Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1)

by Reese Knightley

“Robert!” Leslie Tanner, or rather Auntie, as Mac called her, cried in surprise when she opened the door.

  Mac stepped inside and closed his arms around Leslie, holding her tight. The fifty-six year old woman was one of his last living relatives that he spoke with. The only one who had accepted him for who he was. Her arms always felt like home, a place where he could come and she would dish out love unconditionally. She was nothing like her sister, Mac’s mother, and for that fact alone, he felt grateful.

  “Auntie,” Mac said, smiling against her soft, dark hair. Only a few grays peeked through the regrowth hairline, but Mac knew his aunt didn’t care about appearances as much as she did happiness.

  She pushed him to arm’s length and smiled up at him from her five feet six inches. Not a slim woman, she wasn’t overly large, but she watched her weight. His aunt had always been on some diet over the years. He just hoped she wasn’t doing the vegan thing at the moment because he was starving.

  “What brings you by?” She looked searchingly into his eyes before turning and leading the way to the kitchen.

  Mac shut the door and followed her into the warmest place in the home. Auntie’s kitchen was her pride. She popped some cinnamon rolls in the oven and started a pot of coffee, so Mac took a seat at the table. The kitchen stood filled with vibrant colors and smelled heavenly.

  He now wished that Noah could have seen it and met his aunt. The stinging of his eyes was completely unexpected, and he bowed his head, taking a moment. It must have been visiting Lisa’s grave. He wasn’t normally this fucking emotional.

  Auntie gave him space. He knew she wouldn’t push, and before long, Mac found himself telling her about his sudden fixation on Noah.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him today and I can’t figure out why.”

  She didn’t say anything until she served the rolls and coffee and then took a seat across the table.

  “Robert, I’ve known you for a long time.”

  Mac laughed around a bite of his roll. “Funny.” She’d know him his whole life.

  Auntie lightly slapped his arm. “Behave. Now, like I was saying, I’ve known you all your life, and I’ve never seen you have that look on your face when you talk about this young man, not even with Ben.” Her face scrunched up upon saying Ben’s name. She knew of his troubles with Ben.

  “I haven’t seen Noah in almost six years, and he was just a kid back then,” Mac said, sipping the hot coffee. Not really a kid like it had sounded. In fact, Noah had acted more mature than some of the grown men Mac knew.

  “But not now. He’s a grown man,” Auntie pointed out.

  “I have no idea what he’s even like,” Mac added around another bite of the hot, buttery roll.

  “People don’t change all that much. They may grow older and wiser, but their core values typically stay the same,” she said, stirring cream into her coffee. “What is he like?”

  “He is so smart,” Mac said. Who would have thought Noah would turn out to be not only a language genius, but an academic one as well? The man took the equivalency test to get into a new high school, but had passed it with such high scores, they sent him straight into college. At the age of nineteen, Noah had graduated with an associate’s degree in Criminology with awards in bilingual achievements.

  “For someone so young, he had integrity, ya know?” Mac felt a lump growing in his throat and took a bite of a cinnamon bun.

  “Well, there you go.” Auntie smiled as if that solved everything. “Is he in a relationship?” she asked innocently.

  Mac blinked, the piece of bun stuck, and he took a hasty sip of coffee. Holy fuck…Noah could be a happily committed man and Mac wouldn’t know about it because he’d severed all ties. The thought of Noah with another man bothered the hell out of him.

  Mac shook his head, gazing out the window. A weeping willow swayed in the breeze. “I don’t know. He could be. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about him so much. I’d go days, sometimes weeks without thinking of him, and then today, bam, I can’t get him out of my head.”

  “Why today?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because I haven’t been to visit Lisa’s grave since I went with Noah.” Mac grimaced wryly. “Now, I’m obsessed with thinking about him and wondering how he is.”

  “Your heart knows what it wants,” Auntie said. “You should call him.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. Besides, he’s probably forgotten all about me,” Mac grumbled.

  Auntie smiled and served them more coffee. “Maybe, but you won’t know until you try.”

