Black and Blue_Black Star Security

by Cynthia Rayne

  “At least try to remember I’m the boss.”

  King snorted.

  Annie sighed, laying back in her seat as though exhausted. “Talking to you is a lot like having a conversation with a stereo manual. Don’t you ever follow your gut?”

  “Soldiers that follow their ‘gut,’ as you put it, don’t last a month in Felusia.”

  “Fine. How do you wanna do this?”

  “There’s no back exit to cover, so King and I will go in first, and you bring up the rear. We’ll clear the scene and assess the situation.”

  She bristled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m—”

  “Yeah, I know.” West barely resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Last night, he’d checked himself for bruises, but he’d emerged intact from their encounter. Physically, at least. “Let me refresh your memory. You’ll do what I say, when I say when it comes to an operation. You got me?”

  Her eyes sparked, a glimpse of the banked fire within.

  And he sizzled in response.

  Lord help me, but she’s temptation on two legs.

  Annie was a wild one, a race horse who’d never been gentled. Notice I didn’t say broken. West didn’t wanna break her. No, he wanted to tame her, get her accustomed to following his lead, in the bedroom at least. And when she pushed him so hard, it was difficult not to react, to dish it right back at her, show her who was on top.

  King spoke up. “You’d best believe him, darlin’. When West got bumped up a pay grade, and we were workin’ a joint operation, we butted heads for the first month until he taught me my place.”

  King was a mountain of a man, but they’d gotten into it one night, shoving and punching, while the rest of the team watch them work out their issues. It hadn’t been pretty, but they’d reached an agreement afterward.

  “We’re near the target, about to breach.” He listened for Storm’s confirmation. “Affirmative. West out.”

  King nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  They hopped out of the Jeep and walked at a brisk pace to the door of a lime green trailer on a corner lot. They were carrying Glocks, because he didn’t think any heavy artillery would be needed for this particular mission.

  On the count of three, King kicked in the door. West scrunched up his nose at the smell drifting from inside—a noxious mixture of urine and vomit.

  After a sweep of the trailer, they found the junkie sprawled on the floor, a needle hung out of his left arm. He was lying in a pool of his own barf.

  West groaned. “Fuck it all.”

  King threw off his back pack and, mindful of the mess, knelt near the target and checked his pulse. At one time, he’d been an EMT, before he’d joined the military. Naturally, he’d been given the combat medic position on their team, and he was fucking amazing at his job.

  During one joint operation, King had pulled shrapnel out of his gut, and had kept West alive when they’d been pinned down by enemy fire.

  “Ryder?” West took the other side. “Hey, wake up.” He shook him, but Ryder didn’t moan or thrash. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  They finally their first target, and he was dead. West had intended to pump him for information on where the rest of them might be. Now they’d reached another dead end. Literally.

  “Did he overdose?”

  “Wait a second.” King frowned. “Nope, he’s alive. It’s weak, but he’s got a heartbeat. Lucky for this asshole, I remembered the Narcan.” King laid Ryder flat on his back and tilted his head. Then he grabbed the Narcan nasal spray and shoved it up one of Ryder’s nostrils.

  West had seen it used before. The spray had a super concentrated dose of the meds, and it should counteract the opioids in his system. There was no guarantee though.

  “What’s going on?” Annie asked, kneeling by Ryder’s feet. “Will he be alright?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. When a junkie has been clean for a while, it’s easy to overdose, because their tolerance level has gone down.” King rolled him over on his side.

  Annie frowned.

  “In case he pukes again. I don’t want him to choke on it. Now we wait and see if it works,” King said.

  And then Ryder gasped and started coughing.

  “Oh, thank God.” Annie buried her head in her hands.

  West knew she was emotionally invested in this mission. If he’d had the opportunity to go after Tommy’s killer, he wouldn’t have stopped until the man was dead, but his son had been brought down by illness.

  There was nobody West could punish, except himself.

