The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  In just the next few steps, the scattered raindrops quickly became a thunderous downpour. My hair became matted to my scalp before I had time to start jogging, making my way toward the overpass at Convent.

  I jumped over the small curb, landing on the sidewalk, and turned into the overpass.

  I didn’t see the man until his hand was inches from my face. I gasped as he covered my mouth, his body pressed against my backside. I was locked in his grip, unable to move my arms or head. I raised my leg, taking aim for his kneecap.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Zeke’s voice made me shudder.

  52

  The pounding rain made it difficult for me to process my options, that and the fact that my skull felt like it might crack like a walnut. Only one thought pierced through the roar: fear. What could I do to escape from a man who was cut like an Olympic decathlete and had combat skills that could end my life in seconds?

  For now, I twisted my head just enough to find a gap to take in oxygen.

  “I don’t like being followed.” The spit from his breath peppered my neck.

  I braced myself for an aggressive action, the twist of my neck until it snapped like a twig, a knife in my back, some type of body blow that would cripple me. But there was nothing.

  “I’m going to slowly remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream or try to fight me, I’ll have no choice but to silence you.”

  Silence me. I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but I wasn’t going to ask for an interpretation.

  “Nod if you agree.”

  He loosened his grip slightly, and I nodded.

  He removed his hand and stepped back a foot as I gulped in air.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, or even scare you, Ivy. But you left me no choice.”

  “What are you involved—”

  He brought a finger to his mouth, jerking his head to his left to look down the sidewalk that bent to the right. Did he see someone?

  “I must go. Please do not move. I will explain everything I can once I’m done with my meeting.”

  I nodded, then followed his gaze down the sidewalk. The rain was coming down in sheets, greatly reducing visibility. He turned back to me. I noticed his wet sunglasses resting on the top of his head.

  “You can’t call Stan or any law enforcement. You can’t run away, not until we talk. Do you understand?”

  Again, I nodded.

  “You are afraid. I…I’m sorry, Ivy. I do not want to harm you. But there is great risk with you being here. Right now, we are all at risk. Please let me do what I need to do, and I will try to keep everyone alive.”

  My eyes didn’t leave his. The thud of my heart felt like it was rocking my weight back and forth. “Okay. I won’t call anyone. I’ll stay right here.”

  He took a quick glance down the sidewalk, then checked his watch. “I must go. I’ll explain everything when I return in a few minutes. Trust me.”

  He turned and walked into the drenching rain, moving north along the River Walk.

  53

  Ivy Nash. Another complication that Zeke simply didn’t have time for. But he’d have to make time. For her sake and his.

  Soaked like he’d jumped into a swimming pool, he picked up his pace as he rounded the bend in the river. He jogged past a cluster of vibrant live oaks, which had obviously benefitted from growing next to the river, and spotted the next overpass, Augusta Street. Under that overpass was the agreed-upon meeting spot.

  Just a few more steps…and there—an outline of a man about eight inches shorter than Zeke. It was Sergey, he was almost certain. He moved closer and was able to detect the man’s hands stuffed in a windbreaker. He knew Sergey might have a gun aimed at him; he could shoot Zeke dead the moment he got close enough.

  But his gut told him that Sergey wasn’t going to kill him, not initially.

  He reached the overpass and slowed to a walk. He wiped his face, his eyes fixated on Sergey, whose hands remained stuffed in his coat, his face without expression. The two men eyed each other as Zeke stepped closer, nary a word between them. Finally, Sergey said, “You must not look at the weather forecast. That was the headline earlier—heavy thunderstorms this evening. I thought you were proactive, always planning a couple of steps ahead.”

  Zeke had accomplished his first goal—to get within a few feet of Sergey without being shot. But he wasn’t going to stand around and chat about the weather or other nonsense. Who knew if Sergey had called in an accomplice? Who knew if Ivy had ignored his request to hold off on calling law enforcement? The next sixty seconds would define his quality of life—if he were to have any life at all—for his remaining days on earth.