  He couldn’t tell his aunt that Noah was in WITSEC and even though Noah had wanted to keep in touch, Mac had ended all connections in order to keep the boy safe. And he certainly couldn’t talk about the case with her, nor the fact that they hadn’t caught the men responsible for the attack on the safe house that had killed Jenny. He held himself to blame. There had been too many outings, too much exposure. He had been too caught up in showing Noah the world, he had forgotten to do his fucking job. And after that, Noah had been put into WITSEC so deep, neither Manning nor Stevenson would ever find the location.

  Mac knew that Clair was good at her job. When she’d offered to go to ground with Noah, USMS Captain Scott Buller had given the order. Buller’s plan had Clair stepping in and taking over Noah’s protection.

  What Mac hadn’t planned on was falling in love.

  He felt good, better than he had in a long time. It felt great talking about Noah with his aunt. Hell, who was he kidding, it felt great talking about Noah, period, after all these years.

  It took every ounce of discipline to drive past the safe house location. The house was in California, and Mac drove past the city every time he took a trip to San Jose. But stopping wasn’t a risk he could ever take.

  While he and Jake were technically still on the Manning and Stevenson case, they hadn’t been able to find any further evidence of the perps’ locations. Many people thought marshals only transferred fugitives, but the USMS, one of the oldest law enforcement agencies in the United States, did a hell of a lot more than just fugitive transportation.

  He had to admit, through the years when he pulled up information on Manning and Stevenson, he had brought up Noah’s name. And every time Mac brought up Noah’s name, he checked the account and made sure that Clair had completed her reporting.

  Knowing that Noah was safe, Mac was able to go about his day and try like hell to live his life. He had to wonder if Noah had ever gone into law enforcement, or had Clair talked him out of it? Like his auntie said, Noah would be a grown man now, but that still didn’t erase the nine-year age difference. Nine years of hard experience divided them; war did that to a man. Noah wouldn’t understand Mac’s military experience or the pressures of his job.

  A horn honked, jerking his head up, and he realized he’d been going fifteen miles below the speed limit. “Damn it, get your shit together,” he muttered and blew a hard, frustrated breath.

  “Mackenzie!”

  Mac looked up from the paperwork spread out on his desk and found Leroy Conrad approaching him.

  The man was a pain in the ass. The number one reason Mac didn’t like the guy was because of the man’s work ethic. Behind the man stood his partner, Camren Anderson. Anderson had been with the marshals for about two years. The man was quiet and kept his mouth shut most of the time while Conrad was the opposite.

  The pair were assigned to the technical unit digging through data that might lead to apprehending fugitives. A necessary and valued function, but Conrad was a piece of work. The man treated everyone as if they were beneath him, including Anderson.

  Mac knew it irked Conrad that he didn’t give the guy the time of day.

  “I’m busy, Conrad. What do you want?” Mac asked as he thumbed through papers.

  “Whatever.” Conrad sneered and hooked a hip on Mac’s desk. “I want you to stop talking to Ben.”

  Mac stood, causing the man to take a hurried s
tep back. Rarely did Mac use his bulk on co-workers, but he made an exception for this guy. “Do you? Well, that’s going to be hard because Ben just called me. It seems like he’s making the rounds.” Mac smirked.

  Conrad swallowed and backed up with fists clenched. Mac raised an eyebrow at the guy.

  “Fuck you, he’s mine,” the man said, scowling.

  “Good for you. Now like I said, I’m busy,” Mac said pointedly.

  Conrad glared at him, then turned and stomped away. Anderson gave a half smile and an apologetic look before the man hurried after Conrad. Mac sighed and shook his head, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell Ben had been thinking.

  “That guy is a fucking asshole,” Jake said after a moment.

  Mac silently agreed.

  Noah

  Take some personal time. The boss ordered. And after the report from Allison, Noah was going to do just that even though personal time wasn’t something he typically took.

  He called Clair just after leaving Allison. Clair finally answered after three rings. Overwhelming relief held Noah mute for two seconds.

