“Are you sure it isn’t the burgers and French fries?” She took a seat.
“It’s those buffets at the lunch meetings, I swear it. Marge keeps me on a strict diet.” He scratched the top of his head and squinted one eye. “But that diet’s not very tasty. Salad, salad and more salad. I try, but I can’t figure it out.”
“Maybe you should start running again, like we used to.”
“Ah,” he nodded, “I miss that. Well, your company, not so much the running.”
His full name was Ted C. Howard, and Sidney still didn’t know what the C stood for. He was the first assistant director she’d worked for. Over fifty years old now, Ted still had the thick-set frame of his football days that he always loved to talk about. He was a good man. Energetic. A good mentor. He’d taught her a little about everything—and a lot about little, when he started to ramble. He was like family. An uncle of sorts.
“So, how was Alabama?” he asked.
“Hot.”
“Good country down there,” he said. “Nice fishing. Nice people.”
“Not where I was,” she said, smiling. She bent over and redid the laces on her shoes. “But I’m sure you’d find good company.”
“True,” he said. “Did I ever tell you about the last time I was down there? I was thirty-nine and …”
Aw crap. Here we go. Cut him off before you end up in tomorrow.
“Yes, you told me,” she interrupted. Maybe Ted had told the story, and maybe he hadn’t, but she was pretty sure she’d heard them all. Some of them two or three times, as he’d told them to other people when she was around. “What’s this about, Ted?”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “How’d your interview with Mister Smoke go?”
Cocking her head, she looked him in the eye. “You know about that?” All she had told him was that she’d come back from Alabama. She hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone she’d met.
“I spoke with Warden Decker. We go way back.”
“Of course you do.” Ted had a catalog of contacts. He had access. If he wanted to know something, he’d find it. “And does your office have an interest in my case? I thought you were handling more of the border cases.”
Ted reached into the pocket of his navy trench coat and pulled out a paper bag. It was full of nuts. He tossed one toward the nearest squirrel that was skirting by.
“I’m not keeping tabs on you, Sid, but I have checked up on you from time to time.” He flicked another nut out. “But this was different. A little bird dropped me a wire of peculiar interest. I felt compelled to look into it.”
“And?”
“The Black Slate. I know a little something about that.” The creases deepened over his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you working on this. The way they’re going about it is peculiar. It seems … dangerous.”
Ted had never been like this before, and they’d navigated some dangerous waters. Why the concern now?
“Danger’s part of the job. You told me that.”
He laughed. “I think that’s a quote from a movie. It’s true, but probably much shorter and more eloquent than I would have put it.” He flung out a few more nuts where many squirrels had now gathered. “Don’t take me wrong. You’re as fit to do this as any. If I was in the field, I’d want a piece of the action too.” He groaned. “Don’t ever get promoted, Sid. They anchor you with cinderblocks to that desk. I should have been a cop. Did I ever tell you—”
She grabbed his shoulder. “Back to the Black Slate, please. John Smoke? You wanted to talk about him.”
“Yes, John Smoke. Now that’s an odd one. A good candidate on the surface, but all the paperwork below the surface is blacked out or missing.”
“You mean I didn’t get the entire file?”
“You got enough. I got a little more. That’s why I talked to Warden Decker.” He pointed at the squirrels. “Look at them. I haven’t done this in years. Crazy little rodents. I met a man once who had a squirrel living in the hood of his hoodie. It was after Hurricane Hugo hit Charleston. Construction guy. One of the strangest things I ever saw.” He turned and smiled at her. “In a good way.”
She glared at him.
“Sorry.” He flung the rest of the nuts aside and dusted his hands off. “Truth. Warden Decker likes the guy. But, we aren’t the only people taking an interest in him. Decker clammed up when I prodded him. Leaves me uneasy.”
“Well, Smoke has neither accepted nor declined my offer, so maybe there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Interesting, but I assume he’ll take it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I just have a feeling. That said, be careful. I did some deeper research on similar projects like this that failed. The Black Slate is marred with a dark history. They’ve tried mercs, bounty hunters, and others of their ilk before.”
