Scar Tissue

by Samantha Simard

  ~***~

  “David, question,” Scarlett said from the backseat of his rented Toyota Camry. She was squished between Constantin and Flynn, neither of whom were small in the shoulders; Lottie was perched on Scarlett’s knees, hands tucked under Scarlett’s thighs to keep her balance. “Did you rent the smallest car in existence, or do you moonlight as a circus clown?”

  “I don’t think circus clowns drive cars,” Flynn mused. He tried and failed to give her more room by pressing himself against the door, and stuck out a hand to catch Lottie when David took the turn on to Summer Street too hard. “Aren’t the ones that have the little cars usually the ones who do birthday parties?”

  “Is this guy for real?” Frogger wondered over Wolfe’s speakerphone. She was trying to help them out by tracking the GPS on Sebastian’s cell phone. “Seriously, is everybody who’s been in the Army crazy?”

  “You have to be kind of crazy to sign up for a job where people shoot at you, Frogger,” Wolfe replied, grunting when Constantin kicked the back of his seat. “Any luck finding Bash?”

  “Not with that number—phone’s either off or it got smashed.” Some keyboard-clicking sounds. “You got anything else you want me try?”

  “What about Bobby’s phone?” David asked. He was driving slowly since they didn’t have a destination yet, and thankfully it was late enough that traffic was cooperating. “Try his number.”

  Wolfe gave it to her, and a moment later Frogger made a triumphant sound. “Got it! According to his GPS, your uncle’s in a laundromat on Pearl Street… which isn’t that far from where you are now. Less than a block, maybe?”

  David jerked the wheel and turned up Walnut Street, took that to Highland Avenue, and veered on to Route 28. Wolfe thanked Frogger and ended the call, and a moment later they parked across and down the street from a shitty-looking place with an awning that said it was Pearl Street Laundry. The big windows that were typical in the front of a laundromat were papered over, but not well enough that it hid the fact that were lights on inside. A dozen members of the Winter Hill Gang milled around outside, all armed with handguns or poorly-concealed M16s.

  Scarlett let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of firepower, and I doubt they’ve been told to ask questions first and shoot later.”

  Lottie craned her neck to see around the building. “Looks like there’s an alleyway along the side. I would imagine there has to be a back entrance or a loading dock of some kind.” Wolfe had heard her speak a few times now and he couldn’t pin down her accent; it was a mix of California English and the precise consonants that came as a result of parents who spoke their native Asian dialect at home. “What’s the plan?”

  “I say we kill them all,” Constantin suggested.

  “I’m okay with that,” Flynn agreed.

  “Let’s try diplomacy first,” David said as he got out of the car. “Jimmy, you’re with me. The rest of you scatter behind the cars parked on the street—I’m pretty sure you’ll know if we need you.”

  Wolfe followed his father to the laundromat, and when it became clear to the gangbangers where they intended to go they all raised their weapons. David and Wolfe raised their hands over their heads, slowing their pace but not stopping.

  “Not any further unless you want your brains turned to mush,” a big guy with a red beard said, his M16 pointed dead-center at Wolfe’s chest. Not exactly his brain, but close enough. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “My name is David Wolfe—Bobby’s my brother.” David was calm and collected, like he was having a conversation over a game of gin rummy, minus the rifle. “I need to speak with him right now. It’s urgent.”

  Beard Guy snorted. “You hear that, boys? Not only is this asshole pretending to be a dead guy, he needs to speak with the boss right now!” The group of goons chortled like this was a hilarious joke. “You know what I need you to do, asshole? I need you to go fuck yourself.”

  A low buzz started at the base of Wolfe’s brain, adrenaline warming his chest and spreading outward to his limbs. His body knew what was coming next, remembered it like an old friend. Some part of him, deep down, even liked the violence, because it allowed him to do and not think, sliding into the mindset of the cold-blooded killer the military had manufactured.

  David sighed. “So much for diplomacy,” he said, and grabbed the barrel of Beard Guy’s M16, twisting it to the side before he drove it back into Beard Guy’s face and smashed his nose into pieces.

