Renegades: Book Two of the Scottstown Heroes Series

by A A Woods

  Making rash promises to the heavens that he would work out with Otto the next time his brother asked, Moose peeled himself off the wall and darted for the door, swinging it open and bursting through fast enough that the old-school hotel footage would only see him as a glitch.

  It had taken him months to perfect the art of camera-dodging. He and Tero had worked at it night after night, desperate for him to get good enough to be able to sneak into local restaurants and snag something more exciting than the healthy food Ian Eckelson insisted on ordering. There had been a few close calls and a very angry Chinese woman, but after a while Moose had figured out how to zigzag and accelerate at just the right cadence so that he barely appeared, nothing but a strange flash. If the viewer paused the footage or zoomed in, they’d see him. He didn’t turn invisible, sadly. But it was enough to fool the casual security man, and really, what kind of hotel would have more than that? With any luck, the film would be overwritten by tomorrow.

  Double-checking the hotel number Ricardo had given him, Moose got the card ready. This was the moment of truth. If his contact—he had a contact!—had double-crossed him, now would be the time that the red light would flash and the police would kick open the neighboring doors. Maybe Hans himself would emerge, smiling smugly and ready to give some villain monologue speech.

  But Moose had a feeling about that Victor guy, the strong sensation that this was legit. Maybe more than Moose had bargained for and perhaps a bit over his head, but legit all the same.

  Flexing his fingers and pausing just long enough to jam the card into the slot, Moose held his breath. Counted to a hundred in the time it would have taken someone else to count to five.

  It blinked green.

  He burst inside.

  “Dayummm,” Moose said, resting against the door as it closed behind him.

  This is why people work so hard to get rich, he thought, wide eyes tracking over the huge space, the plush carpets, the variety of couches and chairs that could have sat fifty guests and had room to spare. It was wild, the vastness of the penthouse, and all for one person.

  Or rather, one person and his assistants.

  The thought of Hans’s bodyguards was enough to get Moose moving. He didn’t know who they were, but Ricardo’s warning as he’d led Moose out had been explicit. Watch out for the skinny one. Moose didn’t know why. Maybe he was really good at karate or something?

  Whatever.

  Time to look for the bio-thingy.

  Shuffling through ideas of where something valuable would be hidden in a fancy-pants hotel room, Moose zipped around, checking various places. He found a safe, but it was empty and unlocked. He checked the closet, digging through the pockets of every single suit inside (there were only four). He flew into the bathroom and rifled through a sleek black toiletry kit, then into the second bathroom to check a floral backpack and a reusable grocery bag filled with small men’s clothes. There were some oddities, like the set of inlay butterfly knives in the backpack and a retainer in the grocery bag. Not things a big-wig bad-guy should have. More like what teenagers might travel with.

  Strange.

  But irrelevant to Moose’s mission.

  Imagining a ticking clock over his head, he began to dig under the couch cushions. Nothing. He checked the drawers in all three desks. Nothing. He looked behind the TV, beneath the coffee table, under the beds, in every dresser.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  Spinning in a slow circle, Moose tried hard not to panic. It didn’t even matter that he was here early and could come back the next day when he was supposed to, because he’d looked everywhere. What was going to be different about tomorrow?

  Maybe this Hans guy had brought it with him to meet Aquila (a worrisome thought by itself), or maybe he kept it on his person, or maybe one of his assistants carried it around like the football with the president, and what was Moose going to do about that, because then he’d have it with him at the party and Moose was going to disappoint Victor and he’d never be a real hero and—

  The electric sound of the hotel door unlocking made Moose jump.

  “Oh shit,” he muttered, throwing himself toward the empty coat closet he’d already combed through. He’d barely burrowed himself behind the ironing board when he heard the door swing open.

  There was a wooden thunk as it hit the closet he was hiding in, the sound drowning out the first few words of someone speaking as they entered.

  “…seems like a goody two-shoes,” said a vaguely female voice, thick with derision.

