Box Set: The Fearless 1-3

by Terry Maggert

  He absently clicked at his computer keyboard, and returned his gaze to Risa. “We aren’t hunters like your family, not by a long shot. Every kill was founded in vengeance, nothing more, and the reason I stopped was because I don’t have the taste for it anymore.”

  “Since you blew that kid apart with dynamite?” Risa asked.

  His head jerked as if he’d been lashed, and he whispered, “How do you know about that?”

  The silence turned from awkward to uncomfortable, and Risa’s grasp of unspoken language revealed the exact moment to strike. “Kasey watched you murder that kid. She watched you target him, frame him with the explosive, and then render him into so much chum. So tell me, Boots, why was the sixth one the catalyst for your crisis of conscience? Why not the fifth? The second? What has changed within you to make you leave such aggression behind?”

  “I saw his face when he rolled over, you know. In the water? I saw him. He knew what was coming, somehow.” His voice was soft, grating. Every syllable was like glass in his throat. “I’ve thought about him since the second I lit that fuse.” He looked away and Risa knew shame was fighting to render him silent just then. “I thought I saw him at the foot of my bed one night. He was planting something, I think, and he was whole. He smiled at me.” He shook his head to clear it, and Risa decided that she liked Boots. If he could feel remorse, he was certainly human. In their line of work, that was what separated the bad from the good.

  “And now, you act as, what, exactly?” Risa asked, curious at hearing his sense of self.

  A long pause ensued, and then he shrugged, weakly. “Mostly, I’m frustrated and sad. I still miss my family desperately. I lost everything, and there is no going back. My mother. My father. I lost my sister, too, although she might not admit it, and after the dust began to settle, I sacrificed my own soul at the altar of vengeance. What is left over? Not much.” He looked around and waved. “This place. A little money, enough to survive. Occasionally, I’ll ferret some data that other people can use. Over the past decade I’ve learned just how real the monsters are. They’re too vicious for me now that I’ve gone soft. Maybe I was never tough enough at all. And Ella is just . . . she’s just angry. Seething, and nothing that we can ever do will bring our memories to life.” He slumped into his seat again, crushed by the years and the loneliness.

  Risa’s eyes were bright. This was a man drowning in his own perpetual loss, and she wasn’t sure he even cared. “More people are going to die, you know. But not if we know what to do, and we can’t do that without your help. So, please, Boots. Help us clarify what you know. Help us find the source. You know about Elizabeth?”

  He nodded, tersely. “Everyone knows about Elizabeth.”

  Risa smiled. “I’m going to tell you a secret. Ring could have killed her at will.”

  Boots looked in disbelief at Risa, whose stony façade didn’t as much as twitch.

  His smile died, replaced by something like awe. “Seriously? I don’t—do you know, people who understand the nature of the world as it is actually went out of their way to avoid her? I’m not describing simply staying in one night while she’s in town. I’m saying that no less than three—stalkers, killers, whatever you call them; they pulled up stakes and went to Africa, Australia, and one even took a sailboat to the Southern Ocean to wander for a couple of years until things quieted down. These hard cases thought the odds of winning a fight with Elizabeth were so shitty, they got out of the business altogether. And then you three pop up like specters, with no previous presence, no name, no reputation, and I find out from two sources that you took her out.” He regained his composure and his voice became gentle. “Do you understand how insane it is to hear the words ‘at will’ when you describe killing her? How? I mean, seriously. How?”

  “Ring isn’t fully human anymore.” Short and sweet.

  “He’s an immortal?” Boots gaped at that.

  “I didn’t say that. Pay attention, you’re a smart guy,” she chided him. “I said he’s not fully human, and for that matter, neither are Wally or me.”

  “How?” he asked, guarded. “Not any blood theft or that kind of bullshit?”

