Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1)

by Reese Knightley

  “What happened?” Noah asked gently.

  “One day, she stopped by my house and said that she wasn’t feeling good. I laid her down in bed and went to make her some soup,” she mumbled, twisting her fingers around the tissue. “They came through the back door, ripped her open, and took back their drugs while holding me at gunpoint in the kitchen.” She pounded her tiny fist angrily in her lap and Noah covered her hands with one of his. She looked at him, lost, still grieving, not able to voice what they’d done to her granddaughter, but Noah knew. “I have two other grandchildren,” she sobbed.

  Noah would bet his life that both Manning and Stevenson had threatened Betty Mae and her family if she ever breathed a word. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him, holding her for a moment, and then eased her back to arm’s length. He wouldn’t put it past Manning to send someone to make sure Betty Mae never talked again.

  “Betty Mae, I’m going to give you a number to call. This is someone you can trust. Someone who can help you and your family.” He reached out and wrote the number on the pad resting on the desk.

  “Who’s this?” She lifted the paper and tightly curled her fingers around it.

  “It doesn’t matter, but when he answers, you tell him Noah said to call.”

  “Noah, huh?” She admonished him. “Thought you didn’t look like a Ned.”

  He chuckled, then sobered. “Call. The sooner the better,” he added, then slipped from the room and out of the building.

  By now, Manning had to have known that the list was compromised.

  Staking out Betty Mae’s house seemed the right thing to do. Noah had hoped the woman would call the marshals, but it appeared she was too scared.

  The two men approaching Betty’s house were dressed the part, all in black. More than likely, they figured it would keep them from being seen. One problem, though, they didn’t bother to be quiet.

  Noah waited until they split, one turning toward the back and the other toward the front. The man at the front door went down easy. Noah had approached the man from behind, jammed a needle in the guy’s neck, and let the man slump to the porch. He zip-tied hands and ankles and duct-taped the perp’s mouth before darting toward the open back door.

  “Get out of my house!”

  Noah heard Betty Mae yelling. Pulling a syringe, Noah entered the room fast. Finding a man in the sitting room looming over Betty, Noah came in low and quick. The man, having seen Betty Mae’s surprised look, turned and struck out.

  The strike was lucky. The needle went flying, and Noah’s hand turned numb. The man advanced quickly, more quickly than a normal thug. The first few exchanges of blows told Noah the guy was trained. In a blur of movement, they traded jabs and sweeps, each trying for the upper hand.

  One minute into the lethal altercation, the thug abruptly stopped. The man’s eyes went wide, and his arms dropped limply before he fell face forward to the carpet. Behind the thug stood Betty Mae, and when Noah glanced down, the syringe was stuck in the man’s ass. Betty clutched at her chest in fright, so Noah quickly yanked off his mask so she could see his face.

  “Nice shot.” He smiled at her.

  Relieved, the woman smiled back and brushed her hands together. “Always wanted to take one of those suckers down!”

  Noah chuckled at the older woman. “Hurry, pack a light bag.” He zip-tied and taped the guy, and then pulled his cell phone out to make a call.

  Before leaving Betty’s house, Noah pinned a handwritten note to the thug’s chest.

  Driving down the 101 freeway, Noah weaved his rental car through traffic. Thankfully, Allison had reached the apartment in Santa Barbara before Noah arrived. Allison had brought groceries and was making scones when they stepped inside. The women hit it off immediately and wandered arm in arm back to the kitchen, leaving Noah staring after them.

  “I’m going to head out,” Noah called out, and only received an absent wave from Allison as she urged Betty Mae into a chair and served tea. Their instant friendship had been a good thing as far as Noah was concerned because he definitely had someplace he needed to be.

  Mac

  Mac couldn’t bring himself to ease Jake’s worried look. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off a threatening headache.

