Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1)

by Reese Knightley

  “I can’t talk about her right now.” He swallowed hard. “I just wanted you to know.” He didn’t want to lose his shit right now; he had things to take care of. His grief would need to wait. He had a killer to catch.

  “Okay, but I’m here if you need anything,” she whispered, wiping her eyes with a tissue. That was Allison’s way. She had her own assignment but would drop everything to help him. Noah rubbed at the ache in his chest. He’d do the same for her.

  He became aware that she was watching him intently as if waiting for something. Stretching his arms along the back of the couch, he switched his crossed legs.

  Sighing, he gave in. “What?”

  “Did you see your marshal?”

  “No.” He frowned. “And he’s not my marshal.” Suddenly regretting telling her about Mac, Noah turned his head and looked out the wide front window that graced the length of the apartment.

  “He is too your marshal,” Allison argued. “Why didn’t you see him?” she persisted.

  What could he tell her? That being back in the States, he couldn’t stop thinking about the guy? Which was insane, because he hadn’t seen the man in years. And he certainly wouldn’t dare voice that he might still be madly in love with Mac.

  “Just leave it, Allison,” Noah warned.

  She glared at him. “You’re a coward of love!” Her hand waved dramatically.

  “He doesn’t want me!” Noah snarled right back. “If he did, he’d have called.”

  “How do you know he hasn’t called?” Allison demanded.

  Blankly, he looked at her. “Because Clair told me she would tell me if Mac ever called.” And he’d trusted Clair. Noah rubbed his palms down his jeans and stood. Clair hadn’t said a word about Mac phoning her, and that meant Mac had never called. The man didn’t care. Noah had just been another WITSEC victim.

  Allison stood and moved to him swiftly. “Oh, mon ami, I’m so sorry.”

  Noah let her hug him because, well, Allison gave killer hugs. “It’s okay. I need to ask you something.”

  She pulled him down to the couch and sat next to him. “What is it?”

  “You said in Italy that you saw with your own eyes something fishy regarding the Marshals office. We didn’t get a chance to go over everything then, but can you tell me the details?”

  Allison tilted her dark head in thought. “After I located Ricky Stevenson, I saw a man meeting with him.” She studied her perfectly manicured nails before continuing. “I followed that man back to the Marshals office. When he got out of his car, he put a chain over his head with a badge on it and walked into the US Marshals building.”

  “Shit.” A sick feeling came over Noah. The Marshals office had a snitch. “What did he look like?”

  Allison looked affronted. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew her phone and showed Noah a picture. The man was bulky, about six foot, with short brown hair. “I’ll send you the pic in a text.”

  Noah couldn’t remember any marshal matching the picture, but the man was definitely wearing a US Marshals badge. This man was someone with a score to settle, or maybe the guy’s loyalty had been bought by Terrance Manning.

  “Okay, this is important. I’ve acquired a list of names from Stevenson’s phone. I’m going to be working through them as quickly as I can,” Noah said, pulling up the list on his phone.

  “A list of accomplices?” Allison leaned over to look.

  “Maybe, I’ll know more once I find each person,” Noah explained. He couldn’t give Allison any more details because he didn’t know much more himself.

  “What I need from you is your help when I call.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He had deliberately kept the list from Stefano. He wanted to personally work through the list and get to the man that had killed his mother and he didn’t want Stefano or the team getting in his way.

  Mac

  Mac glanced up. The sky was overcast, but they still had a few hours before sunset. He’d been in Ventura for forty-eight hours and felt dead tired. An all-points bulletin was put out on Noah, but so far, nothing.

  Sterling sat in a chair next to his at the Ventura office. “How’d they know where that safe house was?”

  Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. “We must have a leak.”

  “Or they could have seen Bradford and tailed him.”

  True, Noah could have been out innocently shopping and have been discovered. Mac rubbed at his chest.

  “Let’s take a ride,” he said, shoving back from the loaner desk.

  Page slipped into the back of the SUV with Sterling, and Jake jumped into the passenger seat. Heading toward the Oxnard transit, they combed the area. Exiting the vehicle, they prowled the station, asking people and checking restrooms. But nobody remembered seeing anyone matching Noah’s description.

