The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  Not exactly a rational reaction. But nothing about this was rational—especially his newfound and unwanted urge to steer Stone away from the path of self-destruction the man seemed set on walking. This wasn’t the enemy he’d waited two years to face. He couldn’t even tell himself he wanted to restore Stone so he could take proper revenge.

  The bastard had stood up for him. No one had ever done that before. So now, like it or not, he had to return the favor.

  He walked over and stood across the truck bed from Stone. “This beast costs a hell of a lot more to fill than your bike,” he said.

  Stone shrugged. “Least I could do.”

  “Yeah, well, all you’re getting back is a cup of coffee.” He smiled. “Thanks. You ready?”

  “About.” Stone released the handle, pumped it a few times, and replaced the nozzle on the pump. “All right,” he said. “Ready.”

  Roman handed a cup across to him, and they headed out toward Stone’s place. He’d take the back way in case Shep had camped out at the storage place again. It would be stupid to try hiding with a red Jaguar in broad daylight, but no one could accuse Shep of having tactical intelligence. “So,” he said when the truck got going. “Feeling better?”

  Stone nodded. “A lot, actually.”

  “Good. You should take a fresh dose of Motrin every four hours for the rest of the day, even if it doesn’t hurt yet. It’ll keep things under control. You have some at home?”

  “It’s generic.”

  “That’ll work, as long as it’s ibuprofen. Tylenol—acetaminophen-based stuff—doesn’t work as good for sore muscles.”

  “Huh,” Stone said. “You know a lot about drugs.”

  “Not really. I’m just pretty good at managing pain.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Roman decided to change the subject. “I need to tell you about Shep,” he said. “First of all, he found out we were cellmates. That’s why he went ahead without me.”

  “How did he know that?”

  “Thanks for not assuming I told him,” he said with a smirk. “Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is he couldn’t have found out by himself.”

  “True.”

  “So, he fired me,” Roman said. “Which is fine, except now I can’t find out what he’s going to do ahead of time, or when. Oh—and if he takes you out, apparently I’m next.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that. Shep isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s well connected around here in certain circles. And he really wants you dead.”

  “I know,” Stone said. “It’s not going to happen.”

  The cold edge in Stone’s voice was almost enough to convince him things would work out, but he knew Shep. The man wouldn’t quit. “Look, I’ve got plenty of proof that Shep is a threat to you,” he said. “Maybe you should go to the cops.”

  “No.”

  The single word was beyond chilling—enough to make Roman extremely grateful he wasn’t a cop. “You’re more than cop-shy,” he said. “I know seething hatred when I hear it. Is it because of the frame job?”

  “Generally, yes,” Stone said through clenched teeth. “But around here…it’s personal.”

  “All right. No cops.” Roman slowed and stopped for a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “But Shep is still dangerous,” he said. “So what should we do? I’m open to suggestions here.”

  Stone turned slowly to face him. “I have a car,” he said. “I’ll drive that for a while. And…I’ll hire you, for the same thing Shep did.”

  “Huh?”

  “To watch my house,” Stone said. “Do you have more cameras? We should have one out front, and one in the garage too.”

  Roman grinned. “You don’t have to hire me,” he said. “I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, remember?”

  “Right. So…deal?”

  “Deal.”

  The light turned green, and Roman headed through with a cautious sense of relief. Right now, being on Stone’s side was the safest option—and he had the feeling it always would be, regardless of the situation.

  Nothing was more dangerous than a trained killer who’d been wronged.

  Chapter 18

  Ozzy headed to work that night in the car he’d sworn he would never drive. The little blue sedan had been his mother’s—they’d always taken his father’s wagon when they went somewhere together. Like to look for a son who was three hours late coming home and hadn’t called to check in.

  He’d meant to trade it in for something that didn’t break his heart every time he caught a glimpse of it. But now he had to use it, or risk suffering his parents’ fate.

  Maybe that was what he deserved. For now, though, at least one person’s life depended on him avoiding an ironic death. Blade had said he owed him, but it was the other way around.

  His parents had died, and their pain had ended in an instant. But Blade had to carry his around with him every day.

  There hadn’t been a sign of Shep all day. Ozzy had spent most of it in his garage, fixing minor damage to his bike—which Blade’s friend with the tow rig had delivered promptly, as promised. Once it was restored and covered, he’d moved on to the painful task of fixing his mother’s car. At least he’d kept the registration current through the mail. It had sat for years unused, but a few small repairs and a jump started it right up. He’d changed the battery after limping it along to the auto parts store with a jump pack.

  When he walked into the club just before eight, the place was already crowded. He was glad for it. Tonight he was determined to do better. He couldn’t help refilling his flask in case of an emergency, but he’d left it in the car. No drinking tonight—at least until he got home.

  He fixed his earpiece in place and wondered if he should look for the boss, or just start patrolling. Kat hadn’t said anything about checking in, one way or another. Before he could decide what to do, a familiar voice said, “Hey, hon. I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

  Ozzy looked over and smiled at Kat. She had her hair down tonight, and wore a red leather bodysuit that showed off every perfect curve. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look away from her. “Of course I’m back,” he said. “I promised I’d be here.”