“And what happened? It didn’t work out?”
“They’re dead. Some, not to mention many of our agents—who aren’t even in that file you were toting—are gone without a trace.” He peered up at the Washington Monument. “I don’t like this, Sid. Just use extraordinary caution.” He got up and extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up with ease. “I’m serious.” He patted her shoulder and started to walk away. He stopped and turned. “Say, how’s the Hellcat doing?”
Unable to contain her smile, she said, “Doing great.”
“Hah. You stole her from me. I’ll never forget that.” Moving on, he waved. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Good seeing you, Ted. And thanks.”
I think.
CHAPTER 6
Sidney’s eyes popped open. She rolled over and grabbed her buzzing phone. Sitting up in bed, blinking, she read the screen. There was an address. A time. And the text came from her supervisor, Dydeck.
“Are you shitting me?” She checked the time. 4:30 a.m. She groaned and fell back into her goose-down pillows. “What does he want now?” she mumbled. “Ugh. Why does he get up so early? Why does he feel compelled to bother me? So early!”
Her toes touched the cold hardwood floor, and she crept into the bathroom and started the shower. The small bath steamed up quick, and into the hot water she went and soaked it up. Five minutes later she was out, drying off, and on the go. She tore the plastic off her dry-cleaned clothes. Seconds later, she had everything on but her shoes and headed for the kitchen.
The studio apartment west of Reston, Virginia didn’t offer much. Its eight hundred square feet was furnished from secondhand shops and goodwill stores. A mid-size bed, a small sofa, recliner and a kitchenette with two stools under the bar.
She turned on the television and followed the blurbs on the news. It was Monday. Forty-five degrees and a rainstorm was coming.
“Great.”
She grabbed the blender out of the sink and loaded it with ice, protein mix, two eggs, fresh veggies and ice and blended it all up. Eyes intent on the news, she poured the mixture into a travel mug and rinsed the blender out before abandoning it in the sink. She snatched her bag from the kitchen bar, clicked the television off, and headed for the front door. She opened it and stopped. Something didn’t feel right. He fingers fell to her waist.
“Ah!”
She shuffled back to the bed and grabbed her weapon from under the pillow. A Glock 22. .40 S&W. Inside her closet, she took her shoulder holster and strapped it on. She paused, staring into the small closet. Another pistol and shoulder holster hung ready. What Ted had said hung in her thoughts. Use extraordinary caution. It was a strange phrase. The way he’d said it even more so. At 4:42 am, she was inside an FBI-issued Crown Victoria and rolling down the road. Fifteen minutes into the ride, the rain started in heavy splatters on the windshield. She turned on the wipers, which left streaks of rain, and the defroster wasn’t working well either. She wiped the condensation with her hand and sighed. The rising sun was a blur in her eyes. She slipped on her sunglasses.
It’s going to be a long week.
***
>
While she drove down the road, Sidney’s thoughts were heavy. Typically, she headed into the office at 8 a.m. She’d push paperwork for a few hours then go to meetings and briefings. That was seventy percent of the job, maybe eighty. The rest of the time she was in the field. When Dydeck called her out in the field, it could mean anything. Homicide. Drug busts. Stake outs. Talking to clients and informants. Anything dealing with problems or potential problems at the federal level. From time to time they were a cleanup crew of sorts, when the local brass of Washington got their hands too dirty. It was a part of the job she didn’t care for.
Two hours later and south of DC, she exited the highway and entered a residential neighborhood along the Potomac.
Homicide?
Dydeck liked to surprise her. He was good about that. He had a way of working them into a little bit of everything, which she liked. Most of the agents were assigned to a particular unit, but Sidney floated along the rim, where the full range of her talents could be put to use. She was classified as special field ops. Not to mention her paperwork. She was thorough, her wording in sync just the way the top brass liked it. The Bureau loved paperwork. Without it, they’d eliminate most of what they did. She hated it.
