At Risk

by Inc. Thriller Writers

  “Sam, I—”

  “Save it. We’re short on time and I can’t let personal feelings interfere.” And he needed to focus on protecting her. “We’ll talk after this is over. Get showered, and then I’ll put a wire on you and explain how we’re going to do this.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Danielle stood in the middle of the living room with nothing on from the waist up except her bra, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. Based on his all-business attitude that kiss hadn’t affected him the way it had her.

  She’d been right to leave for MIT after high school. Sam hadn’t asked her to stay or come to see her. He’d joined the army. Getting irritated all over again, reliving the hurt, she snapped at him, “I’m ready, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” he muttered then proceeded to tape a small transmitter on her abdomen below her breasts.

  He was quick and efficient. At one time he hadn’t been in a hurry when he touched her.

  She waited silently as he went through the drill one more time on how she was to present the PowerPoint, agree to anything they offered and exit the building to a taxi Sam would prearrange.

  She asked, “How do you know the taxi will wait on me?”

  “Because my people will be behind the wheel.”

  His people. Whatever he did was dangerous. How long had he been an operative? Since he’d gotten out of the army? She’d heard from a friend back home that Sam had been in Special Forces. And that he hated to fly.

  She smiled to herself. A superagent afraid of flying.

  “Let’s go,” Sam told her and headed to the door.

  “Where will you be?” She couldn’t squelch the panic in her voice.

  He turned around, took one look at her and came back across the room. Lifting his palm to her cheek, he said, “I’ll be listening to every word and close enough to keep you safe. Scout’s honor.”

  When she reached the sixth floor of the Zydus building, Danielle met a businessman called Vestavia whose hard face and steely eyes gave her the creeps. When she asked about giving a presentation package to the other two men in the room, Vestavia said, “Not necessary. One’s security for the plans and the other is my helicopter pilot.”

  Security to transport the laser component and engineering plans immediately to the international airport? Would that give Sam time to get into place?

  * * *

  Sam hurried up a flight of stairs in the Zydus building, listening to the meeting transmissions the whole time. He’d entered through the employee garage with an ID badge and a car Joe’s people had procured that morning. When Sam reached the sixth floor, the meeting was almost finished.

  Slipping into a utilities closet, he watched through a slim opening.

  Danielle’s voice came through his receiver. “Is there anything else before I go, Mr. Vestavia?”

  “Not yet.”

  Sam breathed again, glad he’d been right about nothing going down here. Or so he thought until Vestavia said, “My men will escort you and the plans to the helicopter.”

  “Why?” Danielle asked with a tremor in her voice. “I gave you everything.”

  “You said you’d like to work with us. We have a facility in Russia. My associates are waiting on the plans. You can walk their engineers through any questions. We’ll talk next week.”

  What the fuck? Sam seethed as Vestavia, one of the most wanted men in the world, stepped from the conference room heading toward the elevators, away from Sam. Two men exited next with Danielle between them, her face as white as the blouse beneath her herringbone suit. The guy on her right, who was built to wrestle professionally, had a .45 automatic in a shoulder holster. The skinny one had to be the pilot.

  Go for Vestavia or Danielle?

  Sam didn’t have to think about it, but he didn’t want her caught in cross fire.

  Once Vestavia disappeared inside the elevator and Danielle passed Sam’s hiding spot with her escorts, Sam followed her. At the next corner, he saw the trio heading for the stairwell door. Sam had one shot and couldn’t miss. He pulled out his knife and let it fly. The blade struck the bodybuilder in his neck. He dropped to his knees.

  Danielle, bless her, rammed one of those deadly elbows into the pilot’s gut. Sam reached her next and slammed the pilot’s head into the wall. He stepped over the muscle guy and yanked Danielle to the stairwell. “Gotta go.”

  “Where?” She kept pace with him as he raced up the metal steps.

  “The roof. Cameras are all over the building. We’ve got maybe three minutes until security reaches us.” He shoved open the door to the roof, where a helicopter sat in the middle of a circle. He pulled her toward it.

