Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “You can deny it all you want, but—”

  “It wasn’t by choice, Reese. Lowell Sanderson’s involved.”

  Anger laced Aviere’s voice as she said her brother-in-law’s name and Maurice staggered back, eyes widening. “The same—”

  “Yes. Him.”

  Aviere swallowed, trying to time Maurice’s reaction. The lingering silence and chilly glare didn’t help the invisible barrier between them. She observed Maurice’s nervous tics, paying careful attention to how he licked his lips and twisted the ring on his middle finger. Then his eyebrows furrowed together.

  Maurice, say something. Please, don’t close up on me.

  “Aviere, I’m ain’t gettin’ involved. Gunther made his own choice and abandoned us.” The younger man slid the ring off and hurled it across the room, grunting from the effort. “I don’t understand why you’re still holdin’ onto—”

  “I know better, Reese.” She thumbed to herself, voice hard with conviction. “Sanderson’s my only lead to finding out what happened to your brother. I can’t give up, no matter what happens.”

  “I’m fine with not knowin’.” Maurice pushed a handful of dreads behind his ear. “My brother made his own choices. Just accept he’s a hole in the ground and move on. If you continue—”

  “I’ve been set up, Reese.”

  Maurice expelled a grunt—the only noise after another tensed silence.

  “Someone laced my vials with hemlock and nearly killed the agent when he snooped around. That’s why I was in lockup.”

  Aviere blew out hot air and flicked a silver starred earring as Maurice’s light pink lips tightened.

  “Reese—I didn’t try attracting attention. You know me. I need your help. Please.”

  “Aviere, I’m not doin’ it,” Maurice declared in a tart tone. “I’ve seen where it’s gotten the rest of you. You’re the exception, considerin’ my brother threw you into his world when you started datin’. He straightened himself out, sure—till he left. But me? I’m not like you. Not like any of you.”

  “Disappeared,” she corrected, tightening her shoulders and neck. “The word you’re looking for is disappeared, not abandoned. And you’re running from the truth by convincing yourself of an obvious lie, Reese.”

  “Is it?”

  Two small words rocked Aviere’s psyche as she regarded the sprawled agent, questioning her motives and goals. Travis’ presence reminded Aviere of her persistence and limited freedom. “No. But you’re not alone. Lim and I are here, too. Christ, I’m drudging up demons to find your brother.”

  A light hand clenched her shoulder tightly, and she pulled him into a side hug, catching phrases dying against Maurice’s parting lips. “Aviere—I—you—”

  “Maurice, it’ll be all right,” she told him gently.

  “You embrace this chaos, somehow—this hidden world. Both you and Lim.”

  Aviere removed the glove from her hand, resting it on her chest as she watched the turbulent emotions in Maurice’s dark grey eyes. She wanted to comfort the man, but the internal conflict Maurice waged against their family’s profession had plagued him for years. While Aviere hid her own reservations, she stopped hiding behind others and plunged into the depths of the Underground—the source of her current situation.

  I can’t ask Reese to do the same thing we are. But eventually, Sanderson will involve him, no matter how hard Reese fights. It’s only a matter of time—no matter how hard I fight to protect them—

  “My brother carried dark demons, ever since Dad died. But I ain’t intendin’ to follow Gunther, and you promised to keep me out of your work. I ain’t that brave, baby girl.”

  Aviere brushed pale fingers carefully against Maurice’s jawline. “Reese, Lim and I don’t have the answers, but we’re still moving forward. You owe it to yourself to find the closure you need. That’s all we’re trying to do—what I’m trying to do.”

  “You’re resurrectin’ another demon,” Maurice muttered, stepping away from her. “What if Sanderson’s playin’ you? What if Gunther chose to disappear?”

  “Stop, Reese.”

  “What if the answer you find is one you can’t accept, Aviere?”

  Cerulean eyes narrowed before flouncing away, storming down the hall toward her bedroom. She stomped against the floor and clenched her fists at her sides, hissing when her older brother cracked open his bedroom door.

  Fear keeps Reese from pursuing, but I’m not like him.