  “Hello?”

  “Clair.”

  “Noah!” she squealed, and Noah could hear the smile in her voice.

  “I don’t have long, but get out of the house. Call in that the safe house has been compromised.” Noah was positive the leak had given Stevenson his safe house address.

  “Oh, crap.” He heard her car keys jingle.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Okay, call me when you land.”

  “I will. You call for backup.”

  She was a smart woman, and Noah was confident she’d get out of there. He was anxious to see her after all these years. If not for her, he wouldn’t be the man he was today.

  Using one of his many aliases, he took the only flight available. Flying from Milan, Malpensa, Italy to Moscow, he had a three-hour layover. And while he didn’t want to be back in Russia so soon after the hit on Viktor, it didn’t bother him too much. Wearing a ball cap, he sat slumped in the airport waiting area until his flight was called.

  From there, he boarded a flight to LAX using the alias of German citizen, Nickoli Sulzberger. Moving through customs, he threw in a touch of German accent when he spoke. It was amusing when both men and women rushed to help him with directions, a place to stay, and one even offered him a ride.

  He’d become accustomed to the attention by now, having lived with it for so many years. Taking Allison’s advice, Noah had to admit that the perfectly groomed hair surrounding his mouth felt much better than the full-on beard. Pulling his shoulder-length hair into a bun, he walked through the scanner and took back his cream-colored suit jacket from security.

  He smiled, his accent grew thicker as he thanked them. He wanted to run, but instead, lifting his carry-on, he casually walked away, fully aware that several pairs of eyes tracked his progress.

  Los Angeles stank, literally. The air smelled of exhaust and oil. Yet he’d take the smell of L.A. any day over the smell of sewage drifting through the streets of Berlin. Oh, and the traffic. As hellish as the traffic could be in L.A., Noah felt it to be much worse in the German city.

  The rental car arrived, and Noah was soon speeding up Pacific Coast Highway toward a small house in a little town he hadn’t seen in years. He squeezed the steering wheel. It had taken years, but his patience had paid off. Ricky Stevenson was within his grasp.

  “Think he’ll show?” one man whispered to another man.

  A cigarette glowed brightly in the darkness. If the men were trying to be stealthy, it wasn’t working.

  “Yeah, the guy who gave us the info says the guy has lived here for years,” guy number two said.

  A third man, one Noah hadn’t noticed hidden behind the other two, hissed, “Will you two shut up?”

  “Geez,” number one said under his breath.

  The three men hovering in the shadows near the front of the house wore dark clothing. Noah gave them kudos for trying to stay hidden, but they certainly weren’t experts. He pegged them as hired guns, there to take him down, or take him back to Manning. He almost snorted. Manning would be biting off way more than he could fucking chew if the man ever took him on.

  Preferring hand to hand, Noah came at them silently. Catching one in the throat, he jabbed the guy’s windpipe and left the man choking on the ground. He ducked the punch from another and kicked out swiftly at the gun in the third man’s hand. Coming up with a kidney punch, the second guy curled forward, and Noah’s knee slammed into the man’s chin. The guy went down like a stone. The third man gave up looking for the gun in the dark and instead closed an arm around Noah’s neck from behind.

  The guy was strong, beefy, and had about fifty pounds on him. The arm around his neck squeezed, cutting off his air and blood supply. The world dimmed, and Noah let his head drop forward before slamming it back into the man’s nose. The man cursed, struggling to hold on, and Noah dropped his shoulder and rolled out of his grasp, putting distance between them.

  A large and familiar figure emerged from the darkness and took the perp out with one lethal blow.

  “What are you doing here?” Noah frowned at the man.

  “I got a phone call.” The deep voice sounded gravely. His words came out raspy, as if he didn’t talk much.

  “I’m starting to think I have a fucking tracker on me.” Noah narrowed his eyes. Looked like Allison had called the team after all.

  “Don’t be fucking stupid and don’t be predictable,” the deep voice growled.

  One of the perps groggily got to his feet. Noah moved in fast and with a snap kick, knocked the man out. Had he been predictable? Shit, he was going to need to work on that.