  “I’m not going to melt. Then again, I think that’s reserved for those who are wicked.”

  Sergey’s right eye twitched, but Zeke was more concerned about the movement of his forefinger stuffed in his pocket. Zeke removed his glasses from his head, then pretended to fumble them into the air. As he’d hoped, Sergey removed a hand and caught them before they crashed against the concrete. “These are expensive,” Sergey said, handing them back. “You haven’t collected your upfront bonus yet. You might want to—”

  Zeke heard a chirp coming from somewhere on Sergey’s person. With his gaze staying on Zeke, the squatty Russian pulled a phone from his pocket. He shifted his eyes to the phone screen for a second, then pressed a button on the side of the phone and put it back in his coat pocket.

  “Was that the missus asking you to pick up some milk on the way home?”

  “You Americans—”

  “Don’t forget, I’m actually half Canadian.”

  “Who gives a fuck? All of you westerners think you’re so witty. I have to put up with that crap everyday back in Boston.” Sergey’s eyes moved to the river water, which appeared to be rising higher, near the edge of the stone banks.

  Enough chatter. “Do you have the rest of my bonus money lined up?”

  “How much do we owe you?”

  An odd question. “We settled on four million. After the five hundred K down payment, that leaves you at three point five.”

  “Right.” He nodded, looking off into the distance for a moment. But Zeke could tell Sergey’s focus had not left him for one second. Sergey had his guard up.

  “So,” Sergey continued, “three point five million dollars for someone who is—”

  Sergey didn’t see the right cross coming until it was too late. Zeke had connected perfectly with the bridge of his nose. Sergey stumbled but didn’t fall as blood splattered the concrete around him. Zeke thought he had him on the ropes, but was surprised when the Russian—still trying to equalize his balance—pulled a pistol from his coat pocket. He recognized it immediately, one of those Russian Makarovs.

  He quickly calculated the speed at which Sergey’s arm was moving, his eyes focused on the motion, even as the opening of the barrel became larger. With all of his momentum, he swung his back leg around and smacked the gun and Sergey’s wrist. The pistol flew out of his hand, landing in the river.

  Sergey, with blood seeping down his face, pulled a knife from his sleeve. It was a T knife, the kind that one held like an old-fashioned corkscrew. The Russian mobster was circling him, only four feet away. Zeke had a knife strapped to one ankle, his Sig Sauer P938 strapped to the other. But if he reached down, Sergey might be able to stab him, and if the man got lucky, it could be lights out.

  “Is this your way of renegotiating the three point five million?”

  Still moving to his right, Sergey tried to sneer, but he flinched—Zeke was almost certain he had a broken nose. Sergey threw a right hook, but Zeke hopped back. The knife filleted his shirt, but missed his skin.

  Sergey smiled, blood covering his teeth. “You should have never betrayed Petro.”

  The text. Sergey must have received a message on his phone that cemented his thoughts about Zeke.

  Something caught Zeke’s eye—movement from over Sergey’s shoulder. Before h
e could identify it, Sergey lunged at his chest. Zeke sidestepped the knife, grabbing Sergey’s thick wrist with both hands.

  They struggled for dominance, their faces only inches apart.

  “Your future father-in-law…he was only supposed to be an example of what we could do to anyone you care about. But now, you will die. And so will everyone else.”

  Anger-fueled adrenaline flooded Zeke’s veins, actually causing him to freeze for a moment. It was a moment too long. Sergey head-butted him, then threw an elbow into his ribs. Zeke dropped his arms, leaving just enough of an opening for Sergey to ram his knife into Zeke’s shoulder. The puncture went an inch deep before Zeke regained his senses and push-kicked his adversary away.

  Sergey bounced back a couple of steps, his blood-filled smile in stark contrast to the gray haze of rain. Zeke tried lifting his shoulder. It was functional at best.