  Gunfire erupted, and the buzz in Wolfe’s brain turned into a roar.

  ~***~

  As soon as he heard the commotion outside the laundromat Sebastian moved, throwing himself backward in the chair. It splintered apart under his weight when it hit the floor, and he smacked his right heel against the linoleum, which made the spring-loaded blade inside his loafer burst forth. He kicked and caught one of the goons in the shin, blood spurting everywhere as Sebastian elbowed the other one in the balls and then delivered an uppercut to his chin.

  They both went down groaning, and Sebastian grabbed a gun from the one closest to him—a cheap revolver with blued metal—and was up and pointing it at their boss while he was still fumbling for his weapon. “Put your fucking hands up,” he said, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a well-practiced head motion. The snub-nosed barrel of the gun pointed at the fat man’s heart. “I won’t tell you twice.”

  The door to the room opened again and Sebastian went a little weak-kneed with relief when he saw Wolfe on the other side of it. He stepped inside when he saw Sebastian had the situation under control, hopping over the man who’d gotten his nuts destroyed and putting his hand on top of the revolver so Sebastian would lower it. “I know this is probably hard for you to believe, but you don’t have to worry about him.”

  Sebastian trusted Wolfe enough that not only did he lower the gun, he turned his head to look at him with one wry eyebrow raised. “Considering he had me kidnapped and was about to have me beaten until I gave him information I do not have—yes, I do find that hard to believe.”

  David Wolfe entered the room next, scowling at the mob boss on the floor. “Bobby, you stupid son of a bitch, I told you to stay out of this!”

  “You ain’t the boss of me, David,” the fat man—Bobby, apparently—snapped back, and he sounded like a petulant child. He seemed to process something, and his gaze shifted to Sebastian again. “Wait, you really don’t know where your old man keeps the Rapture formula?”

  “No.” Sebastian tossed the revolver on the remnants of his chair and put a hand over the bruises that were no doubt forming on his abdomen. He allowed his eyes to trail over Wolfe’s profile, taking in his strong jaw, the hard look in those normally soft gray-green eyes. “Who is this idiot, anyway?”

  “My uncle,” Wolfe replied grimly.

  Sebastian suddenly and fervently wished he was still unconscious.

  ~***~

  “Let me make sure I have this correct,” Sebastian started about ten minutes later, once they gathered out in the front part of the laundromat, he was told the story, and the bodies were dragged into the alley. This wasn’t the type of neighborhood where the residents called the police over a little shootout, at least not right away. “Danh Sang wants the Rapture formula for himself, and he tried synthesizing it from the product they sell at Lavinge’s shop. When that didn’t work he paid you—” he pointed at Bobby “—and the Winter Hill Gang to kidnap me, after you’d already shot up my father’s restaurant in some kind of revenge plot—and you just happen to be Jim’s uncle?”

  Bobby was handcuffed to a radiator behind the rickety cash register stand, his expression equal parts embarrassed and dejected. “Yeah, that’s more or less the size of it.”

  “And?” David pressed, looking at his brother imploringly.

  “And I’m sorry,” Bobby muttered, staring at the metal of the radiator like he wanted to burn holes in it with his eyes. “I didn’t know you weren’t clued in to Anton’s operation, okay?”

/>   “Well, this is the first time a mob boss has ever apologized to me,” Sebastian said, “so I suppose I can forgive you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Constantin. “That means you can’t shoot him, cavalerul meu curajos.”

  “Pity.” Constantin’s smile was all teeth. “I saved a bullet just for him and everything.”

  Lottie performed a perfect reverse roundhouse kick, the bottom of her shoe less than an inch from Bobby’s nose. “Speak for yourself. I could bash his head in if you want.”

  Scarlett looked at Lottie like she’d hung the moon. “We’re best friends now,” she declared, and looped their arms together. “I like you.”

