The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  She cackled like a wicked witch, and with that, another rush of pictures and sensations inundated his brain.

  “Very funny, Sam. It’s like you think I have no memory of our fun times together. All of us. One big, military, dysfunctional family.”

  “Listen, Margaret. How many years has it been? Ten, twelve years? Long enough to put the crap behind us and move on with life. We can’t undo what happened. I wish we could…for you, for me, for all of us. But as I’ve told the other guys, we can’t relive the past. Look forward, not backward.”

  He felt her blade press into his skin, and he winced.

  “Quit trying to be a fucking psychiatrist and put the truck in reverse. This place is too crowded.”

  Sam guided the truck to the exit. “Which way?”

  Lifting his eyes for a quick second, he caught a glimpse of Margaret through his rearview. She had the same brown, cropped hair, a few more lines on her face since the last time they’d been in contact. She found his glare in the reflection. A glint of red speckled her brown eyes, and he could feel her fury.

  “Have you never gotten help from…you know?”

  Her crowing laughter pierced his ears as she swayed and hit the back of the truck’s cab.

  “Dammit, Sam, you’re hilarious. You think all of this is about what we did or didn’t do in some mosh pit in the Middle East? Rather naïve, Sam. Turn right.”

  He did as she said, and they slowly made their way west through the city. She gave him instructions to continue the westerly trek on Hersheypark Drive. Looking down at the steering column, his fingers were within an inch or two of being able to flash his brights. Very few cars were out this early on a Saturday morning, so he’d have to time the flick of his fingers with the passing of another car.

  Trying to act as casual as possible, Sam could feel his heart thumping like a runaway train. Beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead just under his cap, and he began to worry it would become visible to Margaret.

  He knew what she was capable of. He’d seen her do things that he didn’t think any woman, or man, could do. And then there was that one night, after everyone had given up hope, and alcohol had been consumed in massive quantities. That night, more than any other in his life, he couldn’t shake, no matter what type of justifications or mind tricks he tried.

  But she’d just denied any type of revenge, hadn’t she? At least in a roundabout way. But it wasn’t easy reading Margaret. She’d often shown a propensity for being unpredictable, which at times escalated to deathly volatile.

  Sam spotted a black Corvette with red racing stripes turning in their direction, and he moved his hand up slightly to prepare himself for reaching out his middle finger and pulling back the lever for the brights.

  But what if she saw him do it? He knew the answer before the question processed in his brain. She wouldn’t wait until they reached their destination, or even ask him to pull over to the side of the road. She would gut him like a pig, even if it meant crashing the vehicle.

  She’d live. She always did, despite the carnage that she produced.

  The corvette drew closer, under a hundred yards. It was now or at least wait until another car passed. His finger left the steering wheel…but wait.

  What if the corvette driver responded by flashing his brights in return?

  Holy shit. His chest instantly felt like it had been crushed by the weight of his truck, and it was next to impossible not to breathe with more labor.

  “You all hot and bothered, Sam?”

  He tried to let out a chortle, and it sounded forced, pinched even. “Uh, yeah. I get turned on when a person hides in my truck with some type of hunting knife that could slice concrete in half.”

  “I guess you’re not like me,” she said. “Pain and suffering can often open a door to a new self. A new way of looking at life.”

  Is she serious?

  Of course she is. She’s Margaret Turov.

  He wasn’t sure which was moving faster, the blood coursing through his veins or the scrapbook of memories that flooded his mind. His brain could feel the pressure get more intense, as if someone was using a pump to inflate his head. And that only made him sweat more.

  “You starting to think about that wife and kids of yours.”

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed aside thoughts of his family. He was a pro at doing that.

  “Come on, Margaret,” he said with more force than he intended. “Let’s sit down like two human beings and talk this shit out. Okay?”

  “Talk, talk, talk. That’s all people want to do with me.”

  He looked in his rearview.

  “What? Are you actually judging me, Sam?”

  “No.”

  “I saw that look of absolute disgust on your face. You think I’m a complete psychotic lunatic, don’t you?”

  “No one is the same after war, Margaret. Not with what we had to endure…you had to endure.”

  “Take a right here,” she said, not acknowledging his words.

  The old Ford’s brakes squeaked a bit as he turned into an enormous, empty parking lot.

  “Drive around back, to the left here,” she said.

  He turned the truck left and began to coast, the growling cadence of the engine now more noticeable.

  “What are we doing at an amusement park?” His eyes gravitated upward as they passed the elaborate Wildcat roller coaster in Hersheypark.

  “You’ll see. Just keep moving until we get to the red guard shack by the employee entrance.”

  A moment later, he pulled up next to the shack.

  “Kill the engine and get out, hands on the hood,” she said.

  With his hands flat on the hood, he watched her crawl out from the truck. She wore cargo pants and a tight-fitting, ribbed sweatshirt. But it was the weapon in her hand that made him catch his breath.

  “Spread your feet.” She used a boot to kick out his left leg as she shoved his head downward, bouncing it off the hollow metal. His hat dribbled off the hood.

  “Ah, Sam, what happened to all your hair?”