  Back in the SUV, Mac turned toward the highway.

  “Be advised, no visual of the suspect at nearby airports,” the crackling voice of dispatch came over the radio. Dispatch had been reporting every four hours.

  “Roger that, dispatch,” Jake said into the mic.

  “So, how do you know this WITSEC witness, Noah Bradford?” Page asked Mac. He knew the questions were coming but so far, had avoided them.

  He briefly met her gaze in the mirror. “A little over seven years ago, I entered Noah into the program. We’re still trying to locate two fugitives associated with his case.”

  “You two close?” Sterling asked.

  “Why?” Mac asked, frowning.

  “Because you just seemed freaked out when we couldn’t find your boy,” Sterling said, and Page slapped at the big guy, but the man only laughed.

  “He’s not my boy,” Mac said irritably. But the words felt like a lie.

  “Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself, Mackenzie.” Sterling snorted, and Mac could tell the guy was teasing, but it pissed him off.

  “Fuck off,” Mac growled, his patience worn thin. The last thing he needed was someone speculating about him and Noah. It was none of their damned business.

  “Hey, you two,” Jake cut in. “Be nice.”

  “Jeez, I was just messing around,” Sterling mumbled.

  “He was a kid,” Mac pointed out.

  Sterling shrugged. “Ain’t no kid now. Report said Noah Bradford will be twenty-five in a few months.”

  Tell me something I don’t know! Mac ignored them all.

  “Damn it.” He yanked the mic. “Dispatch, did you have them look for a blond man wearing a hoodie?”

  “Roger that,” dispatch said back.

  Mac knew he was being unreasonable and slammed the mic back onto its hook. He pulled over and parked. Jake was looking at him, but Mac turned and stared out the window, avoiding his partner’s concerned gaze.

  “How do you know what he looks like now?” Page asked curiously.

  “I don’t,” Mac muttered, but Noah had loved hoodies. Mac remembered teasing the young man about it just before he used the hoodie to get Noah in a headlock during self-defense training. No matter how many times Mac had tossed Noah onto his ass, the boy had rolled to his feet and come back at him. They’d sparred until Noah, out of breath, had draped himself over Mac’s back. It took every ounce of willpower he’d had to separate himself. It had also taken the better part of a half hour to hide his body’s reaction to Noah’s nearness. He’d had to clamp down hard because even at nineteen, Noah had been too damned young.

  Not even realizing how quiet the SUV had grown, Mac sat staring blindly out of the windshield.

  “Why don’t we head back to the office, Mac?” Page suggested gently. Mac knew she was right. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do driving around aimlessly waiting for a call.

  It had started to drizzle when they reached the Ventura office and they headed inside out of the weather. The cold gray suited his mood. Mac felt like he’d never be warm again.

  Waiting in the bull pen, Mac sat at an empty desk. He only glanced away from the gray sky
outside when Sterling placed a hot cup of coffee in his hand. The large man settled in across from him.

  “They’ll find him,” Sterling said.

  Mac nodded and took a grateful swallow of the hot brew. It warmed him up some. “He must be going to San Diego.”

  “Why would you think that?” Page asked, dropping down on a leather couch that sat along one of the bull pen’s walls.

  “I told him if he ever got into trouble to come to San Diego and find me,” he admitted, missing the look that Page and Sterling exchanged.

  “There’s been no sign of him getting on any connecting bus or train. No flights from Santa Barbara, LAX, or Burbank matches anyone fitting Noah’s description,” Sterling said.

  “He’s got to be headed to San Diego,” Mac repeated.

  “Let’s head back there. We can search some surveillance tapes at the various stations,” Jake said.

  Mac agreed and stood. At least they’d be back in San Diego if Noah made it there.

  “Take care, you two. Thanks for the help.” Mac offered his hand to Sterling, who not only shook his hand but drew him into a one-armed hug. “You too, Mac, take care.”

  “We’re always here for you, Mac.” Page slapped his hand away and instead gave him a tight hug. “If you want him, don’t wait,” Page whispered. Mac knew her history. Page Larson had lost the love of her life a year ago and had never had the opportunity to tell the man.