  Moose disliked it instantly.

  “Those with strong morals can be most useful, Pan,” said another voice, this one deep and cultured. “As you well know.”

  “Urg, how boring.”

  Moose held his breath, praying silently that these people hadn’t worn coats, that they were like him and just threw them on the nearest piece of furniture.

  Don’t be neat, please don’t be neat. Don’t put your things away. Live like slobs, be lazy, go to bed.

  His heart was hammering again, fast enough to make him worry about a heart attack for totally different reasons.

  “Well, in all likelihood you won’t have to worry about working with him. I believe with the right incentives we can send those brothers back where they belong.”

  Who’s going where now? Moose thought, leaning forward to listen over his thundering pulse.

  “Can’t we just kill them and be done with it?”

  “Pan.” The name was spoken like a warning.

  The woman sniffed. “Fine. But if this all goes sideways…”

  “Then you will accept your share of the blame for not containing Ghost in time.”

  Ghost? Moose thought, but his flood of questions was interrupted by the closet squeaking open. He shrank his six-foot four frame as small as it would go, bending his knees and trying to hide his wild, windblown hair behind the ironing board. He knew it was no use, nobody would miss him if they looked inside.

  But all he saw was a leather-coated arm and a quick-moving hand snatching two coat hangers.

  Moose breathed a silent, internal sigh of relief.

  “How was I supposed to know she’d gone rogue?” the voice continued amidst the rustling of heavy fabrics.

  “You were her friend.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “You’ve been requesting a longer leash for years, Pan. That comes with responsibility.”

  “Yeah, for the things I do.”

  “Or fail to do.”

  The woman started grumbling something, but the man interrupted her.

  “Must I remind you of the stakes? Or have you forgotten what I protect you from?”

  The grumbling stopped. “Sorry sir.”

  The closet door jerked back open and two coats appeared, blocking Moose’s view of the room, but also blocking their view of him. He held his breath, wondering if they might hear the wild galloping of blood in his ears.

  “You would do well to remember your place. Both of you. And what keeps you there.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Moose heard the click of expensive shoes and the gentle sound of another door closing. Then the woman released an exasperated burst of air.

  “Thanks for the help, Tiny.” The voice was suddenly rougher, angrier, less respectful. If Moose had been nervous about the person who owned it before, he now felt certain that this was a dangerous person to be dealing with.

  “Leave me out of it.” Moose strained to hear this reedy stranger, who sounded like he was suffering from a bad head cold.

  “You don’t get to stay out of it, asshole. There are sides, and you have to pick yours.”

  “We’re here to solve a problem. That’s all.”

  The woman scoffed. “You’re such a moron.”

  There was another slam of a door.

  “Jeeze,” said the reedy man, accompanied by a whoosh of air that made Moose think of someone landing heavily on a couch. Then a cheerful beep and the unmistaka
ble sound of a PlayStation powering on.

  Shit, Moose thought. But he wasn’t panicked anymore. This he could manage. He’d wait for this stranger to be distracted, totally engrossed in his game, and then he’d whiz out before anyone noticed him. That was the easy part.

  But he still hadn’t found the bioagent.

  Tapping his chin as Call of Duty began in the background, Moose looked at the jackets the angry woman had put away. One was black and leather. The other was a tailored suit jacket, with enormous shoulders and wide lapels.

  Hans’s coat?

  On instinct, Moose leaned around the ironing board and pulled the jacket toward him. He winced at the grating sound of metal on the hanger rod, but the game music didn’t stop. There was no noise of a shifting body. Listening intently for any change, Moose dipped his fingers into the outside pockets. A handkerchief. A folded bit of paper that Moose couldn’t read in the dim light of the closet.

  He tried the inside pockets.

  Bingo.