Her brakes squeaked to a halt as she parked in the driveway of a contemporary one-level home in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. A For Sale sign was in the yard, and there were also signs in the other two yards at the end of the cul-de-sac. Two other cars were there, black SUVs.
Why don’t I have one of those?
Through the rain, she could make out one man on the porch in a dark trench coat, standing by the door. She didn’t know him.
Aw, great.
No uniformed local law enforcement. That ruled out homicide, but she’d been to plenty of these scenes before. The estranged family members or children of Washington’s finest often wound up in dark places: overdoses, suicide, domestic squabbles. The FBI often covered it up before the news outlets caught wind of it.
She grabbed her gear, popped open the door, and dashed through the sloppy wet grass and onto the covered porch.
“Agent Shaw?” the stocky man said, smiling. He had a warmth about him.
She showed her ID.
He glanced at it. “Lousy morning, isn’t it.”
“You bet.”
“I’m Tommy,” he said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She shook it.
“You too.”
He opened the door. “They’re all waiting for you.”
Inside, the house was dimly lit by a lone floor lamp in the living room. There, three men in dark suits waited. Sitting on the large raised hearth was a fourth man in an orange jumpsuit, shackled with his head down.
“Welcome, Sidney,” said a man standing off in the corner and putting away his phone. He was in his forties, well-knit, with his head shaven. His eyes slid over to Smoke and back to her. “Well, what do you think?”
“I have to admit, I’m surprised, Jack. And I’m not even including the location. I was under the impression this would be handled downtown. Aren’t we outside of protocol?”
“Yes and no. All the paperwork is covered on my end. On the prison end. At the assistant director’s end. But hey, it’s the list. We have to keep it low.” He scratched his head. “And I have to admit, I didn’t even know there was a list until a month ago. Huh. Gum?”
“No thanks.” She folded her arms over her chest. “So, where do we stand? I’m not really familiar with running things without explicit directives.”
“I know that.” He nodded to one of the other agents. The man handed another file over. “The directives are in here. Everything we have on the mark as well, including his last known location.” He approached and brushed his shoulder against hers. Tapped the file. “Never seen anything like this in twenty years, plucking a low-life out of the prisons to do our job.” He sneered at Smoke. “You have two weeks, pal, and then it’s back in the hole.” He winked at Sidney. “If he gives you any crap, just call and we’ll cut this silly mission short.” He walked over to Smoke and kicked the man’s foot with his boot. “Mind yourself.”
The door opened, and another man in a trench coat entered, holding a newspaper over his head with one hand and a briefcase in the other. The man was slender and stoop shouldered, and he wore glasses that looked too heavy for his nose. His frosty eyes met hers.
“Agent Shaw, what a displeasure.”
“Agree, Agent Tweel. I couldn’t be less happy to see you.”
Agent Cyrus Tweel didn’t look like much, but he was proven. Sidney had graduated from the academy with him.
Agent Tweel dropped to a knee and popped his briefcase open. “Let’s get on with this, shall we? I have more important things to do than waste time on experiments.”
Smoke’s head tilted up. His gaze fell on Cyrus.
“Jack,” Sidney said, “What’s going on here?”
“Tracking,” Jack said. “We can’t lose sight of him. Not for a second. Surely you know that.”
Cyrus held up a two-inch needled syringe filled with clear liquid. He flicked it with his fingers.
Smoke rose to his feet. “No one is going to Snake Plissken me!”
“You’ll do what you agreed to,” Jack said. He nodded to the other agents, who seized Smoke by the arms. “Now be still.” Jack pulled out a stun gun. “Or it’ll be my pleasure to use this on you.”
“No!” Smoke said, struggling against the agents. “No!”
CHAPTER 7
“That needle better not get within a foot of me!” Smoke said.
“What’s going on here, Jack?” Sidney said. “What the hell is in there?”
“Something new,” Jack said. He pointed to Smoke. “You agreed to this. You better settle yourself.”