  “Naw, thank the King.” He lifted two thumbs, pointing to his own chest.

  They both chuckled.

  “What happened?” Ryder croaked. “Who are you people? What are you doing here?”

  “If I hadn’t been here, you would’ve died.” Once more, King checked his pulse and then nodded to West. “He’s good to go if you want to ask him some questions. We gotta call an ambulance though, he needs to be checked out by the doctors.”

  “What do you want with me?” Ryder tried to scoot away, but he didn’t get far.

  West raised his hands. “Easy does it. We’re not gonna hurt you. I just need some information.” West didn’t mention his intention to turn Ryder over to the sheriff’s office just yet. He had a feeling Ryder wouldn’t be as cooperative if he knew.

  “Information about what?” Ryder watched him suspiciously.

  “My name’s West, and I run Black Star Security. We’re lookin’ for Turner and Doe. I know you escaped from custody with them.”

  He sat up, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know anything about the others.”

  “And I know you do. You’re as windy as a sack full of farts, son.”

  His brows pinched together. “Huh?”

  King groaned. “He called you a liar.”

  “Then tell me why you ran from the Hooch and Scooch.”

  “The bartender said he thought the fuzz was here.”

  West cursed under his breath. Evidently, the bartender had made them, only he assumed they were cops.

  Ryder stood and swayed on his feet. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself and then leaned against it, closing his eyes, and clutching his stomach, as though he were going to be sick.

  “You’re in no condition to walk out of here. Cooperate, and we can help you.”

  “Help me back into a jail cell? I don’t think so.”

  Annie stepped forward. “Ryder, do you remember me?”

  After studying her for a moment, he shook his head.

  “I’m Annie Foster, the marshal who transported you that night. Remember me?”

  “Oh, man.” He turned away from her.

  “I can see you do. Please listen to me. You’re not like the other two, Ryder. You didn’t commit a violent offense. Maybe we can work something out?”

  West didn’t think he fell into the “threat to society” category either. The only person Ryder was hurting, was himself. Sooner, rather than later, he’d end up in an early grave.

  “Wait a second, you’re the chick from the bar, too.” Ryder snapped his fingers.

  “Yep, that was me too.”

  West understood the man’s initial confusion. The hottie he’d seen the other night had vanished. And in her place, was a cool and calm officer of the law.

  Although those tight black pants hugged her ass in a major way.

  “If you tell us what you know, we can talk to the district attorney, ask him for leniency, and tell him how cooperative you were. I know the jailbreak wasn’t your idea.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He shook his head. “But if I tell you, Turner will kill me.”

  “Believe me, I know he’s scary, but we can make sure you’re placed in a different facility, far away from him. Who knows? Maybe we can even get your sentence reduced?”

  Ryder didn’t say a word, evidently considering what she’d said.

  West had to admit, she was damn good at her job.


  He was something of a blunt instrument, more comfortable with threatening people and roughing them up to get information. Annie took a different tactic, but it was no less effective. Annie sympathized with Ryder, made him feel like they were on the same side.

  It was a smart way to gain his cooperation. She was a fine addition to this team. West would be sad to see her go.

  After a bit, Ryder nodded as though coming to a decision. “His folks used to live around here, and they’ve got a cabin, up in the Smoky Mountains.”

  “And the cabin’s in his name?” West asked. They were finally getting somewhere.

  “No, when he went to jail, his family sold off his share of the inheritance, including the land and the old fallout shelter along with it.”

  “Fallout shelter?” King’s eyes rounded. “Y’all were hidin’ out in a hole in the ground?

  “Yeah, and it’s not in any public records. The entrance is out in the middle of the woods. Apparently, his dad was a real paranoid dude, convinced the end of the world was coming. He bought all this freeze dried food, too. The stuff can last decades.” He clutched his stomach. “It tastes nasty, but it’ll keep you alive.”

  No wonder they’d been so hard to find.