  Withdrawing his hand, Moose examined the three slender vials of liquid, each of them with an aerosol spray cap and snap-on cover. This had to be it; the bioagent Victor was talking about. Handling the bottles gingerly, Moose rolled them over his palm. He couldn’t take all three of them. That would be suspicious. Even taking one was risky. But there was no way around that.

  Moose bit his lip, thinking of Tero, who was so much smarter than he was. Of course Moose would never say that to his face, but Tero was always good at seeing the needle solution in a haystack of trouble.

  Needle.

  “Aha!” Moose mouthed silently, carefully placing the three vials in his jacket and pulling the jacket closer to him. He dug his hand into it, feeling for the bottom of the pocket. It was sewn in, of course, and layered. But perhaps with some convincing…

  Fumbling around, Moose finally settled on using the spare apartment key Delilah had given him when he’d signed on for the month. He plunged it into the pocket and began to tear at the bottom seam, carefully at first and then with more determination. Call of Duty was loud, after all, and he was in a hurry. He scraped the key back and forth, back and forth, until he felt the fabric fray. Wiggling his fingers, he dug his nail into a small opening and pulled it wider.

  There was an almost-inaudible pop as one of the strings gave, but no way would that Tiny guy hear it over the game blasting in one of several living areas.

  Moose kept digging, kept working at the fabric until his whole index finger, about the same size as the vial, could fit through.

  Almost there, he thought, flipping the jacket out and working on the lining. Using the key, he rubbed a patch at the base of the pocket, right about where a belt would be. Did Hans wear a belt? Moose knew he was leaving a lot to chance, but he was still pleased with his reasoning as he frayed the area at the base of the jacket and, working from both sides now, managed to make a hole big enough to convince anyone that the vials had fallen out.

  Perfect, Moose thought, examining his handiwork with a grin. Take that, Tero. I can solve problems too.

  A pang of homesickness hit Moose as he realized that he couldn’t share this victory with Tero or Otto, or even really with Daisy. Moose was off on his own now, well and truly, with stolen goods in his pocket and a new alliance with a world-class celebrity. He’d climbed way out on a limb and left his brothers behind, a thought that suddenly felt suffocating and lonely.

  Get yourself together, Moose thought sternly, sliding the suit back exactly where it had been, close to but not touching the leather jacket. Vigilantes work alone. This is the price of being a famous hero, you idiot. They don’t say it’s lonely at the top for nothing.

  Shaking himself and doing his best to shove the doubts out of his mind, Moose edged around the ironing board, setting it on the back of the closet. Moving slowly, with excruciating caution, he slid the door open, wincing at every sound.

  The game continued.

  Taking a few quick breaths to gather himself, Moose leaned out of the closet and looked toward the huge TV.

  A head was turned away from him, focused on the screen.

  Now or never Moose thought, creeping out. Inch by inch, he walked backwards toward the door. His gaze was fixed on the stranger’s head and the room all at once, every facet of his freakish eyes taking in detail. No, not freakish, Moose thought as he took step after ginger step. Special. Unique.

  Abnormal.

  Grinning, Moose wrapped his hand around the handle. He watched the game, waiting for a burst of noise.

  The woman called from around the corner, “Hey Tiny, have you seen my—”

  Moose used the distraction to open the door, swing around it, and close it gently behind him. Knowing the cameras were now watching, he didn’t take the time to check if they’d heard him. Instead he zipped down the hall, toward the emergency exit he’d left propped open with a vase stolen from a side-table. He dove inside, rolled against the wall, and froze.

  For a few endless milliseconds, he waited.

  Nothing happened.

  The hall beyond the emergency door was silent. The stairwell was quiet.

  He’d done it.

  Yes!

  Giving himself a moment to relish the victory, Moose pulled out one of the three vials.

  “Wonder what all the fuss is about,” he mused under his breath, tilting the little glass container so that the light caught the electric blue liquid inside. It looked fake, like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. But Victor had been clear.

  And Moose had done exactly what he’d asked.