  “Sis, stop,” Limere called. “You can’t deny Maurice’s concerns.”

  I can’t let it go. Gunther wouldn’t stop looking for me and neither would they. It’s only fair I try, too.

  With a quick twist from her wrist, she opened the bedroom door and almost slammed it when Maurice’s arm blocked her. She spun around, staring at the two men blocking her way down the hallway.

  How ironic. Reese and Limere haven’t gotten on for years, yet for my sake, they’ll work together.

  A sardonic smile crossed her lips before she surveyed the wrecked bedroom, shaking her head. “Lowell Sanderson said Gunther worked on something for him before he disappeared. The slickest bastard on the planet manipulated my husband and I’m going to find out how.”

  “Wait, Sis. You said Sanderson?”

  “Yes, Lim. Sanderson—the person my parents worked for.”

  “She was my mother too, Sis. And I remember that asshole better than you.”

  Aviere pushed the clawed-up bedroom door, stepping over splintered wood and wrinkled clothing. Part of her nightstand blocked the way to the bed while the rest littered the floor around the bedposts. Most of her wardrobe joined the broken furniture, some displaying her favorite clothing.

  The closet door suffered the same fate as her bedroom door—splintered at the bottom, only with the entire doorknob clawed out of it.

  Whoever came knew exactly what they were looking for.

  “What the hell happened to my room?” she asked angrily, moving the door before tossing dirty laundry next to her bed.

  “Two guys showed up,” Limere answered from the hall. “Didn’t know who they were, but we disposed of them. We just got done cleaning the living room of broken debris when you and the agent showed up.”

  Aviere tossed random articles of clothing aside, resting on her knees as she meticulously went through her closet. A Hawaiian shirt landed on top of ripped jeans behind her before she found an ornate wooden box with her middle name carved on the side. She rubbed a hand along the top before lifting the lid, resting a hand on her chest in relief.

  Thank god. No one touched the emergency stash. We may have a chance.

  The Poisoner blinked at the untouched bills and took a dozen bills, shoving them in her pocket before thrusting her arm behind her. “Maurice, take the cash and use whatever you need. There’s $250,000. Split it with Limere—I already took what I needed.”

  “Aviere, I ain’t taking blood money,” Maurice said in revulsion.

  “Maurice, stop arguing and take the goddamn money. We don’t have much time.”

  Footsteps softly approached, hesitantly taking the thick wad of cash in Aviere’s hand. “I can call the insurance company. There’s enough damage in the apartment to give us a settlement toward another place. But we need to take our time and pick somewhere safe to live.”

  “Just do what you do best,” Aviere urged. “Keep your ear to the ground and siphon information from the street to me.”

  “I don’t like doin’ it, baby girl.”

  “Maurice, please,” Aviere pleaded softly.

  She slipped on the sapphire and diamond studded silver ring inside the box, shivering at the cool material against her ring finger. Memories of her marriage carried over and she fought to keep her composure. Aviere swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to focus on the two cream-colored envelopes resting inside the box. She handed them over to the darker male before meeting Limere’s icy eyes, thrusting her head back toward the hallway.


  Without a word, Limere followed her order. Aviere tilted her head when she noticed his lanky frame and black sleeveless athletic shirt.

  He’s cleaned up a little, but he’s lost weight. What—

  “What are these, Aviere?”

  “Instructions. Keep one on you and the other safe for me.” Tiny hands grabbed a slim silver-handled gun, and she transferred it to one hand, testing its weight against her palm. Aviere retrieved the holster and gun belt, handing the weapon to Maurice. “Hold while I get this on.”

  “You—you modified a Beretta Elite air gun to shoot poison needles in a magazine,” Maurice breathed. “Shit, I thought Lim was jokin’, baby girl.”

  “Nope.”

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “Travis let me sleep for a few hours.” She stared at the black belt and looped it through the holster. “Besides, I have seven—no, six days to get this fixed or else I lose my hand. He’s got a tracking bomb device on each of us. A collar for the agent, and a bracelet for me.”

