Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1)

by Reese Knightley

  “Hey, Kane. What did you find out?” Mac asked.

  “Hold on. I’m going through a mountain pass.” The man’s broken words came through. A few minutes later, Kane said, “There, better?”

  “Yes, you’re on speaker, Kane, talk to us,” Mac said.

  “Hang on, Mac. My agents are calling,” Kane said, and the line switched, leaving Mac and Jake listening to silence.

  They had caught a flight from San Diego to Santa Barbara, and the SUV was a loaner delivered to the airport by the Ventura Marshal’s office.

  “Damn it,” Mac muttered. His hands ached from squeezing the steering wheel.

  “This is messed up,” Jake said, double-checking his weapon.

  This was beyond messed up as far as Mac was concerned. He broke out in a cold sweat, and then a sudden chill swept over his body. What if they were too late? Jesus, what if…

  “Mac?” Kane came back on the line.

  “Go ahead.” His heart thundered in his ears.

  “There’s an active crime scene at a home in Ojai. My guys headed on over. Is that the safe house?” Kane rattled off the address.

  “Yes,” Mac said, bile rising in his throat, and he swallowed it back.

  “Are the Ventura Marshals there?” Jake asked, throwing him a quick look.

  “From what my men said, the marshals and local police are both there,” Kane replied.

  “Any casualties?” Mac asked, his heart in his throat.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Kane said quietly, “Two casualties, one man and one woman.”

  A casualty… was that what Noah had become, a fucking casualty? Noah, a bright star in Mac’s world, and now a light that might be extinguished forever.

  “We’re almost at the house, Kane,” Jake said when Mac lost his ability to speak.

  Mac slowed and turned down the street where the safe house sat and parked behind a black SUV. Police cruisers and other vehicles lined the road. Lights flashed and people stood around, held back by patrol officers in charge of crowd control. Not that there were many on the street, but the activity had drawn a crowd.

  “Is one of the bodies -” Mac broke off. “Is it Noah?” he asked, terrified of the answer.

  “I don’t know, Mac.” Kane sighed heavily into the phone.

  Mac ended the call and sat looking at the house. Memories of another house came rushing in. Of Noah running out an open front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, blond hair in a tangled mess, golden eyes so fucking bright they’d tormented his soul. And he’d known back then, back at that moment, even though it had broken him, he had fallen in love. Now, Noah could be lying dead behind that door, gone, and Mac suddenly couldn’t move.

  “Mac?” Jake’s gentle voice cut through his fear.

  Mac drew a deep breath and stepped out of the SUV. The scene was a fucking mess. People, some in uniforms, some in plain clothes, milled about.

  Through the chaos, Mac saw the two familiar faces of US Marshals Larson and Fisk from the Ventura field office. Mac stood for a moment. It was twelve o’clock, but the October wind still blew cold.

  Taking a deep breath, he pulled a heavy, dark overcoat on over his suit jacket to ward off the chill in the air. He would have changed out of the suit he’d worn to the office, but there hadn’t been time. Letting out the breath he was holding, he stepped forward.

  US Marshal Sterling Fisk was a mountain of a man who made the suit he wore strain at the seams. His partner, Page Larson, looked petite and tiny standing next to him. Not to be deceived by her looks, Page was the bossier of the two while Sterling was content to let her have her way.

  Mac liked them both; he and Jake had worked with them in the past. Somberly, they approached and shook hands before the four moved toward the house.

  “We called the locals after we got your alert call,” Sterling Fisk said. Not only had the FBI and Marshals arrived, but local PD and CSI had converged on the house.

  People moved out of their way. Nobody wanted to challenge the group with marshal badges hanging around their necks. Of course, Sterling’s size helped to clear a path. The front porch was cut off from view of the street by a shoulder-high brick wall and large bushes.

  “CSI confirmed the victims inside were killed approximately fifteen hours ago,” Page said, and Mac stepped over the bright yellow caution tape that lined the small area.