  They had gone over mug shots of every person in Manning and even Stevenson’s employment that they knew of, but the man Mac had fought with last night was not among them. He thought he could tell by the man’s build alone, but without getting a look at the guy’s face, Mac was running blind. When he opened his eyes, Jake was watching him.

  “Okay.” Mac finally admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to find the guy this way. And things weren’t as clear-cut as Mac would have liked with regards to Noah missing.

  “What do we know?” he asked his partner.

  “Well, Ricky Stevenson is dead,” Jake said, jotting on a fresh paper pad that lay on the desk.

  Mac nodded and added, “We know that whoever hit that safe house is a professional. And that professional might have come back last night.”

  Jake wrote that on the list. “We know that Noah is missing.” The man added that to the list, then looked up when Mac didn’t answer.

  “Is he?” Mac met Jake’s startled gaze head on.

  Jake drew in a breath. “What are you thinking?”

  Mac shrugged and turned to his computer on his own desk. “Time to open Clair’s logs.” He felt rather than saw Jake roll his chair closer to view the computer screen.

  Pulling up the encrypted list, Mac entered the necessary codes and started on the date he and Noah first lost contact, or rather, when Mac had cut all ties.

  Clair was wordy with her reports. The woman went into great detail about Noah as if she thought that Mac might be looking. Of course, he never had.

  Mac slowly worked his way through the next four months while Jake took notes. He felt relieved that Noah had been doing so well. Clair wrote about Noah’s ability with languages, but Mac already knew Noah was gifted. She even made note that he was continuing self-defense classes and had won an award from an academy that trained in martial arts.

  “Write the name of the place down. Star Academy, BJJ. I want to talk to the man who runs the place,” Mac told Jake, and then pulled up another month.

  “This is going to take forever,” Jake said, sprawling back in his chair. Jake was right. Mac made an executive decision.

  “Let’s put admin on looking through these, and you and I will head over to Star Academy,” Mac said.

  “Road trip, yay.” Jake jumped up.

  Mac smirked. “It’s a four-hour drive, give or take. Come on, I’ll spring for lunch.”

  Star Academy was tucked away off one of the main streets in Ventura. The building looked clean, and the parking lot newly paved. The place seemed to be popular if the number of cars in the parking lot and people inside were any indication. Small letters beneath the academy’s name identified that BJJ stood for Brazilian Ju-jitsu.

  Opening the door, Mac did a quick step backwards to avoid a group of young kids in white uniforms exiting the building. The children giggled, but a quiet word from one of the instructors had them quieting immediately. The instructor nodded at them as the group passed.

  Mac and Jake entered the building and stepped up to the professional-looking front desk area. A young male receptionist sat behind the desk and smiled when they approached.

  “We need to see the person in charge,” Mac said.

  “Master Mumbai is not available,” the male receptionist said with a polite smile. The place was noisy with grunts and shouted commands.

  Mac smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He noted with some satisfaction that the young brunet swallowed hard before his cheeks slowly, almost adorably, flushed pink.

  “I understand, but we really need to talk to him,” Mac said and casually pulled back his suit jacket, exposing his US Marshals badge.

  “It’s
important,” Jake added, flashing his own badge.

  The receptionist’s eyes widened, and he stood so hastily, his chair rolled out from behind him and smacked the wall. “I’ll be right back!” the young man said and hurried away.

  “I think you made a friend,” Jake teased, shaking his head with a half laugh. “You should get his number.”

  Mac snorted. So Jake had also noticed the receptionist’s eyes running up and down his body. It didn’t matter. Mac wasn’t interested. He stayed single for a reason. It felt safer that way. No more dramatics from men like Ben. No more risking his heart only to have it stomped on. That also included no more wishing for someone he couldn’t have…Which didn’t stop him from constantly thinking about a certain someone. Shaking off his train of thought, Mac turned to look out over the room.