  Mac swallowed and looked away. “I need to find him first.”

  Worry gnawed at him. Unable to help himself, he drove back by the safe house on their way out of town. Jake didn’t say anything, but Mac knew his partner was concerned. Mac didn’t have any words for Jake. He wished he did, but he didn’t.

  When he pulled up, it was dark, but the house was lit up and a patrol car sat out front. Law enforcement had finished wrapping up the crime scene a day ago, but surveillance was ongoing.

  The house felt empty, but it still held pictures of Noah and Clair and even some of them with Havoc at the park. Noah’s picture sat in the entryway. In the picture, Noah had his arm around Clair’s shoulders. Mac lifted the small frame from the table and traced a finger over it. Noah might want to have this when Mac found him. He flipped over the back, removed the latch, and took the picture out.

  “We should put this in our file.” Mac handed the picture to Jake. His partner quietly took the photo and headed back to tuck it away in the SUV.

  Mac walked absently through the house, feeling closer to Noah here. The numbness of losing Noah all over again was slowly being replaced with a feeling of rage. And God help the person or persons who took him.

  Stepping out the door and onto the darkened back porch, he could smell the eucalyptus in the wind. Looking towards the soft, rustling trees at the far end of the yard, he froze when a glint of movement caught his eye. He tiredly squinted into the darkness.

  He thought for a moment he had imagined the silhouette of a man standing on the rise of the small hill near the trees. Dressed in all black, whoever it was almost melded with the dark.

  Mac casually looked up at the sky and stepped off the porch. Then, without warning, he launched across the yard.

  Apparently, the guy hadn’t expected Mac to take the initiative because he stood there startled before sprinting in the opposite direction. Those few seconds of surprise were all Mac needed. The guy was quick, but Mac charged up the incline with a burst of speed, just seconds behind the guy.

  The fucker wasn’t going to get away. This might be the guy responsible for killing Clair. Rage gave Mac the energy to jump over a wooden fence and then slide across a low, metal shed in the man’s wake. This guy could be the answer to finding Noah.

  When they landed in the garden below, a sensor light went on. Mac skirted a few tomato spikes and leaped over a row of low greens. The man jumped and grabbed onto a tall, chain-link fence. Over that fence stood the city’s massive concrete flood control. If the perp made it over, Mac would lose the guy.

  Giving it everything he had, Mac lunged and caught the man halfway up the fence. Fisting one pant leg, he simultaneously jerked and pulled. A foot kicked out, almost catching him in the head, but he dodged sideways. He yanked again. This time harder and the man fell, taking Mac down in the process. They landed in the soft garden and rolled before springing apart. Mac pulled his gun only to have the perp kick it away. The gun flew and landed in the nearby bushes.

  Facing off, he circled the hooded man. Mac had more bulk, but the perp moved with a quick-fire and brutal speed. The guy was so fucking fast, Mac found himself flat on his back with the hooded man gazing down into his face. The man’s eyes glittered. Mac heard a quick hiss of breath and he rolled, trying to pin the perp beneath him. Their legs tangled, arms grappled, and bodies twisted as each tried to get the upper hand. Mac was bigger, but the guy was quick and strong.

  The silent struggle pissed Mac off because he could feel he was losing. Locking one arm around the guy, he reached for the hood with his free hand. If the man got away, at least Mac would have a face to go on. He found his wrist slammed to the ground and held there in a strong grip.

  Then the man chuckled, actually fucking chuckled, before a knee slammed into his solar plexus and took his air. Lithe and nimble, the figure leaped toward freedom, leaving Mac gasping for air.

  Spider-climbing to the top of the chain-link fence, the perp paused. Mac glared when the figure glanced back and their eyes met and held across the distance.

  “Mac!” Jake shouted.

  Like liquid silk, the dark figure poured over the fence and disappeared beyond.

  “Over here,” Mac called to Jake, letting his head fall back into the dirt. He gazed up at the star-filled sky. Fuck.

  Noah

  He shouldn’t have come back to the house, because he really needed to decompress. He’d been going on too few hours of sleep and needed food. Holding himself together by shear will was taking a toll. But he had one last thing to do.