  “And what do you get for helpin’ this Sanderson guy?” Maurice asked quietly. “If he’s the same guy I’m thinkin’ of, he ain’t goin’ to give you any answers about Gunther in one piece.”

  The belt looped nicely, and the holster rested comfortably against her right hip. She tossed off her black fringed tank top, turning away from Maurice to conceal a lacy navy blue bra. “I’m aware of that.” She reached for a forest-green billowy-sleeved shirt and put it on. “Lowell’s a bit extreme when it comes to working with him.”

  “He got off torturing your folks after—”

  “I didn’t have many options, Maurice.” The icy tone dropped when she released a tense breath, straightening the shirt over her tiny frame. “They broke into the FBI’s headquarters to bring me to Sanderson. But if I complete his little task, he’ll put our family back in good standing with the Underground.”

  “Well, you better hurry, baby girl. Hector Irving died at the Hilton Hotel on South President Street a few hours ago.” Maurice brushed back his long-braided dreads, where they rested in the middle of his back. “There were dead people inside the hotel. Hector Irving’s bodyguards were brutally murdered before they got to him.”

  Aviere’s voice dropped to a whisper, eyes widening as she grabbed her necklace. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.” Gray eyes darkened when Maurice twitched his nose. “Your girlfriend was working as an escort for Irving when everything happened. She called to tell me and said you’d understand once I told you.”

  First Trenabour, then Eisen. Irving makes three. But why was Jemina there?

  Aviere’s knees almost buckled as the revelation slammed home, penetrating her to the core. She racked her brain, trying to think of the last player Vinny McSeeten needed to eliminate before gaining control of Baltimore City. The Poisoner wanted to hide—to pretend everything transpiring was simply a bad thriller movie.

  As she slid her modified silver-handled Beretta in its holster, her body tensed, primed for danger. Blue eyes flitted across her bedroom, narrowing at the broken window with glass wedged in the windowsill before meeting Maurice’s gaze.

  Rutherford. Clouse Rutherford’s the last guy left before Vinny—

  “Aviere, what’s your part in all this?”

  She held onto her necklace before maneuvering to the salvageable part of her dresser, pulling out two sets of replacement gloves. “I was working for—”

  “Sis, we got a problem!”

  Aviere hurried to the door, stopping when Limere raced down the hallway. “What is it?”

  “The agent’s gone.”

  Squeezing her gloves, Aviere stormed to her brother, snarling as she stood on her tiptoes. “You idiot! Get him back here! We’re locked with tracking collars!”

  “He’s gone,” Limere reiterated. “There’s no energy signature to track.”

  “Then let’s hope he doesn’t go outside the ten mile radius they’re locked at, Limere.”

  Aviere stomped to her ruined closet and threw clothes inside a black duffel bag. Various items landed inside, but Aviere stopped caring about mixing dirty and clean clothes together. She scanned the room before resting her eyes on the bracelet against her wrist.

  “I may be able to track him, Limere. Let’s see—here we go.”

  A fingernail pressed a button on the side and the LED screen showed the distance between Travis and herself. The screen presented a marker inside the Google map, along with distance and coordinates.

  Eight miles out, but not near the shop. Damn. Guess it’s time to see what happens when we’re out of radius—or how quickly he responds.

  “He’s eight miles out, but I think I can make him follow me while I get my car.” She zipped up the duffel bag. “Limere, find out what you can. Reese will meet you after he takes me to get my car.”

  “Fine, Sis.” The mage picked up the familiar baseball cap off the extended bedpost and brushed dust off it. “I’ll call you later.”

  Limere adjusted his hat until it was on backwards, waved at Aviere with two fingers, and phased out of the room seconds later.

  “Maurice, I need you to run me to Tricksters. Joe has my car and I need to talk to him.”

  Another long silence followed.

  Aviere bumped her shoulder into Maurice’s, causing him to meet her eyes. “It’ll be okay, Reese. I’ll try not to let you guys get hurt.”

  “I guess. I still don’t like it. I just got used to us racin’ again.”

  “We’ll race,” she promised. “I’ll fill you in about what happened on the way. Hurry before Travis shows up.”