  Wolfe put a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m hurt, Scar,” he said. “Did that friendship necklace made from half a beer cap and some string that I gave you mean nothing?”

  Scarlett cocked her head and grinned at him. “That was a necklace? I thought you just wanted me to have your trash.”

  Flynn looked first at Lottie, then at David, exasperation and amusement in the lines around his eyes. “And here I thought our team was bad—these guys are a nightmare.”

  Constantin pulled out his phone. “I will call Anton, tell him I found Sebastian.” A wry smirk. “By myself, of course. Should get my ass out of the fire and keep you all out of this.” He clasped Sebastian’s shoulder briefly before he walked outside to make the call.

  Wolfe took the break in the action to pull Sebastian aside, one big hand curved around his elbow through the fine material of his ruined dress shirt. His hair was a mess, matted with blood near his temple, and a bruise bloomed purple on one sharp cheekbone—all of that combined made Wolfe’s eyebrows draw down in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m all right, Jim,” he replied, looking up at him with those eyes, the ones Wolfe was careful to only think of as gorgeous when he was alone. “A little banged up, but I have had worse.” He blinked, long lashes casting shadows under the cold tone of the fluorescent lights. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

  “Of course,” Wolfe murmured, and he drifted closer to Sebastian as they talked. He felt his face morphing into a soft, fond expression that he usually reserved for Scarlett or Jake. “From the looks of things, it seemed like you had the situation under control.”

  Sebastian shrugged, but the tilt to his mouth showed he was pleased. “Just waiting for my opportunity to shine.”

  David wandered over, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Hey, Sebastian, can I ask you something?” When Sebastian nodded at him dubiously—David was the man who’d murdered Sebastian’s brother, Wolfe recalled with a wince—he continued, “I was wondering if you’d heard of a place called Blakely Manor. You aren’t the only person in your father’s circle who’s gone missing recently. Do you know a man named Otis Webber?”

  “I have never heard of Blakely Manor,” Sebastian said, his diction slowing with each word, gaze narrowing in David’s direction. “As for Otis, he was my family’s tailor. His wife passed away recently, so he closed his shop and moved back to Germany—or at least that is what my father told me. I am going to assume from the look on your face that is not the case?”

  “It’s not,” David confirmed. “He’s dead. Your sister and I had an unfortunate encounter with Otis a few days ago. From what he described, it sounded like he was brainwashed somehow at Blakely Manor.”

  Wolfe’s brows furrowed. “What were you doing with—wait, is Diana a spook?”

  Sebastian snorted. “Well of course she is. She’s always had more freedom that me, and she’s been spying on our father for years now. I figured she wanted blackmail material, but being a CIA agent is a better fit.” He glanced at Wolfe, one corner of his lips twitching up in amusement. “The twist is that she’s your father’s partner. I did not see that coming.”

  “Believe me, the irony is not lost on either of us,” David said, rubbing at his forehead. “Diana was recruited to the CIA shortly after your father brought her to the United States. She already possessed a… useful skill set. I was assigned to train her, and eventually we became partners.”

  Wolfe was working through new information, turning it this way and that way to try and make sense of things. “So when she drugged me and ransacked your office—” which had ended Wolfe and Diana’s six-month-long relationship “—she knew you were alive? And just… didn’t tell Anton?” Something else occurred to him, and he felt like an idiot. “That’s why she was in my apartment and why she offered to walk you home the day Jake was in surgery.”

  David nodded. “She’s been playing both ends against the middle for years now, and she’s damn good at it.” He looked at Sebastian again. “As soon as your father chose to immigrate to the United States he was flagged on several watch lists, but over the years other agencies lost interest in him when he appeared to go legit. I couldn’t let it go because I was terrified he’d go after my family even if he thought I was dead, and then Diana came into my life and it was almost like fate. It didn’t take much to convince the CIA to let us keep an eye on Anton as long as we were putting up numbers elsewhere. We even got to assemble our own team of… unique intelligence assets.” He gestured toward where Flynn and Lottie stood, looking at something Scarlett was showing them on her phone. “You’ve already met two of them.”