  Sterling whistled low. “Trouble came calling,” the man said, glancing at the debris littering the front porch and small walkway. Some of the bushes had been trampled and potted plants toppled.

  Mac reached the open door and looked back. Sterling was right. Trouble had reached the safe house, and it had arrived last night before anyone had even known it was coming.

  Mac stepped inside and was met by Detective Green from the Ventura County police department. Green confirmed what Kane had told Mac, two dead bodies.

  “The bullet that killed the woman came from the gun found in the upstairs hallway, but we can’t locate the gun that put the bullets in the man,” Green said, leading him over to a sheet-covered body. The CSI agent crouched next to the covered body pulled the sheet away when they approached.

  It was a scene out of a nightmare. Grief hit Mac as he crouched next to Clair’s prone body. She’d been shot in the head, there were defensive wounds on her arms, she had skin beneath her nails, and her throat was darkly bruised.

  “Marshal, can you ID the woman?” Detective Green asked gently.

  “US Marshal Clair Holt.” Mac stood quietly, then closed his eyes before he reopened them. He held Jake’s gaze and then turned toward the bathroom, his partner following.

  Mac’s heart beat double time as he neared the bathroom door. Stealing himself against his worst fucking nightmare, he entered the small room with Jake and Page close behind.

  Shocked, Mac looked down at the body in the tub. For a second, it was hard to tell who lay sprawled in the bloody water. But one thing was very clear, it was not Noah. Overwhelming relief brought his hand up to steady himself against the wall.

  “It’s Ricky Stevenson.” Mac’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat.

  Page looked over Mac’s shoulder and whistled. “That’s some serious shit,” she said, her gaze wandering over the damaged body before making her exit so Sterling could step inside the cramped bathroom.

  “Think your boy did this?” Sterling asked.

  “What? No! Noah doesn’t have the skill set for this type of thing,” Mac said, scowling.

  The man in the tub was missing fingers, had a blown-out kneecap and forearm, and a bloated face that might have signaled a type of waterboarding torture, and lastly, a bullet wound centered in his forehead.

  “He’s gotta be on the run.” Mac whirled and hurried through the house and out the back door. Walking over, he picked up the end of a dog chain.

  “What’s that?” Sterling asked from the porch.

  “Noah has a dog.” Mac stood holding the chain.

  He remembered the day he had brought the chocolate-colored Labrador puppy home to Noah. The boy had cried into the puppy’s fur for so long, Mac had begun to worry until Noah had looked up at him with those big brown eyes filled with so much emotion, he’d had to look away. He remembered the unexpected and amazing feel of Noah in his arms squeezing him and peppering his cheek with kisses.

  Mac dropped the chain and reentered the house. None of this was making any sense. It looked like Stevenson had killed Clair, and someone very skilled had killed Stevenson, or maybe someone very skilled had killed both Clair and Stevenson and had taken Noah.

  “Where was the gun found?” Mac asked, and took the stairs when Detective Green pointed up.

  “It was field-stripped. Broken apart, emptied, and dumped on the floor,” Green said, following Mac.

  Moving down the hallway, Mac entered Noah’s bedroom. Jake came up the stairs and entered the room behind Mac. The bedroom felt empty, as if Noah didn’t live there, and judging by the empty closets
, packed-up book boxes, and stripped bed, if he had, it had been a while. What the hell was going on?

  Glancing at Sterling and Jake, Mac jerked his head toward the front door. Once out on the stoop, Mac headed to the SUV. Snatching up the vehicle’s radio, he spoke into the device. “Dispatch, check the closest flights out of the area for anyone matching the description of WITSEC witness Noah Bradford.”

  “Roger that,” dispatch replied.

  “What are you thinking?” Page asked, having joined them while Mac was on the radio.

  “That Noah’s on the run,” Mac murmured. Leaning against the side of his SUV, he gazed toward the house. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Is it just me, or did that look like a professional hit?” Sterling pointed out.

  “It’s not just you,” Mac agreed, rubbing a hand tiredly over his unshaven face.