  Numerous people were broken into several groups. The groups stood in circles, and inside of each circle stood two men, one presumably an instructor and the other a student. The young receptionist approached a man probably in his fifties with a lean build and salt-and-pepper hair. The man glanced their way and then spoke to another man standing nearby. The instructor then followed the receptionist over.

  “Hello, I’m Master Mumbai, how can I help you?”

  “Sir,” Mac said with a nod. “Do you have some place we can talk privately?”

  “Of course, right this way, gentlemen.” Master Mumbai turned and led them down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into a large office that took up half of the upper side of the building. One side of the office faced the Ventura skyline, and on the other side stood a wall of glass that overlooked the matted area and classes below. The office was soundproof; nothing from below filtered through.

  Instead of leading them to the desk at the far end, Master Mumbai moved to an area that held three comfortable chairs and a soft, cream-colored sofa. A low table sat center mass, the surface littered with martial art magazines. The incense burner the man lit sent a pleasant aroma of cloves into the air.

  Mac took a chair and Jake sat on the sofa. Mumbai sat in a chair across from them.

  “I’m US Marshal McKenzie, and this is US Marshal Coleman.”

  The man folded his hands in his lap and nodded, smiling pleasantly at them. “How can I help you, Marshals?” Master Mumbai asked.

  “We’re here about a student of yours, a Noah Bradford. He would have been here around five years ago,” Mac said.

  The man’s smile broadened. “Of course, I remember Noah. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not that we know of.” Mac narrowed his eyes. “What can you tell me about him?”

  Master Mumbai smiled, and this time, it wasn’t the polite smile the man probably reserved for his clients. This time, it was a genuine smile that Mac thought the man didn’t give too often.

  “Noah was one of my best,” the instructor said.

  Mac watched Master Mumbai, curious about the man’s reaction, and Jake scooted to the edge of the sofa.

  “What do you mean by ‘one of your best’?” Jake prodded.

  The instructor’s head bobbed in a continuous nod. “Noah was smart. And I don’t mean above average smart. He had an intelligence I rarely see. His attention to detail was impeccable. It was important for him to be perfect at the art.”

  It sounded like Noah’s obsession with perfectionism had served him well in martial arts.

  “And was he perfect?” Mac asked.

  “Very much so, Marshal.” Mumbai nodded rapidly.

  “How skilled would you say Noah is?” Jake asked, taking notes on his pad.

  “He learned in eight months what some men take a lifetime to learn,” Master Mumbai said decisively.

  Mac wasn’t surprised, not really. He’d known Noah had the competence and aptitude to excel at anything he took on. Mac stood, and Jake joined him. Master Mumbai stood as well.

  “One last question, sir,” Mac said. “Have you had any contact with Noah since?”

  Master Mumbai’s clasped hands disappeared into the sleeves of his uniform. The gi hid the man’s hands, and Mac wondered why Master Mumbai was suddenly nervous.

  “Sir?” Jake prodded, apparently noticing the same thing.

  Master Mumbai swallowed and stepped past them. The man walked slowly to the window that overlooked the city of Ventura. Mac and Jake exchanged looks and followed Master Mumbai.

  “If you know something, please tell us,” Mac said softly, holding his breath. Any information on Noah, good or bad, would be welcomed.

  Master Mumbai turned from the window and looked at them. “My business was in some trouble about two years ago. My son racked up a drug-related debt that he couldn’t repay.” The man grimaced, removed his hands from the inside of the gi’s sleeves, and rubbed them together. “They came after my business. Started threatening clients and demanded that I pay them back.”

  “Did you pay them back?” Mac asked. Master Mumbai looked tormented as he relived whatever hell he’d gone through.

  “I did, but it didn’t stop there.”

  “What happened?” Jake asked.

  “They came back, wanting a cut, a tax to run my own damned business. When I refused…” Master Mumbai pulled open one side of his uniform, showing a long, jagged scar that ran up the right side of his chest. “They put me in the hospital.” The man retied his uniform. “When I got out ten weeks later, I came back here and…” Master Mumbai waived his hand at the groups down below.