  “You sent them to the gala,” Wolfe said—a statement, not a question. “I can’t decide if I want to hug you or hit you for that.”

  “I realize I don’t have a lot of privileges as your dad right now, but I’d like to think one I’ve retained is being able to worry about my son. With all the near-misses you and Sebastian have both had recently, I thought a little extra firepower couldn’t hurt.” David shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, Flynn told me you met him and Dev in the Sandbox, so I figured you wouldn’t be suspicious… at least not right away.”

  Wolfe gusted out a sigh and scratched at his beard. “I saw something about Blakely Manor when I was looking up Laine Parker—she’s the sniper from Fenway, and I saw her again at the gala, posing as a waitress.” He looked at Sebastian, apologetic. “I ran off to try and talk to her, but she got away again. If I had been in the ballroom…”

  Sebastian reached out and squeezed his arm. “We can’t change what’s already happened, Jim. All we can hope to do is figure this out before more people get hurt.”

  “He’s right, Jimmy,” David said, earning a surprised glance from Sebastian. “Was Laine a patient at Blakely? The place is some kind of mental institution, at least on paper.”

  “It was her last known address, so I’d guess yes.” Wolfe was hyperaware of Sebastian’s touch against his skin, and the moment before he took his hand away seemed like it lasted an age. He forced himself to focus. “That was all I was able to see in BPD’s records before Kamienski got shifty about letting me look.”

  David pulled out his cell phone and opened an app that required him to input a long string of numbers and letters before he was allowed access. “Let’s see what else we can find.” He sat on top of a washing machine, and Wolfe and Sebastian did the same thing on either side of him so they could both see the screen. “This is a highly classified database and you two never saw me use it in front of you—clear?”

  “Yep,” Wolfe said. “What is this, Lexus-Nexus for spooks?”

  His dad smiled. “Something like that.” He typed Laine’s name into the search bar, and a bunch of results popped up. “There’s her birth certificate, military record—and here’s an arrest by the Boston Police Department.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow in Wolfe’s direction. “You’d think that would’ve come up first instead of her last known address.”

  Wolfe snorted. “You’d think.” He read the first portion of the report made by the arresting officer and blinked in confusion. “She was homeless after she got discharged? That woman’s a war hero.”

  “Unfortunately, you know as well as I do that the Department of Veterans’ Affairs is significantly lacking in most areas,�
� David said, scrolling down. “Apparently she was arrested for attacking a civilian and resisting arrest. Interesting that the civilian’s name isn’t in the record, and the case never made it to jury trial. Almost like somebody didn’t want it getting out to the press.”

  Sebastian pointed at the judge’s ruling. “So she was sent to Blakely Manor for rehabilitation instead of serving jail time?”

  “It looks that way.” David closed the app, put his phone away, and turned his head to look at Sebastian. “I’ll be blunt: I think your dad’s involved with Blakely Manor somehow. If not on paper then in principle, and whatever they’re doing over there can’t be good if this Laine woman wound up becoming a gun for hire.”

  “I will look into it when I can,” Sebastian said, exchanging a glance with Wolfe that said I’m not doing this because I like your father. “Probably while my father is chewing out Constantin for not being with me. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  ~***~

  Laine Parker woke up with her head pounding and her mouth dry, and she didn’t know where she was at first. Wherever it was, it was cold… not just the air around her, but the steel table under her back and the manacles around her wrists and ankles were all freezing. It didn’t help that the only thing she wore was a thin hospital gown that wasn’t tied at the back. A suspended lamp on an adjustable arm hung over her head, and its bluish-white cast made her eyes hurt.

  A door slammed and her eyes snapped toward the noise. It was a heavy steel thing, and she heard it lock from the outside as a woman in a lab coat approached her, flanked by two large, mean-looking men dressed like orderlies. The room around them was shaped like a box and covered in beige tile, and when Laine glanced down she noticed a large drain set into the center of the floor.