  “What’re you doing?” Her voice shrilled with panic.

  “Get in and buckle up.” He lifted her up on the passenger side then ran around and jumped into the pilot’s seat. “Put on the headset.”

  “Can you fly this?”

  He started flipping switches and grinned at her. “I rode in one once. Can’t be that tough.” He’d battled his fear of flying by learning how to pilot a helicopter. The rotors caught air as a bullet pinged the fuselage, but Sam had Danielle’s side of the chopper turned away.

  She shouted in his headset. “The pilot has the evidence we need to nail these guys. He’ll get away.”

  “No, he won’t.” Sam looked down at the ground surrounding the building where sport utilities and armed agents swarmed the property. “My people are here.”

  “What about Vestavia?”

  “Don’t know if he escaped. He’s hard as a greased lizard to catch.” Sam glanced at her as he banked away from the building. “But I got news on the way here that your boss contacted the FBI when he couldn’t reach you. He told them what you were doing so you’ve been cleared of any charges.”

  Smiling with relief, she leaned over. Love shone in her eyes. “Where does that leave us, Sam? Am I going to lose you for another ten years?”

  He took one look at the woman who had walked into fire based on trusting him and said, “How ’bout we take that camping trip?”

  She kissed him and said, “As long as there’s just one sleeping bag.”

  * * * * *

  DEADLY FIXATION

  Dianna Love

  I adore the city of Savannah…but this story reveals a side of it I’ve never explored! With incredible imagery, Love has created not just another Savannah, but another world. ~SB

  Devon Fortier eased forward through pitch-black passages where death waited for foolish humans in Savannah, Georgia’s forgotten underground.

  He was neither foolish nor human.

  Deep voices growled up ahead in what had once been a rum cellar. The argument echoed off the packed-dirt walls that seeped water. Dank odors of rot, urine and unearthly creatures clogged every breath Devon inhaled.

  Creeping closer, he made out three shapes hunched around something on the ground that cast an orange glow across the trio of predators. Two were ten feet tall. One had scaly skin and the other had pointed ears that curled up to his bald head.

  Trolls.

  Devon’s informant looked to be spot-on about some black market deal going down with trolls in this coastal city.

  The third figure appeared to be a human male of average height. But he was probably a glamour-concealed troll.

  Whatever those three had pinned down snarled, “Let me go, you stinkin’ vermin!”

  Devon sighed, recognizing the voice. He ought to let the trolls continue.

  A fourth-generation leprechaun and pawnbroker, Coldfinger had just enough majik to be dangerous. A sick piece of work the world wouldn’t miss.

  But Devon’s oath as a Belador meant he had to protect everyone—even slimy bastards with the integrity of a jackal—if those
trolls decided to chow down on orange fast food.

  He moved closer for a better view.

  Curly-ears held his prey in place with a four-toed foot as wide as a briefcase. He shook his head at Coldfinger. “You think faerie dust is gonna cut it? That you can screw us?”

  Trading faerie dust was illegal, but a petty infraction of VIPER laws. Not enough for Devon to risk his skin arresting three carnivorous beings. Besides, this didn’t fit his profile of a major VIPER operation.

  Beladors served as one of the enforcement arms for VIPER, an international league of warriors that protected the world from supernatural predators…like trolls.

  “How dare you accuse me of scamming,” Coldfinger whined in a voice bloated with insult.

  Devon rolled his eyes. How could someone with no conscience be insulted?

  All the trolls started yelling, threatening to dismember Coldfinger.

  Baldy bared his fangs. “We got you the scrying dish. Where’s the spell?”

  “You lying ’chaun.”

  Devon used the cover of their voices to close thirty feet between him and the argument.

  Coldfinger’s voice tiptoed up an octave with fear. “Calm down, I got it. I got the Noirre Fixit spell.”

  Oh, hell, no. Noirre majik definitely fit the profile of his investigation. Devon had no choice but to take all of them to headquarters now…if they didn’t kill him.