  “Oh, no. What happened?” She reached up and brushed his cheek. “Don’t tell me you had a run-in with Shep.”

  Damn. He’d forgotten about his souvenirs from the accident. “No, ma’am,” he said. “Big curve came out of nowhere and attacked my bike.”

  “I knew I should’ve given you a lift last night.” She smiled and shook her head. “Well, you sure look the big bruiser part now. You okay to be here? If you need the night off…”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Course you are.” She patted his arm. “I’ll let you get to it, then. Oh—have you seen Roman yet?”

  He frowned. “Not here,” he said slowly. “Saw him this morning. He said he’d be in around nine. Is he all right?”

  Kat gave him a strange, speculative look. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I wanted to check in with him, make sure he didn’t have more trouble with the system last night. Been trying him for a few hours, but he hasn’t replied to texts or answered his phone.”

  That worried him. “Should someone go check on him?”

  “My word. Have you boys gone and bonded while I wasn’t looking?” She let out a laugh. “Well, I’m glad for that,” she said. “But I wouldn’t worry just yet. Roman’s an independent soul, bless him, and he gets distracted. If he told you he’d be here at nine, let’s give him until at least then before we send the cavalry.”

  “All right.” Ozzy was less than convinced. Kat probably knew Blade better than he did, but she didn’t know about the situation with Shep. He’d wait until nine—but then he’d be really worried if the man didn’t show.

  At least they knew Shep planned to kill him first, so Blade should be safe. He hoped.

  “You just give me a shout
if you need anything, or if you see Roman,” Kat said. “I’ll do the same.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She shivered playfully. “I do love a man with good manners. See you soon.”

  Ozzy watched her walk away. Once she vanished into the crowd, he had to drag his attention back to the job—or he’d spend all night trying to catch a glimpse of her. He took a minute to mentally review his new routine, without the bourbon part, and then started on the first round.

  Around twenty minutes in, something along his peripherals caught his attention. Someone familiar. The shifting crowd obscured the face before he could focus on it, so he headed toward the back of the room where he’d seen it. Hopefully he’d picked up on Blade, but instinct told him there was no relief in this one. Just trouble.

  Soon enough, he caught sight of his target and confirmed his instincts. He’d recognized one of the guests from the printout Blade had brought in the first night. The other was with him—and so was Teryn. They stood by the back door. The girl looked uncomfortable and vaguely alarmed as the men crowded her. One of them handed her a small object in a plastic package, which she reluctantly accepted and slipped in a pocket.

  By the time Ozzy reached them, one of the men was trying to grab Teryn’s arm.

  He snagged the offender by the collar and hauled him back, drawing a surprised squawk from the man. “Is there a problem here?” he rumbled.

  “Ozzy! Don’t do that…let him go.” Teryn flushed deeply and looked at the floor. “There’s no problem.”

  “Well, there is now.” Ozzy released the first man roughly and glared at both of them. They were younger than him, mid-twenties or so, and looked exactly like the frat boy douchebags Blade said they were. The pair wore high-end casual clothes and identical sneers of superiority. “Whatever business you two had here, I think you’re done,” he said. “Step outside with me, please.”

  “Ozzy, wait,” Teryn said breathlessly. “It’s not—”

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” the man he’d grabbed said. “We were headed out anyway. Lots to do.”

  “Please. I didn’t ask him to do this,” Teryn whispered.

  “It’s all right. Really.” The second man was more self-possessed than his friend—which made him the one to watch. “Go on. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Like hell it hasn’t.”

  Teryn glanced at Ozzy with that wide-eyed panic she’d shown last night, and then scurried into the crowds.

  “Okay, we’re out of here,” the first guy said. “Thanks for the entertainment, Brutus.” He grabbed for the back door and started pulling it open.

  Ozzy slammed it shut.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “We’re going out the front,” Ozzy said. “Move it.”

  “Jesus Christ.” The loudmouth glanced at his buddy, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Fine,” he muttered. “Won’t this be fun.”

  Ozzy waited for them to start moving and followed close behind the second one. He seemed smart enough to know he was being targeted, and to understand why. “I apologize for my friend,” he said as they walked. “He’s a little…enthusiastic. But we really were planning on leaving. There won’t be a problem.”

  “You’re right about that last part.”

  The second man’s jaw tensed. He said nothing further.

  Their little parade finally reached the front door. Ozzy opened it, and the pair stepped into the vestibule. “All the way out,” he said when they hesitated there.

  “You’re really pissing me off here, Brutus.” The first man yanked the outer door open and strode out.

  His friend was slow to follow his lead.

  Ozzy headed out after them and closed the door, tugging it to make sure it was locked. “All right,” he said. “What were you doing? This is the second time you’ve been here bothering Teryn.”

  The men glanced at each other. Ozzy tensed for one of them to make a move.

  But the second one stepped forward with a calm expression. “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I’m Johnny, and he’s Tim. We haven’t seen you here before. Who are you…Ozzy?”

  “I’m the guy who’s asking what you’re doing here,” he said. “I saw you hand off something to her. What was it? Drugs?”