  “I don’t have to make a single call. The orders are in, Zeke. Your wife and kids—dead. Your hot fiancée—dead. And we have others on the list. They will get what’s deserved, all in due time.” He smiled again. “You were going to try to steal four million dollars from Petro Udovenko? You are an arrogant, stupid shit.”

  They must have learned about my plans to extradite my family. But how?

  Now Sergey began to chuckle. “And working with the authorities? We’ll make sure that your loved ones die slowly…cutting off one limb at a time. Can you picture that? Your son with one arm, your daughter minus—”

  Seething to the point of almost losing his vision, Zeke roared and threw himself at Sergey. The torrent of emotions had nullified all of his training and self-discipline. The violent, animal-like response shocked Sergey, causing him to stumble. Ignoring the white-hot pain in his shoulder, Zeke plowed through his Russian counterpart, whose head bounced off the concrete wall. Sergey’s eyes went crazy.

  Zeke wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. Suddenly back in control of his emotions, he grabbed Sergey’s hand—the one still holding the T knife—and rammed it into his thigh. Sergey howled. Then Zeke threw two quick punches into Sergey’s nose. His shrill could have shattered glass. Zeke quickly slipped his hand down by his ankle and grabbed his compact Sig. He jabbed it into Sergey’s chin.

  “Tell me how to call off the hit on my family and Zahera.”

  “My fucking leg,” Sergey grunted.

  “Tell me, dammit!” He pressed the gun even harder.

  “Aah!”

  “Tell me now!”

  “Not possible,” Sergey whimpered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not calling anyone. I’m going to die anyway. But I won’t be in hell alone. You’ll join me soon. Just think though—your family will die before you.”

  Zeke moved the pistol down to Sergey’s knee and pressed the trigger before another word was uttered.

  Sergey yelled, but Zeke covered his mouth and said, “Who’s the person giving you the child body parts?”

  He closed his eyes, didn’t respond.

  “Who?”

  Still no response.

  “You have three seconds until I blow your other knee away. One, two, three.” He fired a bullet into Sergey’s other knee. “Who?”

  Sergey moved his lips, but Zeke couldn’t hear him. He moved closer. “Tell me again.”

  With his eyes flickering, Sergey whispered, “Fuck you,” into his ear, then shuddered, gasping a couple of times.

  “This one is for Brianna.” Zeke then put a bullet in his chest. Sergey’s body crumbled, but Zeke caught him before he hit the ground. He dragged him about ten feet and dropped his body into the river.

  Two deep breaths. His chin quivered as he stared at the murky water, trying to think rationally for a second.

  Did you forget about the movement you saw earlier?

  He jerked his head left. It was Ivy, standing in the pouring rain, glaring at him. Then she started to run.

  54

  If my chest wall hadn’t been so thick, I would have seen my beating heart on the sidewalk.

  He was coming after me. I twirled around and started running, pumping my arms with everything I had. With the rain beating down on me, I realized I had my phone gripped in my hand—I’d forgotten it was there.

  Zeke killed a man. It was a struggle, but he shot him three times. He didn’t have to kill him, right?

  A quick glance over my shoulder. Crap. He was closing fast—every stride I took, he took two. I cried out; the sound was muffled in the roaring storm.

  Call Stan. That thought pierced through my fear. I tried tapping the screen as I was running, but it wasn’t working. Was it the rain? My jittery hands?

  I was sobbing, but the tears mixed with the rain. I needed to stop moving to allow my finger to tap the right button, but I couldn’t risk stopping. Zeke had just killed a man. I was a witness. If he caught me, he’d have no other choice but to put a bullet in my head, dump me in the river too.

  Another look over my shoulder. Fuck! Twenty feet and counting. What could I do? I had one chance. I stopped on a dime, wiped the phone screen, and tapped my contacts, found Stan’s name and—

  Zeke grabbed me, swooping me off my feet. I kicked, flailed my arms, but he carried me like a loaf of bread. The rain had suddenly ceased. I looked around; we were under the Convent Street overpass. I stopped kicking. He set me down, wiped his face.