  She shook her head savagely, and Boots wondered if he’d gone too far. “No, it’s just a side effect. It’s cumulative, like a toxin, except in our cases, we have each other,” she admitted, but avoided mentioning Delphine, or their other companions, “and it seems to create some sort of physiological bulwark. It’s tied to our spirit, our unwillingness to descend into a bestial state, and so far, it’s working. Ring doesn’t even know what he’s become, because we advance at the same rate he does, albeit in different ways, and certainly not in the martial sciences. I know language. Wally knows people. We don’t miss much. But let me tell you, Elizabeth would not have wanted to tangle with Ring under any circumstances. He’s built for killing, Boots, and that’s why I want to know what is coming. Because”—and she drew the word out as her eyes flashed—“ if I think that you led something to us that he can’t handle, I’ll personally find you, wrap you in a net, and fill your lungs with the mud from the bottom of that river.” She jerked her thumb at the window and Boots believed every word she said as gospel truth.

  “I understand,” he said, simply. He swallowed once in an attempt to clear his dry throat, and asked, “How would you like me to tell you what I know?”

  Risa held out a small thumb drive. “Right here is fine. I trust my own instincts first, so I prefer my information unfiltered.”

  Boots slid the drive into the port on the side of his computer, and a small green light winked to life. “What else can I do for you?” He was the model of decorum; his intelligence revealed that Risa was a powerful ally to have, and most certainly a terrible enemy.

  “Well, since you don’t have any sandwiches, maybe you could take me and Wally to lunch?” She grinned at him, and he stood.

  “I think that’s a good idea. It’s better than the whole bottom of the river thing,” he said, weakly. “I’ll lock up. Ella will be back in a few minutes, anyway.” They stepped out into the warm air, humid form the close quarters of the river.

  Risa nodded in agreement, and then grew cheerful. “Good idea. And Boots? Be nice to Wally. She’s the mean one.”

  40

  New Orleans

  This property is in good order as well. The value must be considerably more than that hovel in Florida, Stacia thought, as she sweltered in the humidity. Her stay in Portsmouth had been idyllic in comparison to the rest of Britain, and a far cry from the air that hung around her like a sodden blanket. I’ll sell every stick of these homes and be gone. This isn’t the place for me, she resolved, and pivoted on her heel to the waiting taxi. She’d spent the better part of two days investigating her newest acquisitions from a distance. Dieter may be a skilled banker, but she didn’t trust one beat of his avaricious heart, and for him to relinquish control of such valuable things was contrary to everything she knew of him. Discretion was always recommended, especially when a Swiss banker with an immortal lineage was involved. While technically human, Dieter had the frigid demeanor of a body that had been entombed long ago. For all she knew, his slavish dedication to propriety vanished the instant Elizabeth met her well-deserved end. To a naturally suspicious creature like Stacia, that meant that this gift was tainted in some manner. It was simply a matter of her discovering exactly how, but she certainly wasn’t going to do it while perspiring on a sunbaked porch, no matter how lovely the ironwork surrounding the property might be.

  Dieter, you good little soldier, what secrets have you hidden? She waved the driver to pull away, relishing the frigid blast of the air conditioning on her skin. A faint shudder passed over her and she felt her eyes flicker. Either she needed to feed, or the heat was bothering her more than she cared to admit. When she opened her eyes, the driver stared at her in the rear view mirror.

  With a cautiously optimistic smile, he winked. “You cold, ma’am?” He was young, not a local. She saw no wedding band
on his finger and his eyes scanned every detail of her smile as she gave him a long appraisal. He had short cropped black hair and large eyes, black and expressive. His eyes darted to the road, returned to her, and this time, there was an aggression underneath his gaze. He launched into a practiced, predictably glib narrative, describing himself as a student who had taken some time off until he went back to finish his degree, all while carefully ogling the brunette with a lush body, brown eyes, and an easy sensuality he could feel even through the Plexiglas partition. She placed a look of suitable respect on her mobile, beautiful face, and allowed him to wind his pitch to a crescendo, when he expertly brought his humble tale of overcoming obstacles to its conclusion a mere block before they reached her hotel. His delivery was quite good, and his timing, flawless.

  A seasoned veteran, then. Stacia chuckled to herself. She examined his identification badge. “Anton, is there anywhere that a lady can get a properly cold drink nearby?”