  Ryder rambled on. “We caught fish from the river, which was a hell of a lot better, but I got sick of it after a while, too. I couldn’t wait to get out of that place.”

  And get high again. “Who bought the land?” West asked.

  Ryder shrugged. “Some Nashville executive bought it for a steal. Apparently, he’s convinced the apocalypse is comin’ in a few years and he wanted to hedge his bets. End times, y’know? But Turner said he was on this tour in Europe, according to the papers.”

  “Did you have electricity? Runnin’ water?” West asked.

  “Yeah, he had it all outfitted with these solar panels and this aquifer.”

  It was a decent plan, living off the grid. They didn’t have a vehicle with them, and were literally in the middle of nowhere so the fugitives would’ve been harder to detect.

  “So what happened? Did he toss you out?” West wanted to know why they’d surfaced now.

  Ryder shrugged. “No, he said the heat had died down, and it was time to move on. The dude is seriously squirrely. He put us out in the middle of the night. I wanted to go, but it’s rude, y’know?”

  Damn those serial killers and their lack of manners.

  “Move on to where?” West asked.

  Ryder’s head jerked. “You don’t seriously think he shared his plans with me? I don’t have a clue where he went.”

  “No, I guess not. He’s a paranoid control freak.” Annie pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. “Draw me a map, show me where the shelter is.”

  Hand trembling, Ryder took the pen and started sketching.

  Hopefully, they’d find some clues Turner might have left behind, but West wasn’t betting on it.

  Chapter 8

  “What kind of tea do they have?” Storm paged through the menu with a frown. “Is it organic?”

  After leaving the trailer park, they’d had Ryder checked out by the doctor, and then handed him over to the sheriff. West had filled out about a hundred forms with Huck.

  The sheriff had been pleased as punch and asked West to tell him everything. West had a feeling they might become friends. And he was more determined than ever to bring the rest of the convicts in.

  After the Marshal Service confirmed Ryder’s identity, Black Star would get twenty five thousand dollars. It was a great start.

  To celebrate, West had offered to take everyone out for a celebratory dinner. After all, they’d just gotten their very first pay day. And he hadn’t wanted to single Annie out, even though she was the only one he’d wanted to spend time with tonight. Unfortunately, only King and Storm had taken him up on the invitation. Zane had gone into town to run a few errands. Nox had mentioned something about a bar.

  Mack had been knee deep in her John Doe investigation, and he hadn’t been able to pry her fingers away from the computer keyboard. She’d been at it for hours. When he’d gotten up this morning, she’d already been hard at work and said she was closing in on a possible lead.

  “West?” Storm asked, and West blinked, thrown back into the present.

  “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

  They were at Red’s Smokehouse. It was a small, local restaurant that did a lot of business in these parts. The place didn’t have much atmosphere—the floors were white linoleum and the wood paneled featured the occasional pair of deer antlers, mixed in with neon Wild Turkey signs.

  And yet the meals were outstanding.

  People came from several counties for the food, because it was so damn good. Outside several grills were going, and the smell of steak and chicken made his stomach growl.

  “What kind of tea do they have?” Storm asked.

  “I’m guessin’ it’s Lipton,” King said. “And probably sweet, the way God intended.”

  “What about their vegetables?” Storm wrinkled his nose. “Do they use GMOs?”

  “What in tarnation is a GMO?” King tossed his menu on the Formica table.

  “It means a genetically modified organism, and it can refer to a plant or animal. I don’t eat them.”

  King frowned. “Why not? It’s science, progress.”

  “Europe banned them.”

  “Then your shit out of luck. You live in the good ol’ US of A. They’ve got chicken, beef, and fish. If you’re worried about carrots, you’re missin’ the point.”

  West smothered a chuckle. GMOs sounded like nothing more than snake oil to West, but he let it go. Everyone had their quirks. He happened to love butter, bacon, and bourbon.

  “I miss California.” Storm sighed.

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Don’t ever say that again.” His eyes widened in horror.

