Great. “Thanks.” She paused. “Are you waiting?”
“No,” he said, shaking his chin. “I’m enjoying watching.” He looked her up and down. “You really are something. How long have you been working out?”
“Listen—”
“Tommy. Tommy’s my name.” He extended his hand. “Weightlifting is my game.”
She laughed. “Tommy, you really need to go.”
“I can’t leave without your name.”
She walked over the padded floor to her gym bag, grabbed her badge, and held it in front of Tommy’s widened eyes. “Here are my initials. Now beat it.”
He eased back but kept smiling. “Well, FBI, you are one fine agent. You can cuff me any time.”
“Can I shoot you too?”
He swallowed. “Er … No.” He blinked a couple of times, turned, and walked away.
Loser.
Sidney worked the bag again. Combos of kicks and punches. She loved kick boxing. It had been a passion of hers since she was nine. Her arms became heavy. Her black stretch pants were soaked in sweat. She unleashed some more roundhouse kicks.
Whap! Whap! WHAP!
She took the sparring gloves off, tossed them into her gym bag, and headed toward the treadmills. The ghastly images from the crime scene still burned in her mind. Dydeck was dead. Good agents were dead. One paralyzed. And somewhere, a killer was out there running free. Could it have been Adam Vaughn? It wasn’t possible. But that wasn’t what bothered her most.
Smoke was gone.
She climbed up on a step mill, punched in the time and intensity, and started walking.
Things had gotten ugly between her and Cyrus when he’d told her to leave. She had objected. The mousy man with frosty eyes had responded by having Smoke carted off behind her back, with no goodbyes between them.
“Your boyfriend is headed back to prison. You’ll have to get your kiss goodbye some other place, some other time.”
It gnawed at her gut. After a forty-five-minute workout, it still stuck in her craw.
Maybe I should go for a run. Or go shooting.
She gathered her things and exited the gym into the biting wind, headed for her car. The Interceptor wasn’t alone. A man wearing a brown leather Donegal and a tweed trench stood there.
“Ted?” She looked around the parking lot. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came to see how you were doing.”
“Really.” She unlocked the car and tossed her gym bag inside. “Why?”
“Come on, Sid. Agents died. You were there. I saw the pictures.” He grimaced. “In all my years, I’ve never seen … well, never. Let’s just leave it at that. How about we go and get something to eat?”
She crossed her arms. “How about you tell me what’s going on? I should be in on this, you know.”
“Headquarters is in turmoil at the moment. It almost takes an act of God to keep these incidents out of the papers.” Hands stuffed in his pockets, he leaned his shoulder on the car. “When I heard the news, I thought it was you in that bloodbath. I’m glad you’re still alive.”
“Still?”
“Ah, don’t start that.” He rolled his eyes. “Quit picking sentences and expressions apart.”
“Didn’t you teach me that?”
“I don’t know.” Looking at her with his soft eyes, Ted reminded her of the old actor named Brian Keith from movies she watched with her father. Tough, yet soft in a very manly way. “Probably. Let’s get out of this cold and go eat. There’s a nice little greasy spoon around the corner.”
She pushed her back off the car. “Nice little greasy spoon? I don’t think so.”
He chuckled and offered his elbow. “Aw, come on. I’ve never seen anything in there that could bite you.”
They made their way out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk, brushing by many passersby.
“Sir, I have to have a part in this. I was there, I brought in AV, and now I’m cut out? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“The Black Slate doesn’t make any sense either. Those files are off the books. I’m trying to make sense of it myself.”
“And what have you learned?”
“Huh, well, from what I’ve gathered, the Slate precedes the FBI.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a mystery where it came from.”
“Wouldn’t that make the people on the list really old … like you?”
He laughed.
“And,” she continued, “Adam Vaughn didn’t seem very old. He seemed little older than me.”
“Over time, the list … it changes, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Well, who keeps the list updated?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“What do you know?”
He pointed at the sign on the door of a restaurant. The stenciled lettering on the glass door read: The Wayfarer. He opened the door and nodded. “We’re here.”
The smell of fried food and cooking oil wafted into her nostrils. Soft rock music and the clinking of dishes caught her ear. She stepped inside. “Great.” She shivered. “At least it’s warm.”
“Come on.” Ted led her toward the back of the quaint but deteriorating establishment that hadn’t changed since the fifties. He stopped at a booth and began speaking to someone.
She couldn’t see the person until Ted stepped aside. Her eyes grew. Her heart skipped. It was Smoke.
CHAPTER 26
“Hello, Agent Shaw.” Smoke hoisted a Coke. He wore jeans and a dark sweater under a black leather jacket. His face was clean shaven. “Did you miss me?”
Yes.
“No.”
Ted removed his coat, hung it on a hook on the booth, and took a seat opposite Smoke. Just he and Smoke practically filled the booth. “Uh … let me scooch over.”
“That’s all right.” Sid grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the table, closer to Ted’s side. She sat down, rested her clasped fingers on the table, and looked at Ted.
“Er, well, I guess we don’t need any introductions.” Ted took off his cap and placed it on the table. Scratched his head. “A little stuffy in here. Waitress!”