  He let his mask slip for the briefest of glances, and revised his triumphant expression into one that Stacia knew only too well. Lust began to cloud his eyes and he placed an arm on the seat, allowing himself a celebratory ogling of her legs and breasts before letting his eyes come to rest on her mouth. With exaggerated slowness, she licked her lips and handed a bill wrapped around a hotel room card to him.

  “289. Eight o’clock.” She slid from the seat as the front window rolled down with a squeak.

  “Eight?” He said in mild protest, wanting to keep her on the line. She was stunning and she knew it. “Town don’t get busy until lots later.”

  She leaned into the window close enough to kiss him, and he backed away slightly, shocked at her brazen laugh. Her fingers trailed along his neck, light as a whisper, and he simmered under her touch. “I know. Don’t worry, Anton. You’ll be finished early, and I’ll still have the whole night ahead of me.”

  41

  Florida

  My phone pinged and I turned from absently scratching Gyro’s neck to read the text message.

  Got info from Tolsons. Coming home tomorrow. Call Delphine and ask her if she can come over tomorrow night. If you take her to dinner, try not to die, stud. Wally says no pillow talk! Kisses. R&W.

  That more or less planned my night, so I called Delphine and asked her to dinner. When she said yes distractedly, I reassured her that I’d be happy to drive, but her mood changed only slightly. Something was off, but I knew I would find out at dinner.

  She waited at the end of the dock for me, commiserating with a single yellow-headed pelican who stared at her mournfully. “I don’t have any fish, baby.” I assume Delphine spoke fluent pelican, because the bird spread its enormous wings and leapt from the piling, settling into a motionless cruise mere inches above the water.

  “You’re gifted. I can’t get them to stop fouling my car. And my boat, now that I think about it,” I added. She laughed and hugged me, as we clopped our way down the wooden planks to my Wagoneer. I lifted her small frame partially into the seat, and she rolled her eyes in a very modern manner.

  “I’m not a child, but if you don’t get a more reasonably sized vehicle, I’ll feel like one every time we get in this behemoth.” She berated me with a smile.

  “Young lady,” I began in my most professorial tone, “the vehicle in which you are comfortably cruising is designed with both safety and style. I cannot be held responsible for the lack of height in the Orkney islands nearly twenty-five hundred years ago.” I finished this condemnation of her culture’s physical deficiencies. She responded by crossing her arms and muttering something about giants in the New World.

  “What’s that?” I put a hand to my ear. “I can’t hear you up here.”

  She reddened. “I was going to threaten you by withholding sex, but that won’t work, so I will simply keep my own counsel until we arrive at this feeding trough you have no doubt selected for your evening’s meal.”

  “Oh, about that. Yes,” I began, but she held up a hand.

  “You’ve written permission to—and I’m quoting Wally, naturally—‘put me through the headboard all night’ in hopes that you develop the same malaise that we suffered during our earlier unadvisable interlude. She was quite specific. She told me—texted me, really, so that is my written confirmation of her wishes, that I wasn’t allowed to have sex with you once, but three times was just fine by her. She also had certain conditions attached to such an escapade.” Delphine was scrolling through her phone to find the proof.

  “Let me guess. If we were to make vigorous love, and I get sick, Wally demands a picture of me when I’m feeling my worst, and she wants you to call her so she can taunt me?” I asked, with my eyes still on the road.

  “Did you read the texts? How rude, Ring!” She was preparing to reprimand me, but I silenced her with a laugh.

  “You forget. Fifteen years with Wally. Her wicked sense of revenge knows no bounds, even if it means she has to share me . . . not that it matters, since she and Risa will be two bottles of wine into their glorified travel sleepover. By eleven tonight, I expect that they’ll have their own romp, followed by Wally demanding that Risa allow her to do something to her hair. It’s an old refrain.” I know Wally, she seizes every opportunity when traveling-- Risa, an in suite hot tub, and playful sex, all things she prefers to combine while nude and tipsy. “So just to clear the tension, let’s plan on spending the night together, but only if that’s what you want.”