  “Did you go inside?”

  “No. Why, you gonna need help?” The deep voice sounded mocking.

  “Fuck you. I got this.”

  With an abrupt nod, the man disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “Fucking Storm,” Noah muttered. He and Allison were going to have a serious talk when he was done here. He zip-tied and duct-taped the three men. They’d broken out the porch light and he avoided the glass as he slipped into the house.

  Pausing, he listened. Sudden worry for Clair gnawed at him. His confidence that she had made it out took a nose dive. His gut told him something felt off. The house was quiet, too quiet, and when someone opened the kitchen door, it squeaked loudly. Noah melted into the shadows of the hallway as a voice straight out of his nightmares spoke.

  “I’m telling you, the snitch said he lived here. I’ll end it tonight,” Stevenson said, heading up the stairs to the bedrooms, apparently speaking to someone over the phone.

  Hate was such a powerful emotion, and Noah struggled against its clutches, trying to keep a cool head. But suddenly, he was consumed with rage, and every vile thing his stepfather had done and allowed to be done to him surfaced. Every single treacherous act from his mother’s death to helping Manning torment him all those years ago came flooding back.

  He had joined the unit to hone his skills to lethal precision, studying torture techniques that could bring a man to the brink of insanity, so that one day, he could serve justice on Ricky Stevenson and Terrance Manning. And that day was here, at least for one of them.

  Noah killed the light in the hallway before silently taking the stairs. The man coming out of his old bedroom used to represent something scary, but now he only felt a sense of satisfaction. Satisfaction that his face was the last thing Stevenson would ever see.

  In the hallway, Noah reached for the light switch and simultaneously pulled off his hood. Across the distance of about ten feet, their gazes collided, and Noah saw the instance recognition dawned.

  Stevenson held a gun angled downward, and the element of surprise caused him to move slowly. Too slowly. Stevenson’s gun hand came up, and Noah galvanized into action. Agile and quick, he snapped his leg upward to plant a foot in Stevenson’s chest, sending the man flying backwards. The gun
went off, and the bullet lodged in the ceiling.

  Ricky Stevenson hit the ground with a loud crash, and Noah moved in, taking the gun away. The man kicked out and Noah sidestepped before using the end of the gun to pistol whip the man.

  Stevenson rolled, and the blow glanced off his shoulder. Noah stepped back and snapped his leg, landing a well-placed kick alongside Stevenson’s head. The man rolled to his stomach and covered his head with his hands. “Please wait! Please,” Stevenson begged in a muffled voice.

  Noah field-stripped Stevenson’s gun in seconds before dropping it to the floor. He reached down and yanked the man over. Noah wasn’t the weak, terrified kid he used to be. He might not be huge, but he had enough muscles to easily yank the man around.

  Noah growled into his stepfather’s surprised face. “That’s right, you sick fuck, I’m not the same scared little kid anymore.”

  “Jesus, kid, you have grown up.” Stevenson choked, spit blood, and gave Noah a sinister grin. “Hell, you could really be part of the family now.”

  “Fuck you, you were never my family,” Noah said coldly.

  Stevenson wiped a hand against his mouth. “You have no idea the trouble you’re in.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, then call me fucking trouble.”

  Fury lent him strength, and Noah planted his fist in the man’s face. The guy’s head snapped back against the wall with a loud crack. In a desperate move, Stevenson’s fist came up and connected with Noah’s jaw, sending him backward.

  The man lunged upward and wrapped his big, beefy arms around Noah’s waist and hung on. They stumbled together, each trying to gain the upper hand. Noah used Stevenson’s off-balance to his advantage and jammed a shoulder into the man’s stomach. They both slammed sideways and toppled down the stairs, landing in a tangled heap at the bottom.

  The fall knocked the wind out of Noah. Dizzy, he lay for a few seconds beneath Stevenson’s limp weight. He shoved the man over, and Stevenson was left sprawled in a heap. Stumbling upright, Noah used the wall for support.