  A sudden breeze blew across his head where only a few scraggly hairs were attached. Normally self-conscious about losing nearly all of his hair in his mid-thirties, he instead focused on the feeling of the breeze as it dried his sweaty head, cooling his core body temperature.

  “Margaret, you know I was on your side, right? The whole damn time.”

  He started to stand up, and she threw a punch into his left kidney.

  He winced. “Shit, what was that for?”

  “Got to search you first. Protocol. You should know that.”

  He held his breath as her hand reached his thigh pocket and stopped.

  “Look at what we have here,” she said, lifting up to show him his own gun. “A Ruger LCP. A nice little backup piece.”

  “I forgot I had it on me.”

  She brought it closer to his face. “Sure you did, Sam.” Without warning, she slammed the gun into his nose three times.

  Blood went everywhere, and she hopped back a step, her arms at her side. He took advantage of the opportunity and lunged for her gun hand.

  In the blink of an eye, he felt a piercing stab just above his shoulder blade, and he dropped to his knees. He could feel something warm slithering down his back.

  “Get up!” she barked.

  With blood dripping off his face, he tried to push off his knee to stand, but he had no control of his left side.

  “My shoulder, arm muscles. I can’t move them, dammit,” he said, his voice quivering.

  She grabbed his good arm and pulled him up. “You’re not going to die right here in some desolate parking lot. That takes all the fun out of it.”

  “What fun? This is fucking barbaric, Margaret. You don’t have to do this.”

  She picked up on his trembling voice. “Is little Sammy scared?”

  As he stood there, she emptied the Ruger’s ammo and scattered the bullets in the weeds by the fence, then she turned and hu
rled the gun into the park behind a row of trees.

  “Come on,” she said.

  Through blood-blurred vision, he looked ahead and saw the gate chain had been cut. He instantly stopped in his tracks, standing as erect as he could, his injured arm hanging useless at his side.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Emotion had started to drive his actions, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Sam, don’t play hard to get again. I’m not up for it, dammit.”

  “Screw you, Margaret. If you’re going to kill me, just do it right here. You might as well go get that gun, find the bullets, and put one through my head.”

  She turned and faced him, dangling her knife in front of his eyes.

  “Have you forgotten about this little guy?”

  He cocked his head back slightly. “I get it, Margaret. You’ll probably kill me, but even with one arm, I’ll make you suffer.”

  She flipped on a heel and plodded to the gate, then pulled it open and extended a hand.

  “After you, sir.” Her lips turned upward until the sunshine bounced off her protruding cheekbones. A deranged grin.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what has happened to you. I thought you were fucked up before, but now…”

  “And the truth finally comes out,” she screamed to the sky.

  A shaky breath escaped his lungs. He wiped blood from his eyes with his good arm while trying to test out the injured one. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Dammit, Margaret, just tell me what you want!” His voice cracked as he belted out the words.

  “I want you to be the good soldier and march your ass into this park. We’re going to have a helluva time, Sam.”

  “I can’t do it. I’m not going to do it. You really don’t want to hurt me. You have some kind of vendetta against the military or something, and I’m just the easy target.”

  “If that’s what makes you feel better, then I’m okay with that.” She tapped the edge of her blade on the chain-link gate. “Don’t waste my time, Sam. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

  “Schedule? For what?”

  “Sam, don’t make me,” she said, re-coiling her hands around the grip of her blade.

  “This is twisted, Margaret. Fucking twisted.”

  She pressed her lips against her teeth and then huffed out a breath. “If you don’t get here and die like a real man, then I’m going to chop off your head, put it in a nice planter, and drop it by your home so your wife and two kids can see Daddy one last time.”

  “What the hell?”

  “You don’t think I’m bluffing, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because, if necessary, I could create an entire gift basket of Daddy appendages, use some shredded filler paper of various colors as the perfect accent. Actually, that’s the perfect word. Shredded. That would be my theme.” Her eyes glazed over.

  His battered mind shifted gears, and he recalled that morning’s top story on the USA Today blog.

  His breath chopped off his words before he could finish them. “Y…y…you.”

  “Yes, Sam?”

  He yelled out, “You’re the nut who’s carving people up like some pieces of art?”

  “Haven’t thought of that analogy, but I guess that would be me,” she said, bringing the flat end of the blade to her chin. “I kind of like it actually. I’m an artist. But I’m no starving artist.” She giggled a snort through her nose.

  He shook his head. “What happened to you, Margaret? I thought you had a sense of decency and fairness about you. And now all you do is act like a fucking animal and kill indiscriminately? That is fucked up. You’re fucked up!” He stabbed his finger at her as if a poisonous dart would shoot into her body and bring the mighty Margaret to the ground.

  But that was no more than a wasted imagination.

  Margaret let out a slight giggle, and then it turned into knee-slapping laughter. “Dammit, Sam, you crack me up. Brings tears to my eyes, really. Oh my.” She gathered herself and then continued. “I don’t choose my victims, Sam. They choose me.”

  He shook his head to clear his brain, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. “Choose you?”

  “By their actions, Sam.”