“I didn’t agree to any injections! Screw this! Put me back in prison.”
“Jack!” Sidney said, stepping in front of him. “What is it?”
“A vaccination.”
“No one is giving me any shots!” Standing taller than the rest, hands cuffed behind his back, Smoke squatted down and drove his shoulder into the agent on his left. The man teetered over but held on, dragging the three of them down in a heap.
“You’re going to regret that,” Jack said. He stepped around Sidney and pointed the stun gun at Smoke. “I don’t have time for this.”
Sidney shoved his hand aside.
Jack misfired. The taser prods buried themselves in one of the agents. He jerked, spasmed, and writhed on the floor.
“Dammit, Sid! What did you do that for?”
“This isn’t protocol!”
“It is. Read the file. I tell you it is.” He shoved by Sidney and drove his toe into Smoke’s gut.
“Oof!”
“Settle down, hot dog! Take your medicine!” Jack said. He put his knee on Smoke’s neck. “Cyrus!”
Smoke bucked and squirmed.
Zap!
Smoke jerked and writhed.
Behind Sidney, Cyrus had tased him.
“Give him more juice,” Jack said. “He’s still squirming.”
“Gladly,” Cyrus said, squeezing the trigger.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Smoke screamed out, “Aaargh!” A second later he collapsed on the floor, disheveled and coated in sweat.
“Whew!” Jack said, getting up. He ran his forearm across his brow. “What is that man made of?” He helped up the agent who’d caught some juice from his taser. “Sorry about that.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Agent Shaw, I’m letting this incident go. But if you ever act insubordinate again, I’ll black mark your file.”
“But Jack—”
He stepped up to her.
“But Sir!”
He reached into his pocket and grabbed a handkerchief. “Get in line, or I’ll withdraw my consideration.”
Sidney started to say, Yes, Sir, but held her tongue.
“You go right ahead, Sir. This entire incident is way out of bounds.”<
br />
“No, you’re out of bounds, Sid.”
“I’m not the one who lost control of this situation. That’s on you, not me. That’s no way to treat a person. He’s a decorated veteran.”
“He was a decorated veteran. Now he is some ex-con vigilante hot dog idiot.”
She glanced at Smoke. Cyrus was driving the needle into him. “Hey!”
“Back off, Sid,” Jack said. “Tohms! Yo, Tommy!”
The man she’d met outside came in.
“What the hell are you doing out there? Didn’t you hear the racket?”
“Er …”
“Never mind,” Jack said. “Just help Muldoon to the car. He’s shaken up.”
“Right,” Tommie said. He glanced at Sid. There was a bit of sympathy in his eyes. He mumbled as he passed. “Cyrus is an a-hole.”
“I heard that,” Cyrus said.
“Good,” Tommy replied. He helped Muldoon back outside, closing the door behind him.
Jack raised his palms up. “Let’s start over. The vaccination. I had to do it. Orders. And that’s all I know. It’s a vaccination.”
“Is there something wrong with him?” Sid said.
“Well, I’m just assuming it’s for your protection … and his.”
Smoke groaned on the floor.
Cyrus locked an ankle tracker on him.
“Who’s keeping tabs on him,” Sid said, “me or you?”
“Check your phone?” Cyrus said. “There’s an app you need to download. Twenty four seven location. Just don’t let your phone go dead. Don’t lose it like the last time, either.”
“Shut up, Cyrus.”
“Listen, Sid,” Jack intervened. “This is a strange case. I have my orders. You have yours. Execute them, and I’m sure it will all make sense after everything hashes out. Got it?”
“Sure, I got it.”
“Good.”
“So,” Sid said, “is this headquarters?”
He pointed to a peg on the wall.
“Those are the keys. You can work out of here, or you can work out of his place.”
“I’m sure she’d like to take him back to her place.” Cyrus snapped his briefcase shut. “Probably why she took the assignment. She always had a thing for damaged guys.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 3