  Manning’s men could be staking out the safe house. Chances were good the kingpin would send someone to at least scope out the area.

  What Noah hadn’t planned on was catching a glimpse of Mac. Like a magnet, he couldn’t look away. Mac wore a black coat over his wide shoulders. The porch light caught the glint of dark hair. The man’s shoulders were slumped.

  Thinking he was invisible, Noah eased against a tree and drank his fill. He had frozen when Mac’s gaze zeroed in on him. Mac was fast, but thankfully, he had been quicker. Regardless, it had been a close call.

  Noah lay awake, thinking of Mac that night, and fell asleep with the lingering feel of the man’s heavy weight holding him down.

  Sometime around dawn, his dreams had him groaning. Groggily, he pulled on his cock. Naked forms twisting in his dream drove his head back against the pillow. He twisted and stroked, arching his back from the bed. Spreading his legs, he reached and cupped his balls and squeezed them. One more tug, and he came with a pair of icy blue eyes and mounds of muscles swimming behind his closed lids. Slumping down flat, he caught his breath.

  Too busy with the agency, he didn’t have sex often. He was more likely to satisfy himself using his hand rather than some random fuck. Using the sheet to wipe up the come on his chest and stomach, he pulled the comforter over his cooling body. Heavy, sleepy eyes blinked. Mac, fucking Mac. The man still brought him to his knees.

  The line at Paso Robles, one of California’s homeless shelters, was long and Noah waited patiently. At the end of it, the woman facing him was grandmotherly with her hair pulled back in a loose bun. She wore a layered, cream-colored blouse draped over a loose, flowing brown skirt that reached the floor, and the clothes hung on her slender frame. She looked him up and down, obviously sensing he wasn’t there for the food, and gave the coupon she was holding to the man standing in line behind Noah.

  “Okay, Harry, go get yourself something to eat,” the woman said before jerking her head at Noah. Leading Noah down a short hall, the wo
man stopped and suddenly turned. “How old are you?” she demanded.

  Noah smiled and showed her his ID card, another alias name on the front. The woman frowned and then sighed before leading him into a small, cramped office. “Ned Barton, twenty-four. You look younger,” she said.

  “Thank you, I think?” Noah teased, turning on the charm with a quick smile. He bowed with a sweep of his arm; he could do charming.

  She shook her head at his antics, taking in his new jeans and button-down shirt he’d changed into after stuffing the tux he’d worn to the gala in his trunk.

  “I’m Betty Mae Lincoln, and you’re no stray.”

  “Well, Betty Mae Lincoln, as you’ve seen, I’m Ned Barton, and I’m looking for a man.” Noah pulled out his phone and showed her the picture of Terrance Manning. The mug shot of the man was from the FBI’s most wanted list.

  “Why are you asking me?” The woman turned away, nervously shuffling some papers on her desk, then opened a drawer and shoved pencils, a few bills, and paper clips inside before slamming it shut.

  Noah leaned back against the closed door and watched the woman’s quiet yet frantic movements. “Because your name came up on a list that is associated with this man.” Noah tapped the phone.

  “You ask too many questions about that man,” she pointed toward Noah’s phone, “and you’ll end up dead.”

  “That’s a possibility, but I still need to find him,” Noah prodded when the woman seemed lost in some hellish thought.

  Betty Mae blanched, and her face whitened. “Son, that man’s a crazy kind of bad. You’d do well to steer clear of him.” She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, her gaze darting wildly around.

  “I get it, I really do.” Noah softened his voice. He didn’t want to spook her more than he already had. “Can you tell me why you’re on Manning’s list?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then she said, “About ten years ago, my granddaughter was murdered.” She blinked back tears and sank into the desk chair. “She was nineteen. I knew she was hooked on drugs, but I couldn’t get her to quit.” Betty Mae’s watery gaze met his. “I tried so hard, but she just couldn’t.” The woman looked down at her folded hands, and Noah reached out and plucked a tissue from a box on the desk and crouched near her chair. He pressed the tissue into her hand and she sniffled into it and wiped her eyes.