  Dropping his head, he spotted the gathering pool of blood around his boots. He closed his eyes for a beat, searching for the internal willpower that would bring about superhuman strength or an idea that would lead to his freedom—and Margaret’s death.

  Lifting his sights, she motioned for him to move, and he started to shuffle his boots on the pebbled pavement.

  “Good boy,” she said, like he was a dog obeying its master.

  A few steps along the path in the amusement park, and Sam fought his imagination of what she could do to him. Would do to him.

  Two birds swooped across the walkway and into the nearby red oak, releasing a string of playful chirps. Their innocence and gratification with life did not go unnoticed by Sam, who still couldn’t determine exactly why she’d chosen him.

  “Margaret, you can’t kill me without letting me know why.”

  “Eh,” she muttered. The knife stayed pressed at his back as they strolled past the concession stands with metal cages covering the openings.

  Sam could see the Ferris wheel off to his left and the mega roller coaster just ahead, but she pushed him to keep moving deeper into the park.

  He stopped and looked her in the eyes. “Let me start by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for anything I said or did to you in that godforsaken hell hole. It wasn’t me. Not the real me.”

  She glanced away for a couple of ticks, and with that came a flicker of hope that he was finally reaching the core of her being, what made her human.

  “Margaret, I’m not a perfect person, but I’ve tried to learn from my mistakes, even all the crazy shit that went on in Iraq.”

  He paused to see how she’d react. She licked her lips, then ran her fingers through her short mat of hair.

  An infusion of adrenaline gave him hope and more energy in his presentation. “Easing back into the real world wasn’t easy for me. But I’ve done it for my wife…and for my boys. They’re the ones who can benefit from all this. To teach them what I’ve learned the hard way. Loyalty, standing up for what you believe, and doing the right thing when no one is looking. Character. Yep, it’s all about character.”

  She didn’t respond verbally, but he could see the tension in her neck subside, the knife sagging slightly from her loosened grip.

  He’d gotten through to her, he was certain. Now, how to exit the park and get to the police station without engaging her volatile temperament?

  “That night,” she said and his heart skipped a quick beat.

  “It was bad, Margaret. I’m so sorry I couldn’t…I didn’t do more.”

  Her eyelids shut for at least thirty seconds—so long, it seemed, that he wondered if she’d put herself into some type of self-induced trance to rid herself of the horrors.

  Swallowing just once, it made a crackle in his ear. He winced, hoping it wasn’t audible enough to wake her. He picked up his boot and moved one step to the left.

  “You shamed me, Sam.” Her eyes popped open, the whites now etched with red veins, her breathing pattern picking up speed.

  “I…” He backed up a step, holding up his good arm in defense as she walked closer.

  “I don’t like it when a man shames me.”

  “But I was the only one who—”

  “You don’t get it, you spineless piece of shit. Men never do.” She tapped the knife against her palm.

  “I thought you understood. I thought you were starting to see the light,” he said, losing his balance.

  She swung her boot, and he toppled onto his ass.

  Looking down on him, she said, “Oh, I’ve seen the light. Have no doubt about that.”

  He followed her eyes as they looked beyond the trees. The top of the roller coaster.

  “You’re going to die, Sam, but I promise it
’s going to be the ride of your life.”

  And Margaret didn’t disappoint.

  17

  The cell phone buzzed, clicked, and rang while rattling across the glass bedside table for a good ten seconds before my brain realized it wasn’t a dream.

  “Huh?” I said to no one as I lifted my head from my pillow, the incessant noise now pummeling my senses.

  Slinging my arm off the side of the bed, I pawed for the phone that wouldn’t stop moving. Did that damn thing have eyes?

  “Crap!” My thumb had just bumped it off the table.

  The carpet muted the rattling as I swung my torso over the side of the bed. My arm couldn’t quite reach the phone.

  “Dammit!” I kicked and twisted my body, but soon found my legs tangled in the sheets. Somehow, I’d basically tied myself into a sheet knot on the bed at the hotel above the casino.

  I inhaled a deep breath, taking in another dose of the wretched odor. I’d asked for a non-smoking room, but it seemed like I’d bathed in smoke all night.

  Rubbing my eyes for a brief second, I begged my brain to break through the haze. I hadn’t taken my first sniff of the hotel room smoke until I saw the sun peeking through the dusty curtains about three hours earlier.

  Using my toes and arms, I thrust my weight forward, sliding off the bed while picking up the phone on my way down.

  “Yes, yes, what is it?”

  I heard three quick knocks on my door before the person on the other end of the line responded.

  “Alex. Need to wake up, darling. It’s your best pal, Archie.”

  I scowled at the door. “Hold on!” I yelled.

  “Alex, it’s Nick.”

  “You too. Hold on, Nick. I gotta put some clothes on.”

  Tossing the phone on the bed, I found my khakis and FBI-issued T-shirt, slipped them on, and then picked up the phone while I walked to the door.

  “What?” I said as I simultaneously opened the door and spoke into the receiver.

  Archie just stood there with that stupid grin and his arms splayed as I pointed to the phone.

  Nick started first. “Alex, just got word that there’s been another—”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Archie interrupted.