  Trolls were a nasty bunch who ate their opponents, which left no evidence and made it hard to try them in a Tribunal court. Devon could attempt to call in Belador reinforcements, but he had faulty telepathic ability at best, especially underground. No worries. He might have gotten shorted in the telepathic department, but his other gifts were just fine.

  Besides, lowering his personal shields to call Beladors would blow his element of surprise.

  Murdering trolls had no business getting their hands on Noirre majik, especially a fixation spell that could freeze a person long enough to do harm. As the deadliest of black majik, Noirre carried a high penalty for dealing, even death.

  Human law enforcement didn’t know VIPER or supernatural beings existed. Handling trolls, leprechauns and Noirre fell to agents like Devon.

  He paused. Most trolls wouldn’t touch Noirre since few of them were powerful enough to control it.

  Ah, hell. Could these be Svart Trolls?

  Only if the gods really wanted to piss on Devon’s day.

  The Swedish term for black, Svart Trolls were preternatural black ops mercenaries.

  Reaching over his shoulder, Devon slid his short sword from the leather sheath attached to his back.

  Bullets only annoyed Svarts.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find you, Lambert?” a throaty female voice called out from the other side of the trolls.

  Devon stilled. No way.

  He leaned right to see past the criminals. One look confirmed he had the worst luck ever handed out in this world.

  Joleen Mac, a pain-in-his-ass bounty hunter whose four inches of black lace-up boots boosted her height to just under six feet. Viper-tongue-red lipstick accented lips that could sink a man to his knees when she smiled—or issued a deadly spell. Black hair flashed past her shoulders, two long braids slicing down the side of her face. Scary as she was gorgeous, Jo worked for Dakkar, a rogue mage who ran a bounty-hunter operation. VIPER allowed Dakkar freedom of movement as long as Dakkar’s hunters didn’t interfere with official missions.

  Like this one. Devon’s recon mission just turned official with Noirre being traded and Svart Trolls congregating. But he needed backup on this and had no way to reach anyone from down here.

  Lambert, the troll in human glamour, grinned. “Jo, baby. Good to see ya. We got business?”

  “You could say that.” Joleen stepped close to the group. A tangerine glow washed across her loose-hanging rawhide coat, saddle-brown leather vest and jean shorts. She held a compact weapon with a short, squat barrel built to shoot two-inch-thick rounds that could kill a demon.

  Devon had seen that weapon once before.

  She pointed the muzzle at Lambert. “You’re coming with me.”

  The two big trolls stared at her with bright yellow eyes and green saliva dripping from their lips. They growled low with menace.

  “No, he’s not.” Devon stepped from the shadows and dropped his personal shields, allowing his power to radiate. Call it male arrogance, but he wanted the first shot at intimidating the trolls…and he liked the way Jo’s cheeks flared with color when his power brushed across her skin.

  “Stay out of this, Devon,” she warned in a voice spiced with French influence.

  “Alll-right, now we’re talkin’,” Coldfinger said, enthusiasm bubbling. “What say we all go topside, grab a brew and discuss this like sociable folks.”

  Joleen kept her weapon trained on her quarry, but ignored Coldfinger’s bravado, pinning her gaze on Devon. “Lambert’s behind a contract killing of a Connecticut witch.”

  Coldfinger howled. “You trolls tradin’ stolen goods?”

  Lambert said, “No, she’s lying.” He sneered at Jo. “I ain’t goin’ with ya.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said without a hint of concern.

  Devon sighed. “No, he’s going with me.”

  Jo shifted the weapon toward Devon. “We’re having a communication breakdown. That could be dangerous.”

  “You don’t want to threaten me, Jo,” Devon warned. “I caught them dealing Noirre. Makes this VIPER business. Lambert’s got to face a Tribunal. That’s the law.”

  All the trolls swung around to look at Devon.