  “And?” Mac asked gently.

  “Ghost happened,” Mumbai whispered. “When I came back from the hospital, my business was thriving. I had more customers than I could handle. My assistant told me that Ghost had come and we were saved.”

  “What did this Ghost guy do to them?” Mac asked.

  Master Mumbai leveled a look at Mac. “Honestly, Marshal, I don’t care. All I know is that I have never heard from those men again.”

  “Wait, I’m confused. Ghost?” Jake frowned.

  Mac waited quietly, trying to wrap his head around the picture the man had painted.

  “It is his name,” Master Mumbai calmly said.

  “Who?” Jake asked, and Mac heard the exasperation in his partner’s voice.

  The Master smiled. “Noah.”

  The drive back to their San Diego office was relatively quiet. Master Mumbai had explained that he’d pulled up the studio’s surveillance videos to put a face to the man his staff was calling Ghost when he’d discovered that man was Noah. The man had since destroyed the video and all traces of what Noah had done.

  Mac tried to wrap his head around this new Noah. He couldn’t picture the young man with the quick, endearing smile and laughing golden eyes being the same man Master Mumbai had described.

  “We need to find out everything we can about Ghost,” Mac murmured.

  “Agreed, but how are we going to do that?” Jake asked.

  “Call Kane. See if he has any contacts.”

  Noah was also known as Ghost, a man who went around helping people. According to Master Mumbai, Noah was a very good man. Mac hoped to hell the man was correct, but the Noah they were searching for might also be a killer. This man sounded very different from the young man Mac had known all those years ago.

  Jake got on the phone with Kane and filled the FBI agent in on their findings. Kane told Jake he’d call them back as soon as he found anything. Now it was a waiting game.

  “Mac?” Ahead of them, Renee, the office receptionist, called his name. “You have a message.”

  Mac went to answer her, but Leroy Conrad stormed over to the woman.

  “Did you make that call I asked you to do ten minutes ago?” Conrad demanded of Renee.

  She blanched. “Um no, Mr. Conrad, I -”

  “Don’t give me your excuses. I swear to God, you’re worthless,” Conrad snapped. The bulky marshal was in bully mode leaning into the woman’s face. “And you’re fired.”

  Renee looked stunned, lips parted, and tears were welling in her eyes.


  Having seen enough, Mac strode over and stepped between them. If the guy wanted to intimidate someone, he could try his shit on Mac. Faced with Mac’s much bigger size, Conrad hurriedly stepped back.

  “What? I don’t have a problem with you, Mackenzie.” Conrad swallowed, glaring at him.

  “You don’t have the authority to fire her,” Mac growled.

  “She needs to do her damn job,” Conrad responded loudly.

  “Then leave her alone and let her do it,” Mac insisted. Christ, he couldn’t stand the fucker. The office staff normally avoided the man, but lately, Conrad had started seeking them out and making them miserable. It was all Mac could do to hold onto his patience. Today was not the day he would tolerate any of Conrad’s bullshit.

  The man’s nostrils flared and fists clenched like the guy wanted to take a punch at him.

  Mac quirked an eyebrow, daring the guy. “Aren’t you needed back in tech support?” he goaded.

  “Whatever.” Conrad jeered. “Come on, Camren,” the man said to his partner, and then stomped away.

  Camren Anderson, the poor guy, gave Mac an apologetic smile and followed after Conrad.

  Mac shook his head and turned to Renee. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and sniffed. “Yes, thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Oh, here’s your message.” She handed him a note.

  “Thanks.” Mac took the paper.

  “What is it?” Jake asked. His partner had stood back from the altercation, but now stood on his toes to read over Mac’s shoulder.

  “Someone named Betty Mae Lincoln wants to talk to me,” Mac muttered.

  Jake laughed. “You’re on your own, man. I’m starving,” his partner said, and then headed out of the office.