  She smiled with warmth that was so different from her earlier self. “I’d like that very much. Now, I don’t mean to be forward, but”—she paused and grinned wickedly—“I have a suggestion. Take-out cheeseburgers on my yacht. I’ll make beignets and black coffee for breakfast. You have your medical kit?”

  I nodded slyly.

  She slid closer to my seat. “Then what are we waiting for? To the nearest greasy spoon, dear. And step on it.”

  We sat, side by side in two long chairs on the top deck. Crumpled wrappers, translucent with grease, sat on the small table between us, and Delphine made a show of extracting the very last of her chocolate malt. The breeze was warm and the city noise minimal. We faced north, where the lights of Ft. Lauderdale veered inward along the darkening coast, twinkling into midnight haze miles away. I looked at Delphine and saw she was in that state of thought so impenetrable that to disturb her would have been rude, even though I was her guest. She stirred under my gaze, smiling lazily with the effects of the meal that caused her eyes to droop in relaxation. I knew the feeling. Stretching her toes, she looked upward. The light pollution was so pervasive that stars were few and far between. I found it a uniquely urban pity that only a few miles out in the gulfstream, the Milky Way loomed like a paint-spattered dropcloth, pulsating with light of every color in the spectrum.

  “I hate this yacht,” Delphine muttered.

  I considered her tone and asked, “Is it lonely?”

  She shook her head sadly in affirmation. “That, and too big, at least for me. It’s more than just the emptiness of it all, although the staff from the maintenance firm is relatively friendly, but I don’t know who is genuine and who just wants to fuck me.” Resignation colored her tone more than anger. Looking at her in the light of the coast, it was easy to understand her concern. She let a long sigh waft between us, and I wondered why she stayed on the cavernous vessel at all. “Let’s go to bed. We can talk in there, and I want some human contact, not just pretending to be Cleopatra on her barge.”

  I stood and she swept her shoes up in one hand, taking my arm with her other as we walked slowly to the state room she called her own. I’d been there before, but she was right, there was something less vibrant about the entire space now, as if the hard year before had leached the color and life from around us. It caused a long-lost idea to blossom anew in my mind, and I stood looking at the gigantic room before us.

  “Hey.” I held her as she smiled, wan but present. “Do me a favor? This beast never runs out of hot water, right?”

  S
he raised a brow seductively and kissed my chin. It was as high as she could reach at the moment. “What do you have in mind?” She grinned lasciviously as understanding dawned on her features. She instantly warmed to the idea. So was I, truth being told, even though I had more than one facet planned for our evening.

  An hour later, we leaned against the exotic cut stone of her cavernous shower as fragrant mist filled the room. The slabs of opalescent rock from the mines on central Australia winked through the sinuous curling steam, and an open bottle of champagne sat ensconced in ice just outside the swinging glass of the three sectioned door. The pewter wine bucket was fogged and dripping with rivulets of condensation.

  “Wine?” I poured at her nod of assent, and we both leaned back against the far wall as the shower heads sprayed enthusiastically along, above, and to our sides. Delphine closed her eyes frequently, as if she was making a memory of each contemplative sip.

  “I might not hate this yacht as much.” Her full lips curled playfully and we clinked glasses in solidarity. “Sometimes, I forget that this is how I have lived for centuries, but it is still only a portion of my entire lifetime. Poverty, wealth, sometimes feast and then years of famine. I’ve known it all. The colors run together in my mind.” She slid her hand into mine, and we sat quietly, letting the water do its work.

  “Were you ever destitute, after you became immortal?” I asked. I’d always wondered.

  “Oh, quite. Not often, but you have to understand that Europe, or at least the lands we call Europe, well, it was a charnel house for . . . well, forever. Since I’ve been alive, anyway. There was an irresistible series of invasions, west to east, then back again. It was an oscillating cycle of death and starvation, on a scale that boggled my mind, at least until the twentieth century rolled around. Then the violence became epic.” She shuddered dramatically. “Stop me if this bores you, Ring. We are in our natural state, with good wine and company, and I’m sure there are things that you might prefer to a history lesson from a former tavern girl.” She winked at me through the fog and trailed a finger down the curve of one magnificent breast.