A young man came over in a dirty apron with quaffed brown hair dominating one side of his head. The pen in his hand looked heavy. “Yeah, man.”
“Er, double cheeseburger with everything, fries—no, onion rings, and a sweet tea.” He eyed Sidney. “And you’ll be having?”
“Nothing.”
“Mister Smoke?”
“I already ordered.”
It better not be pancakes.
The waiter nodded. “Coming up, man.”
“All right, man.” Ted glared at the waiter’s back. “Man. Man. Man. Man. Doesn’t anyone say sir anymore?” He looked at Sid. “All right, I’ll quit. But if he screws my order up, no tip.”
“Sir, can we get down to business?”
“That’s my girl. Okay, they still want you on this case. You got AV before, they think you can get him again.”
“It again,” Smoke said.
“Wait a second,” Sidney interrupted. “Who wants us on this?”
“One at a time.” Ted held up his palm. “First, Sid, I can’t tell you that. I’m not really sure myself, but for the interim, I’m your new supervisor.”
Unusual, but good.
“Second,” Ted said to Smoke, “Adam Vaughn is not an it. Some person or persons took him out of there. The evidence confirmed that.”
I don’t think so.
Smoke sat up. “Did the evidence lead to the discovery of Bigfoot, too? An animal or something like an animal tore through those people like the Tasmanian devil. It wasn’t a person.”
“Just settle down a moment. Your mission”—he pointed at Sidney and Smoke—“is to find Adam Vaughn. Bring him in. Alive. Find him, and we’ll find the fiend that did this to our agents.”
“Just us?” she said.
“Yes.”
“What about resources? Cars? Weapons? Tactical support? Is Mister
Smoke going to be armed or not? And what about his ankle tracker?”
Smoke stuck out his boot. No tracker. With a smile, he said, “All gone.”
“Ted, how am I supposed to keep track of him then?”
“You’ll just have to work together.” He leaned forward. “Ah, food is coming.”
The waiter had a tray full of food. Three hamburgers and two chili dogs and plenty of fries. He set a burger and fries down in front of Ted.
Ted’s face reddened. His voice darkened as he said, “I said onion rings.”
“No man, no, you didn’t,” the waiter said, setting the other baskets in front of Smoke. “I can get some, man, but it will be extra.”
The veins in Ted’s neck started to bulge. He glared at the young man.
“No, it won’t.”
“Take it easy, man. I’ll get your rings. Stat.” He sauntered off.
Smoke squirted ketchup on his fries and Sidney fought against her giggles.
“What?” Ted said, checking the contents of his burger.
“Nothing,” she replied. A giggle erupted.
“All right, now what’s so funny?”
“You sounded like Batman,” Smoke interjected. Then he imitated. “I said onion rings.”
Sidney’s face flushed and her giggles continued. She stopped herself. “But it was way better than ‘Do you feel lucky, punk?’ I thought that was coming.”
Ted snatched up his burger and stuffed it into his mouth. “Screw both of you.” Ketchup dripped onto his shirt. “Aw, dammit.”
Sidney caught a playful look in Smoke’s eyes. She felt a spark inside.
Sense of humor a plus. Stuff your face with unknown parts of a swine, minus.
“So, Ted, it’s just us then? Again, who is my backup?”
“It’s you and him.” He swallowed his food. “And me. He reports to you. You report to me. The clock is still ticking on your two weeks. Remember, this is off the books. The less everyone else knows, the better.”
Smoke dipped one of his fries in the ketchup. “So there’s a mole in the FBI then?”
That’s what I was thinking.
“No, there isn’t any mole. Just loose lips and big-eared busybodies.” Ted tucked a napkin under his chin. “I have enough on my plate without any more probing questions. And so far as I’m concerned, until it’s over, the less I know, the better.” He bit into his burger.
“Wherever you go, we’re going together,” she said to Smoke.
“Fine, but that might be a bit awkward when we’re sleeping.” He leaned closer. “Does that mean I’m staying at your place?”
Sidney’s eyes got big. “No, you know what I meant!”
“Ha,” Ted laughed. “He turned the tables on you, Sid. I like that.”
“I’ve got everything I need: my own ways,” Smoke said, tapping his head, “and my own gear. Just step aside and let me make this happen.” He looked straight into her eyes. “I want this murderer as much as you do, and at some point you’re going to have to put some trust in me.”
Sidney shook her head. “We’ll see.”
Ted grumbled at the fries in his basket. “Where the heck are my onion rings?”
She glanced back at Smoke. “So, do you have any leads?”
He drained his Coke and clopped the plastic tumbler on the table. “Nope.”
CHAPTER 27
“You know,” Smoke said, riding shotgun in the Interceptor, “there’s one thing I can’t figure.”
“About what?” Sidney said.
“AV. If he turned into a werewolf—”
“A werewolf?” Oh lord, please don’t be some Twilight geek.
“In theory.”
“Uh, stupid theory.” She pulled the car to a stop at the light. “I think I like the Bigfoot idea better.”
“Well, you saw a pack of wolves for yourself. So did I.”
“And you thought they were coyotes. Perhaps they were were-coyotes?” The light changed, and she eased on the gas. “That said, I’m not liking your theory. It’s ludicrous.”