  “You’re not going to kill me?”

  “What? I’m not a killer, Ivy.” He looked back up the river, then to me, probably contemplating his use of words. “I did what I had to do.”

  I held up my phone. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call Stan and have you arrested right now.”

  “People are still in danger. Zahera is one of them. And there are others.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “Okay, dammit, I’ll tell you. Quickly.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Sergey works for Udovenko.”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re associated with that drug trafficking maggot. And that’s why Zahera is in danger.” I paused, blinked a couple of times as my brain began to process information. “That’s why Z’s dad was killed, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Yes, but I—”

  Without thinking about the implications, I slapped him with every ounce of energy I had left in me. He touched his hand to his cheek, then glared at me.

  “I’m…” I couldn’t say it. I didn’t know what to say.

  His jaw twitched. “I deserve it.” He wiped his face again.

  Were those tears in his eyes?

  “Look, we don’t have time to talk right now. I have to make a call, then we need to ensure that Zahera is safe.”

  “You might have a soft spot for Zahera, but you let her father get killed. And now you murder a man?” I was trembling, screaming at the top of my lungs. My fear had been overtaken by my love for Zahera. “You are the lowest form of scum I’ve ever come across.”

  My phone buzzed. But I didn’t look at it. I glared into Zeke’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. My phone buzzed again.

  I glanced at it. “What?” I said out loud, glancing at Zeke then back to the screen.

  “Who is it? Has someone gotten to Zahera?” He moved up next to me as I read the text from Nick out loud.

  “Just got word from Alex’s source. Zeke is working with Ukraine SBU. He’s their mole inside Udovenko’s operation.”

  I looked at him. “Is this true?”

  “Yes, it’s true. There’s more you should probably know…need to know. I will try to tell you, Ivy. But for now, I need to make a call.”

  He turned to the river and did just that.

  55

  Zeke had lied. He actually made two phone calls. The first one lasted no more than thirty seconds. It was quick, to the point. The only phrase I heard was, “I owe you my life, Tank.”

  Tank. Was that a name or some type of code word? Zeke, after all, was much more than just a se
curity guard. Was he working with the CIA? Another intelligence agency? Or was he simply a hired contractor, someone with the right skill set?

  And I had a very good idea of his deadly skill set.

  His second call lasted a tad longer. It was animated. He rubbed his eyes more than once, rocked up and down, tugging on his short hair. When he hung up, it looked like he’d been skewered.

  “Should I even ask who that was?”

  His glassy, blue eyes shifted to me. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can’t or won’t? I think after all this shit you put me through, everything you put Z through, you’d tell me what’s going on. People were killed because of you being in their lives.”

  He swallowed hard. “I know. I—” He stopped short. “It’s complicated. And I don’t want to risk any more lives. But there is something I need to tell you. For now, we need to head back to Zahera’s. I only have a couple of hours before I need to leave.”

  He started running.

  “Leave for where?”

  He didn’t answer. He stopped, came back, and grabbed my wrist, started pulling me along. We were in the rain, but the intensity had dialed back. I broke free of his hold, but followed him as he hurdled the curb, running into the adjacent parking lot, his head on a swivel.

  “What are you looking for?”

  He acted like I didn’t exist. He moved quickly, as if he were searching for something in particular.

  “I might be able to help, you know.”

  Ignoring me, he ran up to a rusted blue pickup. I guessed it was north of twenty years old. He pulled something out of his pocket and waved it across the side of the car door. The lock popped up. “Get inside,” he said.

  I slid into the passenger seat as he searched under the front seat and then the back of the visor. He then sifted through a console that was filled with coins, pens, gum wrappers, a pack of cigarettes, and a screwdriver.