  Noah

  Stefano’s house was modest and the land it sat on was secluded. Located in Central California, the surrounding trees made it seem like a paradise next to the large neighboring city several miles away.

  “Come in!” someone yelled when he knocked.

  Stepping inside, he hung his jacket up and headed into the front room with Havoc trotting at his side. The place had large, chunky couches with low tables sitting conveniently nearby. A wide, flat screen TV took up one wall. On one of the couches sprawled Wild.

  “Don’t you have a home?” Noah razzed the team’s explosives expert.

  “What are you doing here?” Wild asked.

  “I’m here to see Stefano.”

  “I thought you couldn’t stand the States.”

  “No, it’s only your ugly mug.” Noah smirked and pushed Wild’s legs off the table so he could get by and take a seat in one of the large, overstuffed chairs.

  “Hey! Now I’m dead!” Wild complained. The man was a gaming junky and when he wasn’t out killing bad people, he could be found playing World of Warcraft. An explosives expert, Wild possessed skills that had saved the team many times.

  “Just rez yourself,” Noah returned, unfeeling.

  “Ass.”

  “Dick.”

  “I see you boys are getting along as usual,” Stefano said sarcastically, coming in from his study.

  Noah snorted.

  Wild rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Dad. He sunk my battleship.”

  “It’s Mr. Dad to you,” Stefano teased. They weren’t really related, but the man did treat them all as his own.

  “You wanted to see me?” Noah shook his head and stood. Havoc appeared content to curl near Wild’s feet, so Noah left him there and followed Stefano into a study filled with books and a wide, dark-colored desk, along with a thick leather couch.

  Their commander sat behind the desk and Noah took one of the large, overstuffed chairs. Stefano had been instrumental in easing him into the team. Noah had doubts in the beginning. He wanted to make a difference in the world. He didn’t want to work for the wrong side and he had no idea what Phoenix was or what they were capable of. It had taken some convincing before Noah had consented to give the team a try. So far, he had never regretted his decision.

  After training, Stefano Esposito became his only contact for a while. They’d forged a bond from the very beginning when Stefano had challenged him to channel all the hurt and rage at the world into cold, hard resolve.

  “Convenient you being in the States the same time as me,” Noah drawled. His commander took great care to watch his back, and if he couldn’t, Stefano had someone else do it. Sometimes it bothered Noah, but most of the time, he chalked it up to Stefano being a worrier. He had to wonder if the man had been the one to call Storm. Or perhaps it had been the mysterious chief, the man in charge of everything except the daily running of the team. They’d been told that the Chief was in charge of handling any and all red tape. Since the knowledge of Phoenix was top secret, the chief also took care of any governmental problems that came their way. The chief was also the man Stefano answered to. A man Noah had yet to meet in person. Noah had been with the team for five years and had only heard the man’s robotic voice over the phone. He doubted he’d ever meet the chief. Not that he cared, the guy was probably some tight-ass official in the White House that wanted to maintain plausible deniability. As long as he left him alone to do his job, Noah couldn’t care less.

  “I do own this home.”

  “And a few others.”

  “Yes, well, I’m thinking of setting up a permanent operation,” Stefano poured two cups of coffee from a small pot sitting on a silver rolling table and handed one to Noah.

  “You mean like an office?” Noah wasn’t sure how he felt about going into an office. Sure, the team met on occasion and worked together often, but an office?

  “Yes, exactly like an office. We need some place to meet and I’m recruiting a few people to take care of the things that don’t require a bullet.” Stefano studied him.

  “Like what?”

  “Paperwork.”

  “Oh.” Noah shrugged. He couldn’t argue with that. Not that he’d be coming into the office. And the thought of some of their team members coming into an office setting almost had him snorting coffee out of his nose. He pictured Storm’s massive frame perched in an office chair. The thought of the eight team members regularly being contained inside one room was just down right crazy. Allison might like it. Wild and Reboot would probably be the only ones content as long as there was a TV around. The rest, he wasn’t sure. He glanced up to find Stefano giving him a strange look.