  She smiled warmly when Maurice embraced her. “Long as we live, I’ll be okay, baby girl. Let’s get your car before you lose your ever-lovin’ mind.”

  As she shouldered her bag, Aviere thought of her younger brother’s words, hoping she’d be able to fulfill the promises she made. The bravado faded as the severity of the situation nagged her thoughts. She quickened her step and grabbed her purse from the couch, scrutinizing the bracelet when she watched Travis give her a little more wiggle room.

  A devious smile crossed her face when Maurice locked the apartment, excited to be reunited with her precious Ferrari once more.

  Chapter Six

  Travis cradled the large cup of coffee and savored the taste as his grogginess started to fade. The dark roast coffee with two creams and sugar stopped his caffeine headache. His eyes twinkled appreciatively at the cashier as he left the convenience store, sipping slowly while Peters reported the latest news in his ear.

  Peters’ high-pitched voice droned on, reporting about the siege the Renegades planned at their headquarters. Several colleagues Travis knew were listed as causalities. The agent sloshed the coffee around his mouth, lips tightening at one particular name.

  Stroud. Damn. I liked her, too. Ballsy woman.

  Travis swallowed the coffee and pounded a fist to his chest. “Sorry to hear, Peters. But talk about the Hilton and tell me—”

  “Irving hired prostitutes,” Peters replied with scorn. “He fiddled with them when—”

  “Peters, I’m running on a horrid croissant sandwich and hash browns from a donut shop. I just got my coffee. Give me something useful.”

  “I’m trying to!” Peters exclaimed. “But you don’t have time to chit chat. One of Mye’s brothers informed her about Irving. If you lollygag, she’ll beat you there.”

  The next gulp of coffee burned his tongue, but Travis relished the bitter flavor. “Peters, chill. She’s getting the damn Ferrari. It’s with one of her people and they fixed her broken window.”

  “Might be a diversion, Travis.”

  The agent remembered the despondent look on Limere’s face when he mentioned the price to repair Aviere’s broken window. “Doubt it. The brother seemed peeved she cared more about a car than her life. But track Mye while I investigate the Hilton.”

  “She’s headed in the opposite direction, Travis.”

  Mye, you�
��re doing this on purpose, Travis growled, almost popping the plastic lid when he squeezed the tumbler. You couldn’t wait a few hours for your precious illegal sports car, and your impatience will get us killed.

  Travis ground his teeth and cradled the cup again. Muscles twitched in his legs at the thought of Mye’s uncontrollable temperament, forcing the agent to power-walk toward his destination. “Peters, watch Mye and tell me when she’s out of range.”

  Worry laced Peters’ words, followed by a drawl at the last word. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” Travis said, voice taut. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Well, hurry. You can reach the Hilton before Mye arrives at her destination.”

  Hot coffee spit from Travis’ mouth. “How the—”

  “Leave it to me,” Peters answered, snickering pompously. “I told you, she won’t slip past me so easily. The bitch forced me to use my spare monitor and I hate using the HP. Hell, I hate tracking from home.”

  “You’re not the one chasing her, Peters.” Travis sipped the large coffee and paused, honing in on a massive twelve-story hotel with an obnoxious sign on the side. The simple logo stuck out among the vast skyscrapers and various tall buildings. “Why are you at home?”

  “Sanderson put me on house arrest.” Contempt laced Peters’ nasally voice. “The man issued cronies to guard my property so I don’t sneak off like yesterday. Never mind I have a job and was just following orders when you apprehended Mye.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner.” The caffeinated drink tasted divine, despite the horrible morning. “You’re his hostage, after all.”

  “I don’t want to work for the asshole,” Peters whined, voice raising in pitch before rambling. “The director promised my promotion if we solved this case quick enough. Three years, I waited for—”

  “Be lucky you’re alive, Shawn.”

  The bitter dark roast coffee revitalized the agent, rounding out his usual pessimistic perspective on the world. Flashing lights and loud sirens reminded Travis of his days in the homicide unit. He started walking again, pondering who headed the investigation in his old department.