“My point is, AV’s clothes were gone. Not a stitch. If he turned into a werewolf or something else, there would have been evidence of something.” He pointed up the highway. “Take the next exit.”
“So, you’re ruling out the supernatural then?” She nodded her head. “Good for you.”
“Well—”
“Well, I won’t have any of it.” She accelerated. “Monsters don’t roam Washington.”
“Hah, Washington’s full of them. They just prefer human form.” His head turned right. “Uh, you missed my exit.”
Sidney jammed on the brakes and shifted into reverse. She eyed the rearview mirror and gunned the gas.
“Hey,” Smoke said, “there’s a lot of traffic coming our way. Not a good decision.”
“What’s the matter, are you afraid I might run over a groovy ghoulie?”
“A what?”
“Nothing.” A few car horns blared as they whizzed by. Sidney gunned the Interceptor down the exit ramp. “How much farther?”
“About three miles.” He shifted in his seat. “Are you telling me your skin didn’t crawl when you stood in the middle of that bloodbath?”
“No, my skin didn’t crawl.”
“Your friend’s head was twisted clean off.”
Her throat tightened a little. She thought about Dydeck’s family. The funeral. A closed coffin was never a good thing. “I’ll let forensics figure that out.”
“And I guess you’ll read it in the reports you’ll never see. Ha.” He pointed right. “Turn there.”
She hit the blinker and turned right down a blacktopped road marred with low spots and potholes. The car plunged into a pothole and lurched upward.
Smoke stared out the window. “You just lost a cap.”
She kept driving.
“Aren’t you going back for it?”
“No.”
“But that’s littering.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Yes—”
She hit the brakes, lunging Smoke forward. Putting the car in reverse, she hit pothole after pothole. Coming to a stop, Sidney put the car in park and got out. Outside, she located the hubcap, picked it up, walked over to Smoke’s door, opened it, and dropped it in his lap. She got back in the car again.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Shove it.”
Smoke flipped it around between his hands. “Usually these old cars are nothing but black rims. It’ll probably look better without it anyway.” He tossed the cap in the back seat. “Take the next left. Another mile up or so.”
Sidney’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She couldn’t shake the image of Dydeck’s headless body from her mind. She knew his wife, Jean, and his children, Larry and Zoey. Her heart ached for them.
“Are you all right?” Smoke said.
“Fine.”
“This is strange.” He cleared his throat. “And I know plenty about strange. I’ve seen bodies after fifty-caliber bullets ripped through them. At least, I’ve seen what was left of them. I saw plenty of people decapitated in the desert. It’s gruesomely horrible. That said, I’ve never sensed anything like this before. Eerie.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms as she wound the wheel to the left. Sidney couldn’t deny the eeriness she felt either, or the sickness the scene stirred inside her.
They passed by some small homes and trailers.
“Next right,” Smoke said.
Ahead, an old gas station sign was mounted on a light pole twenty feet in the air. Below it was an old service station, neatly kept. It had two closed garage bays on the left and the store front on the right. The gas pumps were gone, but the overhead canopy remained. It all had been converted into an apartment or house of some sort.
“This is where you live?” she said. The place was almost forty minutes from D.C., east of the Potomac. “Strange place for a gas station.”
Smoke popped open his
door, but before he got out he said, “It’s an old place. Mostly for the locals and family. I picked it up at an estate auction several years ago.” He closed the door and headed toward the apartment. “Are you coming?”
Her palms started sweating.
Strange place to be with a strange man.
CHAPTER 28
She picked up the file on AV and made her way after him, eyeing the garage bays.
“What’s in there?”
“That’s where I keep my friends,” he said, reaching inside his pocket and producing a set of keys.
“Ah, Fat Sam and Guppy then?”
He tilted his head back and laughed. “You remember! No, but I can’t wait to tell them you said that.” He stood at the door beside the large block glass window. The heavy grey steel door had both a keypad and a key hole. He stepped in front of her and punched in the code. “I hate carrying keys.”
Me too.
Smoke shoved the door open and stepped aside, gesturing. “After you.”
Sidney crossed over the threshold. Her heart raced a little.
What is wrong with me?
She took a long draw through her nose. The glass wall offered little light to an otherwise dim room. It was quiet.
“Hold on.” Smoke brushed by her. He stopped at a circuit box and pushed up the black handle. The overhead incandescent lights came on, and the room hummed with life. “That should be better.”
A sofa, kitchenette, refrigerator, cupboards, and an island with two stools made for a quaint apartment remarkably similar to her own. An office desk and computer monitors filled one back corner. Two tall dark-green gun safes filled another. It was a lot more modern and cozy than she expected from seeing the outside.
No back door.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He sat down and turned on the computer. “As best you can, anyway. It’s not much for entertaining. And ignore the cobwebs; I haven’t dusted in over a year.”
“Ha ha.” She took a seat on the sofa, tossed the folder on the coffee table, and opened it up. “So, bounty hunter, you don’t have any leads?”
“Nuh-uh.” He pecked the keyboard of his computer. “But give it some time and I’ll have something.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 11