  “What did you need me to do?” he asked to stave off any questions.

  “I need you to partner with Allison on an assignment.”

  “Here in the States?” Noah frowned, sipping at the hot brew.

  “Yes,” Stefano repeated, sliding a large, yellow envelope across the desk.

  Noah reached for the envelope and pulled out the contents. The familiar face of a state governor spilled out onto the small table.

  “What happened?” Noah asked, glancing down at the documents.

  “Allison’s attending a benefit with him.” Stefano tapped his fingers on his desk while looking at the picture.

  “And I’ll be watching her back,” Noah guessed.

  “Yes.” Stefano pursed his lips.

  “Why not just put Reboot on it?”

  “I want the best.” Stefano took a sip from his cup.

  Noah frowned. “Seth is one of the best,” he pointed out. He should know, he trained with the guy. Seth O’Leary, also known as Reboot Hell, was typically offered the same jobs as Noah when it involved a stealthy and quiet approach.

  Stefano sighed. “Yes, he is one of the best. But he’s also excellent at tracking people. And right now, I have him tracking movement on Yakov Lakhonin.”

  Surprise held Noah silent for a moment and then he spoke. “Why do you have Seth tracking Viktor’s half-brother?”

  “There is talk that Yakov might be taking over Viktor’s business.”

  “You knew there was a risk.” When he killed Viktor, he’d opened the door to the possibility of Yakov taking over.

  “Indeed,” Stefano said.

  “Why did you put Seth on finding Yakov and not me?” Noah rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There was no doubt in his mind that Yakov needed to be watched.

  “You went off the grid,” Stefano pointed out.

  “You told me to take time off.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Yes, and now I need you to help Allison,” his commander said maddeningly.

  “Right. Well then, I’m sure Seth will find Yakov,” he muttered.

  “I agree.” Stefano nodded, taking a sip of coffee.

  Northern California was cold in October, and Noah was grateful for the apartment’s warmth.

  “How can you even walk around in here?” He shoved a stack of newspapers and magazines over on the brown leather couch and took a seat.

  Allison snorted, coming from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “Just bec
ause you’re a controlled neat freak doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” she said without any trace of her French accent.

  She knew his propensity toward neatness stemmed from his childhood. She was one of a handful of people that knew about his past.

  “Besides, this is usually the place I land for months,” she said before she reached over and slipped her fingers beneath the leather band around his left wrist, feeling the skin. The area was pink, but the ridges were white with age and completely healed.

  “What’s going on? Your message said it was important,” she said softly and released his wrist.

  Noah took a sip from the mug of coffee she had handed him. “Stefano sent me to watch your back tonight at the party.” He evaded her.

  “I can handle it. Stefano worries too much, mon chéri,” Allison said, switching from English to impeccable French.

  “He’s nervous about you being alone.” Noah switched fluently into French.

  Allison snorted. “That man is a walking nerve,” she said, switching back to English.

  “What time is the party?”

  “The governor will be picking me up in two hours.” She gave an elegant shrug.

  “How close are you to him?”

  “It’s a difficult and delicate matter.” She smiled coyly.

  Noah smirked. He knew getting information from any elected official was damned difficult. He hoped that Allison was successful. It wasn’t the governor they were watching, though, it was a state police criminal investigator who would be attending the same function. Information had come to light from the same criminal investigator that a local sheriff was involved in some shady shit. The advantage was that the governor was related to the sheriff.

  “Okay, did my tux get delivered?” Noah asked.

  She laughed, a light tinkling sound. “Yes, of course! Ghost shall be impeccable for the gala tonight.”

  Noah watched her for a long moment. When he didn’t smile, she sobered.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Stevenson’s dead.”

  “That’s a good thing, oui?”

  “Yes, except he killed Clair.”

  Allison gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth, her wide eyes on Noah’s face. “Oh hon. Noah, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears.