The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  His legs had given up trying to hold him. He was going to fall. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement—Stone, headed for him fast. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair with the phone still pressed to his ear.

  “Mr. Blade?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s my address.”

  “All right.” The officer’s professional demeanor slipped for an instant. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he said. “A fire. Emergency response is on the scene, but…Mr. Blade, is there anyone else in the house that you know of?”

  “No…” A gray haze shimmered along the edges of his vision. Damn it, he had to get a hold of himself. He leaned forward and pounded a hand on the edge of Kat’s desk, startling himself into breathing again. “No. It’s just me,” he said.

  “Thank God.”

  The soft words sounded like the officer hadn’t meant to say them aloud—and told him more than he wanted to know. His stomach churned. “What happened?” he said. “How bad is it?”

  There was a long pause. “Look, we need you to come down—”

  “Tell me.”

  The officer drew a clicking breath. “The structure is fully engaged,” he said. “It’s…Mr. Blade, it’s an inferno. I’m sorry. There’s nothing left.”

  He closed his eyes and pressed a fist to his mouth, willing the horrified nausea away. Devastation would have to come later. Right now he needed to focus, because a fire that bad couldn’t have been natural or accidental. “How did it happen?”

  “Our investigators are still—”

  “You already know. How?”

  “There was an explosion,” the officer said reluctantly. “We won’t know exactly what caused it until we get the fire out. But…we believe it was a bomb.”

  Roman looked to Kat and Stone, who were watching him with tense expressions. “All right,” he said. “I’m coming there.”

  “Mr. Blade, we need you to go to the station. We have to ask a few questions.”

  “I’m not going to the station,” he said. “I’m going to my house. You can ask your questions there.” Without waiting for a response, he reached over and hung up the phone.

  Silence filled the room, and it was a few minutes before Roman trusted himself to speak. “There was a bomb,” he said to no one in particular. “Someone blew up my house. With a bomb. The officer said there’s nothing left.”

  Kat knelt in front of him and held his hands. He let her. “I’m going to close the club for the night,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” He wanted to smile, to reassure her, but he didn’t have any smiles in him. “It’s not safe. Whoever did this…it has to be the same one that set me up,” he said. “And I have a feeling there’s going to be a couple of detectives around who won’t be happy to see me.”

  “I’ll take you,” Stone said. The big man seemed eerily calm—a state more dangerous than fury. “They’ll try to bring you down to the station anyway. I’ll make sure they don’t.”

  Roman gave him a grateful nod. “All right, Kat?”

  “Not really.” She hitched a faint smile and stood, giving him a final pat. “But you’re right. There isn’t much I’d be able to do, and I trust Ozzy to run interference. Just promise me if you need anything, you’ll call me right away.”

  “I will.”

  “All right, then. Go.”

  He let Stone lead the way to the car, which was still behind the club with the passenger seat all the way back. He spent most of the ride in a daze, not thinking about much—except how none of this felt real. Shep’s murder, the cops picking him up, his house exploding. It was the kind of high-level paranoid fantasy that only happened in movies. All he needed now was a shady guy who claimed to work for the government, trying to give him a bunch of confidential files.

  But when they reached his street, the heavy stench of smoke punched him back to reality.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. “It really happened.”

  Ozzy glanced at him. “Want me to pull over?”

  “No. I…have to see it.”

  The car slowed, and Roman adjusted the seat to the upright position. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Stone stopped at the edge of a tangled barricade of fire trucks, police cruisers, and ambulances, all of them pulsing sharp, silent flashes of light. But those beacons paled against the false dawn created by the flames beyond them.

  It was the brightest thing Roman had ever seen—like the sun crashed into the ground. It burned white-hot, reaching higher than his house had stood. The two enormous streams of water pouring directly into the flames didn’t even seem to slow things down. He could hear the fire even with the windows closed, a constant whooshing roar, like a hurricane whipping up a tidal wave.

  Stone made a toneless, drawn-out sound that faded away to nothing.

  “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking.” Roman bared his teeth in a grim parody of a smile. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’m not sure I can stand to be here long.”

  No sooner did they get out of the car than two figures emerged from the barricade and approached them casually, almost carelessly. Roman didn’t need to see the detectives’ faces to know what was written on them—the smug anticipation of revenge.

  Chapter 27

  Ozzy strode to the front of the car, making sure he would be the first one Frank engaged. He wasn’t sure what the two of them would try now, but he knew there’d be no sympathy behind it. Blade had been through enough tonight. More than enough.

  “Why am I not surprised you’re here?” Frank said when he and Vern stopped. “What’s wrong, your little friend can’t take care of himself?”

  “Oh, he can handle you,” Ozzy said, hoping Blade would refuse the bait. The man came up next to him, but didn’t say anything. “He’s still on his feet. You wouldn’t be.”

  Frank sneered. “I’ll be glad to put him back down.”

  “Frank.” Vern’s usual cheap smile was absent tonight. “By the book.”

  “Yeah. The book.” Frank sidestepped—out of combat range, Ozzy couldn’t help noticing—and eyed Blade flatly. “Too bad about your house,” he said. “All that expensive equipment. Hope you had insurance.”

  Blade’s jaw clenched. “If you have questions, you’d better ask them now.”

  “Are you threatening me, scumbag?”

  “I am,” Ozzy said.

  Something in his tone must’ve convinced Frank he meant it. His brother took a few seconds to glare at him, and then fished a grubby mini-recorder out of a pocket. “Do you mind?” he said to Blade. “I’ve got a report to file here. You know…police work.”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Right.” Frank punched a button. “Interview with Roman Blade, resident of five-seven-eight-zero Black Branch Road, incident site. State your name for the record.” He paused, and growled, “Please.”

  “Roman Blade.”

  “And is this your place of residence?”

  “It was.”

  Frank grinned sickly. “Investigating detectives have determined the fire to be arson, caused by an explosive, type unknown at this time,” he said. “Do you have any enemies, Blade? Anyone who has a grudge against you?”

  “Lots,” Blade said. “But none who’d do this.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because the only one who might is dead.”

  “Are you referring to Shep Miller?”

  Blade didn’t reply.

  “Do you have any personal knowledge of explosive devices?”

  “Don’t answer that.” Ozzy snatched the recorder from Frank’s hand and jabbed the stop button. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Frank gave him a cool stare. “Are you his lawyer now?”

  “He doesn’t need a lawyer. You know damned well where he’s been tonight.”

  “I’m not ruling anything out.”

  “Hold on,” Blade said in a tight voice. “Ar
e you trying to say I did this?”

  “Well, let’s review what we have here.” Frank held up a finger and started ticking things off. “You were brought in for questioning related to a murder. About a violent disturbance at your home, where you have extensive video surveillance. You escaped custody. And then, all the potential evidence…goes up in flames.” He curled his hand into a fist around the words. “What would you think?”

  “You son of a bitch.” Blade stepped forward so fast, Ozzy almost couldn’t grab him in time. The man’s arm was rock-solid with tension. “You think I blew up my own goddamned house, just to keep you from looking at my security feeds?”

  “We’re considering all options.”

  “Consider this, asshole,” Blade said with a snarl. “Your little anonymous tip? That’s who you’re looking for. Why don’t you check your phone records—or is that too much ‘police work’ for you?” He wrenched his arm from Ozzy’s grip. “Sorry, man,” he muttered. “I’m done…but let’s get out of here.”

  “Right behind you.”

  Ozzy waited until Blade climbed into the car and shut the door. “You’re going to drop this, Frank,” he said. “If you come after him again, I’ll make sure you’re shut down permanently. You’ve burned any shred of respect I might’ve had for you as family.”

  “Oh, you’ll shut me down.” Frank glanced at Vern, who shook his head. But he went on anyway. “I did some homework on you, little brother,” he said. “I know where you’ve been for the past four years—and who was with you for two of them. Did he turn you in there?” Frank leered through the windshield. “He is kinda pretty, for a scumbag.”

  Before he could stop himself, he had Frank by the collar. “This is your only warning,” he said. “Drop it.”

  “You can’t do shit, Oswald. You’re an ex-con.”

  “And ex-Army,” he said in low tones. “Don’t forget that, brother. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” He tightened his grip slightly, leaned in, and whispered, “I won’t just kill you. I will erase you. And no one will ever connect the dots — because there will be no dots. Do you understand me?”

  Frank gave a bare nod.

  “Good.” He let go and stepped back. “Here,” he said, handing the recorder over. “Why don’t you go file your report.”

  Red-faced and tight-lipped, Frank turned away and headed toward the barricade. Vern stared a minute, and then followed his partner without a word.

  Ozzy made himself count to ten before he got in the car. He sat motionless behind the wheel, until Blade said, “Damn. What’d you say to him?”

  “That if he bothers you again, I’ll kill him. Basically.”

  “Looks like he believes you.”

  “He should. I mean it.”

  Blade flinched. “I’m glad we’re on the same side,” he said.

  “So am I.” Ozzy closed his eyes and willed himself out of lethal fury mode. It wasn’t easy without a drink. “All right,” he finally said. “Let’s move out.”

  “Yeah…about that,” Blade rasped. “I don’t exactly have anywhere to go.”

  The desolation in the man’s voice gutted him. “Yes, you do,” he said. “My place.”

  “Come on. I can’t do that. You’ve done enough for me already.”

  “You can—and it’s not about guilt,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of room. You already have security set up there. It’s the best place, until we figure out what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. But all of my monitoring equipment is…” Blade suddenly jackknifed upright with a shocked expression. “Holy fuck,” he blurted. “RainyDay.”

  “What?”

  “You’re right. Let’s get to your place. Fast.” Blade was so animated, he looked almost feverish. “But we have to make a quick stop on the way.”

  Ozzy frowned. “For what?”

  “My backups.” Blade faced him with darkly glittering eyes. “I think I’ve got whoever blew up my house on tape.”

  Chapter 28

  Roman tried not to hover as Stone carried the last piece of equipment into the living room. He would’ve handled it himself, but Stone was probably right that he’d rupture something if he tried lifting heavy objects tonight. The shock of seeing his place burning into oblivion had dampened the pain, but it was nowhere near gone.

  He’d initially planned to do all this at the storage unit. Being targeted this way was disconcerting, and not knowing who or why made it a hell of a lot worse. He didn’t want to wait another minute. But if he was going to stay at Stone’s place, he needed a way to monitor the cameras.

  Whoever was behind this knew far more than they should. He suspected they wouldn’t be pleased when they found out he wasn’t behind bars right now.

  “That’s the last of it.” Stone set the server gently on the floor, next to the worktable he’d brought in from the garage to hold the desktop. The unpainted, scratch-and-dent table holding a jumble of components looked out of place in this room, with its expensive furniture and pristine, plush carpet.

  Roman had resented the high-end feel of the place when he’d broken in to install the cameras. Somehow it seemed different now that he was invited.

  Stone looked slowly around the room and released a brief sigh. “I’ll grab you a chair from the dining room,” he said. “And I need a…snack. Maybe some coffee. You?”

  “Coffee sounds great.” He understood what the hesitation meant—the man was going to say drink. “You haven’t even touched your flask today, have you?”

  “Filled it. Didn’t drink it.” Stone sounded less than thrilled.

  “I know that can’t be easy,” he said. “But thanks for doing it.”

  Stone stared at him a minute, and finally said, “Thanks for caring about it.”

  He left the room, and Roman turned his attention to the gear. He was a lot better at dealing with hardware than people. Especially people he’d spent two years preparing to destroy, only to have them show up and save his life. Keeping Stone from drinking himself into the grave was the least he could do.

  It didn’t take long to connect everything, and the system powered up with no trouble. He’d just removed the encryption and gotten into the server when Stone came back in, a wooden chair in one hand and two white mugs in the other.

  Stone set the chair behind him and waited until he eased into the seat to hand him the coffee. “In a cup, right?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” He took a quick sip and set it aside. It was good coffee, but blazing hot. “Okay,” he said, opening a media window. “I’m just going to run the motion script on the living room feed, for now. Shouldn’t take long. If I don’t get anything, I’ll try the exterior and the kitchen.”

  Stone watched him. “Any idea who might’ve done this?”

  “No. I would’ve said maybe Shep, but…well, it wasn’t him.”

  “What if you don’t recognize them?”

  Roman hadn’t thought of that. The idea that some faceless stranger might be systematically destroying his life chilled him. If that was the case, he was in serious trouble—because it would mean there really was some conspiracy behind this. And he had no clue what it could be about. “Let’s hope I do,” he finally said.

  He’d applied the script starting at 6:28 p.m., the time the system logged when he launched RainyDay. Apparently there wasn’t much footage to go through. It took five minutes for the script to chew through the feed, then it beeped twice and re-loaded the marked footage. One red triangle near the beginning, which was him and Detective Frank headed for their little date.

  And a dense cluster of them toward the end. He’d definitely gotten something.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, clicking the first triangle in the cluster.

  The camera angle showed most of his living room, with a broad side view of his workstation. When the footage played, it showed a figure walking rapidly past the couch, straight for the computers. The idea unsettled him. He didn’t know anyone who’d b
reak into his place and mess with his equipment. Most of his acquaintances could barely use the Internet.

  He couldn’t see the face until the figure sat down at the workstation and tapped the keyboard, bringing the monitors out of sleep mode. It was a younger man, familiar but not instantly recognizable. Where the hell had he seen him?

  “That’s…Johnny,” Stone said in a stunned tone.

  Roman paused the feed and stared at him. “You know this guy?”

  “Not really. I ran into them earlier,” he said. “Tim and Johnny. I threw them out of the club, because—”

  “Teryn. The frat boy douchebags.” Roman turned back to the screen slowly. “But if you tossed them out, why go after me?” he said. “That makes even less sense than a complete stranger. And where’s his buddy?”

  He ran the video. Johnny stared at the lit but empty screens for a few seconds, flexed his hands, and started typing rapidly. Windows popped up on the center monitor. Login box. C-prompt. Run dialog box.

  “Motherfucker. He’s trying to break in. Was.”

  “Is he any good at it?” Stone said.

  “Well, he obviously didn’t get through, or we wouldn’t be seeing this right now.” Roman watched Johnny’s fingers fly, his features grow more frustrated. “But I think the son of a bitch could have. Eventually.”

  Stone grunted. “Guess that’s pretty good for a paramedic.”

  “What?” He paused the feed again. “You said you didn’t know this guy. So why do you know he’s a paramedic?”

  “I assumed it. They left the club in an ambulance van.”

  Roman immediately flashed back to the showdown with Shep, and a couple of dots connected in his head with hurricane force. “Jesus Christ.”

  “What is it?”

  “An ambulance van followed Shep away from my place after the argument. It wasn’t running lights or sirens,” he said. “So why the hell would it be in my neighborhood? And that same night, there were skips in my home feed. Just like at the club.”