting the three women and added a mental picture of Shauna. They were all young, beauti
ful and petite. Was she grasping for straws? Probably, and it was very likely she'd have dropped any concern if the BCI had been called in. But they weren't and she couldn’t drop it. The cases were under her skin.

  Add in the snuff film links that they found, which had absolutely nothing in common with the deaths, and she was a mess. Because damn it, her gut told her they were related. She just didn't have any proof.

  Poet glanced at her watch and groaned. If the sheriff ever discovered why she'd invited Dr. Blue to her apartment, there would be hell to pay. Yes, she was so going to pay for jumping over the line he'd pissed in the sand. Lord, she could imagine that display, especially after the Attorney General ordered the sheriff not to inconvenience Dr. Blue.

  However, she’d found a loophole. Granted, not a big one, but one nonetheless. Jim said no BCI. He didn't say she couldn't ask other organizations. Right? Well, for Shauna's case, he had demanded the investigation stay in house. The others, no BCI. So, maybe she'd skirt Shauna's case, because it wasn’t a murder—yet. It wasn't like the others, the deaths of perfectly healthy women with no history of drugs, poor health or alcoholism. Damn. Even when she racked the cases together in her own mind, making any leap from one case to the other was impossible. She shook her head. Still, there was something off. Those films, the women's deaths, the unrelenting feeling that she was missing a link. Those concerns kept her awake at night and kept her going back to the cases. If this backfired, she'd lose her job. God, she hoped Maliki Blue was able to help.

  She flopped onto the couch and dropped her head back. She had great instincts about people. Usually. Those instincts were telling her Dr. Blue wasn't a mere doctor. Ha. She chuckled and then groaned. The man was gorgeous. That blond hair and golden red beard. She'd never had a thing for beards, but on that man... damn, the facial hair really did it for her. The good doctor was bulked up, and when she saw him run past the office this morning, she knew he wasn't a casual runner. That man had pushed himself hard, and if he started from the Paintville Inn, he'd have run three miles when he passed her office. Why would a doctor train in that way? He didn't fit the physical features for a long-distance runner. He was too big, too much muscle. A curiosity, indeed. Then there were his eyes. Those sky-blue eyes were hard, intelligent, and saw everything.