  “Oh, come on,” the one called Tim snarled. “Let me—”

  “No.” Johnny held an arm out in front of him. “Tell him what it was.”

  Tim sighed and looked at the ground. “It was a tampon. Okay? I have a…thing.”

  “A tampon.”

  “Yes! Jesus Christ. I thought this place was supposed to be discreet.” Tim spun on a heel and walked a few paces away. “Can we go, Johnny?” he said without turning around.

  “In a minute.”

  As Johnny stared at him, Ozzy’s certainty that these two were trouble started to waver. He knew next to nothing about what went on inside the club, except that they were supposed to keep the guests happy. Kat had told him to watch for these two, but only because of Blade’s report—and he didn’t have the whole story. What if they really weren’t causing problems?

  “Look,” Johnny said. “That girl, Terry?”

  “Teryn.”

  “Okay, fine. She was looking for extra money, and Tim said he’d pay her for…what he wanted. It’s a fetish. You do know what a fetish is, right?” He glanced back at his friend, who was still standing with his back turned. “She was a little nervous at first, because she’d never done it before. But I swear, we were just here to drop off the…tampon.”

  Ozzy frowned. “So you’re leaving now.”

  “Yes. Are we cool?” Johnny extended a hand.

  After a pause, he took it. “Sorry for embarrassing your friend.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Johnny smiled—but there was nothing friendly in it. “Well, goodnight. Ozzy.”

  Johnny headed for his friend, and Ozzy walked back toward the door. He didn’t go back in yet. He wanted to make sure they actually left. Maybe they were here to indulge some weird tampon kink, but something about them struck him as wrong. And he’d learned to trust his instincts.

  After a few minutes, an engine started somewhere in the parking lot. An ambulance van backed out of a slot far down in the first row and rolled toward the club. If they were paramedics, he supposed they probably did have a reason not to stay long.

  Still, he watched the van drive past and head down the dirt road, making sure both of them were in there. When the taillights were out of sight, he went back inside and paused in the vestibule to check his watch.

  Quarter to nine. Fifteen minutes until he stopped worrying about hot-headed guests, and started worrying about Blade.

  Chapter 19

  By six that night, Roman was ready to declare himself insane.

  He’d managed to get about an hour of sleep, but it hadn’t helped much. So he’d given up and gone back to his workstation to set up the new feeds from Stone’s place. He’d installed the two cameras when he dropped the man off—ignoring the questioning look when he pulled them out of the toolbox in the back of the truck. Of course he had spares of everything.

  With the setup finished, he’d tried to crack the lapse in camera four at Kat’s place. It showed up on his recorded feed, but he still couldn’t figure out how it happened. He went through the rest of the footage and found nothing to report. At least he’d done his job, but he couldn’t escape the feeling he was missing something.

  The real insanity came when he started reviewing his own security feeds from last night, and found mysterious lapses in the front porch and living room footage.

  His paranoia cranked into high gear. No way this was just a coincidence. The glitches at Kat’s place, he might’ve convinced himself had been harmless. But to have his own systems hiccup on the same night, before and after the issues at Kat’s? He wasn’t buying the glitch theory. There had to be something here.

  He’d just finished a deep diagnostic test that turned u
p nothing when the doorbell rang. Shep, he thought—until he looked at the security monitors and saw two guys in bad suits and long coats on his porch.

  Those were cops.

  His stomach clenched hard. He stared at the screen, as if he could will them to leave, and watched the one on the right press the doorbell again. The one on the left—the bigger one—knocked briskly. “Mr. Blade?” he heard through the door.

  “No,” he whispered. Someone must’ve called in a disturbance after all. Took the cops long enough to respond, though. He sat there another minute, trying to control the shakes, and his hand went under the desk for his gun. Damn it, he was not going back.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Just a minute,” he called, easing his hand away from death. A cranky neighbor didn’t have to mean the end of the world. He hadn’t technically done anything wrong except pistol-whip Shep, and that bastard would be the last one to press charges. Shep wouldn’t piss on a cop who was on fire.

  He finally forced himself to stand, walk to the door, open it. On the other side stood a lanky, smiling cop with salt-and-pepper hair and a groomed porn-stache—and a burly, frowning cop who looked a hell of a lot like Ozzy Stone. So much, in fact, that Roman couldn’t spit out a single word.

  “Roman Blade?” the smiling cop said.

  “Yes.” With effort, he tore his gaze from the Ozzy clone and looked at the crocodile grin. Cops never smiled unless they thought they had you. He was starting to regret not shooting himself when he had the chance. “Can I help you, officer?”

  “Actually, it’s detective. Vern Delman. And this is my partner, Detective Stone.”

  “Call me Frank,” the clone rumbled.

  Roman’s heart decided to start beating again. Maybe the man didn’t look exactly like Ozzy, but the resemblance was unmistakable. So Stone had a brother on the force—one he didn’t like much, apparently. “Okay, detectives,” he said. “Are you collecting for the police benevolent fund? Because I’m tapped. Gave all my money to widows and orphans.”