  “Enough chit chat. What’s up with you and Annie, brother?” King asked, changing the topic in his oh-so-subtle way.

  “How do you mean?” He took a sip of his Maker’s Mark, relishing the smoky, spicy taste of it. It was his favorite brand of bourbon. “She’s only an employee.”

  Storm turned his head to the side, watching West intently. Damnation. He was practically a walking lie detector. At The Farm, he’d taken deception training, and learned to detect deceit in others, too. West had watched him crack terrorists wide open, like a walnut after a few hours. He never resorted to enhanced interrogation methods, because Storm didn’t need to—the man was that good.

  Thankfully, Red, the proprietor came over to take their order, interrupting the awkward conversation.

  “What can I get you, folks?” Red Ferguson asked. At one time, he’d probably been a redhead, given the fiery hairs mixed in with all the white. He was a slight man, but sprightly for his age. “Oh, hey, West, it’s great to see you.” He placed a friendly hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  “Nice to see you, too.” West loved the personal touch. Damn, it’s nice to be home.

  Both King and West ordered steaks and baked potatoes, nice and simple. Unfortunately, Storm made things a bit more difficult.

  “I’d like the chicken with brown rice, not white. And a side salad, instead of the corn. What kind of vinaigrette do you have?”

  King sighed gustily.

  “Italian dressin’.” Red raised a brow. “Why?”

  “Do you know what kind of oil it’s made from? I don’t do soybean.”

  What did innocents soybeans ever do to him? Scratch that. West didn’t want to know.

  “No clue.” Red placed the pencil he’d been writing with behind his left ear.

  “Can you check?” Storm asked.

  “It’s from a bottle, son. What do you want from me?” Red had finally hit his limit.

  “I’m trying to live a healthy lifestyle.”

  “Then I suggest you go for a run after you finish dinner.” Red grumbled something under his breath.

&nb
sp; West and King lost it, cracking up, slapping one another on the back.

  “I’ll bring you a salad and the bottle. You can knock yourself out.” And then he disappeared into the kitchen.

  “What’s so damn funny?” Storm demanded.

  “Because you are the fussiest thing I’ve ever seen.” King chuckled. “Honestly, it’s like havin’ supper with a woman.” He pointed to West. “And don’t think you got off the hook so easy. Talk.”

  “About what?” West played dumb, willing King to move on to another topic.

  “About all the eye-fucking you two have been doin’.”

  “Yeah? What are my eyes sayin’ now?” West asked.

  Storm nodded. “You’ve got a thing for the lady marshal, don’t you?”

  “I do not have a thing for her.” West didn’t need these chuckleheads and their obvious innuendo while she was around.

  “Yeah, you do. You couldn’t take your eyes off her today. I was worried that junkie might give you the slip when you were loadin’ his smelly ass into the Jeep.”

  “Never gonna happen. I don’t let anything get to me during a mission.” Above all else, West was a professional.

  “Bullshit. Come on, brother, it’s been a while since the divorce. Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “Hey, I’m doing just fine. In case you’ve forgotten, I worked my way through several women this summer.”

  “Yeah, and they lasted what…? Twenty minutes apiece?” King made a face.

  “Hey! I last a lot longer than twenty minutes. And maybe I’m sowin’ my oats? I didn’t get the chance last time.”

  Up until the divorce, Paige had been the only woman he’d ever slept with, and he’d been fine with it. West hadn’t wanted anyone else.

  “King has a point. You’re not a manwhore.” Storm frowned.

  “You only think so, because I was already married when you met me. Trust me, back in the day...”

  He trailed off, because they both shook their heads, evidently not buying his crap. And that’s exactly what it was, a great big stinky pile of horse manure.

  West wanted Annie in the worst way.

  “Seriously, give it a shot. King raised his brows. “I don’t know Annie very well, but she seems like a nice girl. She’s pretty, smart, and feisty as hell. Why not date her and see what happens?”