  Well, not exactly…

  Tossing the vial in the air with an arrogance he didn’t quite feel, Moose caught it and slid it back into his windbreaker, zipping the pocket closed over it. He wasn’t going to lose these suckers. He was on his way, ready for anything.

  Especially Victor’s next task.

  Unable to wipe the grin off his face, Moose took a deep breath and started his long journey down the stairs, excited for whatever was coming next.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Partners?

  Eliza was watching Aquila across the room, keenly aware of the way his wings were curled defensively around him, squeezed uncomfortably into an armchair not designed for his massive frame. She ached to go to him, to try and solve whatever had gone wrong, but she couldn’t. Her mind felt barbed and brittle, like the armor she’d spent the winter breaking down was rising back into place, as jagged and unfriendly as ever.

  She turned back to the laptop screen open in front of her, desperately needing to feel useful.

  It hadn’t taken much to find the stranger who had met with Aquila. Hans Schneider, reclusive Wyoming billionaire with a penchant for expensive racehorses and exotic animals. With a pharmaceutical fortune inherited from his father, he’d expanded the empire into technology and general media, specializing in news and entertainment. Eliza found a few articles describing him as the invisible father of Hollywood and the purse of the American newsroom. He, or his corporations, ran multiple charities and sponsored numerous awards, all of them related to journalism or the arts. The internet was full of pictures of him in tuxes at red carpet events, with a vague, cold smile that never seemed to touch his ice-blue eyes.

  Who is this guy? Eliza thought to herself, squinting at a candid of Hans at the most recent media party, flanked by two younger people. Was the sly, short-haired woman with the strangely dead eyes his date?

  “Hey.”

  Eliza jerked, head snapping up to find Aquila standing in the middle of the room, phone in hand.

  “I’m gonna order some takeout. You want some?”

  Eliza pursed her lips, biting back tears and shouts and apologies all at once. Aquila looked so lost, like a man pulling apart at the seams, and she knew that his own web surfing hadn’t brought him any closer to finding Moose, if that was even what he was doing in the hour since they’d last spoke. But Eliza had done the staying-angry thing. She’d been defensive and prickly when Katie died, for year
s. What had it got her? Parents so exasperated that they hardly cared what she was doing so long as she was safe and out of jail? Teachers who couldn’t stand her anymore? A reputation she desperately wished was unfair but knew wasn’t?

  No, being sullen wasn’t going to help anyone.

  And they both had enough on their plate without Eliza letting her demons cloud her judgment.

  Minimizing the Wikipedia article on Hans, Eliza took a deep breath and pushed to her feet. With controlled, even steps she strode forward, right into Aquila’s chest, wrapping her arms around him.

  He squeezed back. “I thought you were still mad at me,” he murmured, the gratitude unmistakable in his voice.

  “I am. But we’re on the same team, remember? We’re in this together.” I hope.

  “Of course we are,” Aquila rumbled, leaning back to look down at her. “I’d never want to not be on your team, Eliza. That would be suicide.”

  She smirked. “I’m glad you recognize that.”

  “You’re kind of terrifying, you know.”

  “Says the guy who lives with Otto.”

  Aquila snorted. “Otto? He’s a total softie. Did you know he hated Mean Girls?”

  “What? Blasphemy!”

  Yeah, couldn’t sit through it,” Aquila said with a raised eyebrow. “Because they were too mean.”

  “Wuss.”

  “Besides, Daisy used to get the jump on Otto fairly often, before he started oozing.”

  Eliza flinched with a laugh. “I hope you didn’t call it that.”

  Aquila grinned wolfishly. “Only when he was listening.”

  “You make me glad I never had brothers,” Eliza said without thinking, and then froze, her breath catching in her throat.

  Luckily, Aquila was quick enough to distract her. “You should be. They’re a pain in the butt. Right about now I’m wishing I could just disown Moose and give up on this whole thing.”

  “You can, you know. Moose is almost eighteen. He can take care of himself.”