  Coldfinger howled again and glowed bright as a warning beacon. “You idiots. He’s Belador. Heard everything you said. Stinkin’ morons.”

  Jo asked Devon, “How can this be a sanctioned operation?” Her gaze shifted, scanning quickly before a smile teased her lips. “Where’s your team? VIPER doesn’t send their people in without backup. Doesn’t want them hurt.”

  She was goading Devon over how she’d used that same weapon to kill a demon hanging on his back the last time they’d met.

  He owed her and she was calling in the debt.

  But he couldn’t pay up right now. “I have orders to pick him up.” Big lie. “Let’s work together this time. You cover them and I’ll call in backup.”

  Her eyebrow arched sharply in a saucy smirk. “What gave you the idea we were negotiating, Dev? Lambert’s mine. You can have the other two and the orange toad.”

  “You can’t prove nothin’ without Lambert,” Coldfinger yelled.

  Not technically true, but if Lambert was running a Svart Troll op Devon needed him most of all.

  Lambert inched a step away.

  Jo swung her weapon back at him. “Let’s go.”

  Hellfire. Devon could use her help, but he’d just have to contain them without her. “Sorry, Jo, but VIPER laws take precedence over bounty orders. I’m taking them all in.” He turned to Lambert and bluffed about using telepathy. “I’ve already sent word to VIPER for backup. Resisting will only make it worse when you face the Tribunal. You three, facedown on the ground next to Coldfinger.”

  Intelligence gleamed in Lambert’s eyes. He shrugged and turned to his two giant sidekicks. “Sorry, guys, I know I said this would be a quick job. Guess there’s nothing to do but…kill them!” He ducked and the huge trolls roared to life.

  One giant rushed Devon and the other one dived at Jo.

  A flash of green light burst through the room. Some kind of stun grenade? That wouldn’t stop a Svart.

  Devon swung his sword in a high arc. The blade sang with sentient power, but a second flash of light from Jo caused a strobe effect that threw off his timing. He slashed across the troll’s arm and dodged the snap of fangs so close to his neck t
hat his hair stood on end. Losing an arm didn’t slow the bellowing monster whose armhole spewed murky-colored blood that smelled like sewage.

  These ornery things were hard to kill. The next swing of his Belador sword severed baldy’s head. It bounced away…the only sound in a sudden brittle silence.

  Not good.

  Devon walked over to where chunks of troll lay scattered around Jo. So the flash had been a high-bandwidth laser? He glanced at a slender barrel camelbacked onto the demon blaster, then at the ground where Coldfinger had been. Had being the operative word.

  Glowing yellow-orange embers sizzled on the dirt floor.

  “Any chance that means you got him, Jo?”

  “No. That’s residue from Coldfinger’s body being held still too long. He escaped with Lambert.” She stood ten feet away with her blaster hanging from a shoulder sling and hands propped on her hips. “They’ll have made it to where the tunnel dumps into the river by now. What a krikin’ mess you made of this.”

  “Me? You’re the one who wouldn’t keep this simple.” He turned on her and moved forward with each word.

  “Stop right there.”

  Not a chance. Nothing intimidated this woman.

  He couldn’t decide between wringing her stubborn neck and kissing her. Like that adrenaline-pumped kiss they’d shared the last time they’d survived a bloody battle. Was she thinking about that kiss? “With a little cooperation, we’d have hauled in all four and gotten you a nice fee for helping.”

  “I don’t work for chump change…or VIPER.” She raised her weapon and shoved it into his chest. “And if you get in my way again, there won’t be enough of you left to feed a gnat.”

  That’d be a “no” on her thinking fondly of their last kiss.

  This woman had unusual hunting skills. And based on what he’d seen, a little majik. She could be a witch. When you moved in a world where a broad spectrum of majik was the norm, identities were tough to nail down without information.

  Jo might find Lambert faster than Devon could pull together a team. He had to cut a deal for any hope of stopping Svart Trolls from accessing that Noirre spell. “I get that Lambert was your bounty, but—”