Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  “Explains the sonic boom on your end, but what about meeting Louis Armandi? Shouldn’t you tail Dalara?”

  “I should,” Travis replied, flinching about debating with the petite Poisoner. “However, Mye’s dead-set on racing and I can’t compromise. Otherwise—”

  “Control yourself, Travis.”

  “You’re sitting behind a desk, Peters. Chase Mye for an afternoon and you’ll agree with me. I’ll meet her at eight, but I’m making meatloaf—not burgers or pizza.”

  “I can’t even order takeout with the agents Sanderson placed outside my house,” Peters quipped. “They intimidated the pizza man, and the asshole reported me, so I can’t order there anymore.”

  “Poor you.”

  “I loved their meat pizza, but it’s insignificant compared to tracking Mye full time.” A mouse clicked several times in the background before Peters grumbled to himself. “Bloody mouse.”

  “What?”

  “Get dinner and stay in contact. I’ll deliver the reports to the director when Sanderson’s busy, since he’s begging for them. Just jot down some notes and send the information to my work email.”

  Muggy air and harsh sunlight from car mirrors almost blinded Travis, and he shielded his eyes. “You asked me to complete them, Peters.”

  “Finish the ones for Sanderson while I handle the director. Diplomacy’s not your strong suit. Later.”

  Travis’ stomach rumbled, then screeched in hunger. As he caressed his stomach, Travis wished he packed a ham and cheese sandwich. A hand rested on the badge embedded on his wallet and scuffed the pavement, annoyed at traversing through the grocery store before heading home. He glanced at the black watch and tsked as he walked.

  No matter where I shop, it’s four thirty in the afternoon, and it’s going to be busy. I’ll get enough for dinner, make my meatloaf, and save enough for lunch tomorrow.

  Travis scheduled his shopping trip, expecting a thirty-minute run before arriving at his apartment. Food caused Travis to salivate until he pictured Mye street racing down the highway. But even her daredevil driving didn’t deter Travis from the meal he craved.

  Fanning his face, Travis continued down the street, stopping when rancid body odor assaulted his nostrils.

  I swear to God, Mye—I’ll kill you if I’m unable to make my bloody meatloaf and finish my reports.

  Travis knew he bluffed, but the thought made him snicker. It lightened the agent’s mood as he mingled with the pedestrians, overjoyed at the thought of a home-cooked meal after three weeks of fast food.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After the front door crashed closed, Aviere bolted from the townhouse. She now hid in the safety her workshop provided.

  She settled in the computer chair, resting her gloved hands in a steeple as she evaluated her options. Two pointer fingers rested against her lips, citing Maurice’s heated remarks outside Jemina’s doorway with Travis. While Maurice remained collected, Aviere knew he’d ask questions and received unsatisfactory answers.

  Rather than quarrel with her brother-in-law, Aviere remained in the workshop’s sanctuary, gazing at the green liquid boiling inside its tiny tube.

  The murmur of instrumental music assisted Aviere in quelling her concerns while gauging her plight. She hummed under her breath and tapped her foot against the floor, frowning at Limere’s scribbled notes about adapting her medication. Computer printouts from seven different attempts rested next to her station, but all results left a stinging taste in the Poisoner’s mouth.

  Just like life, my medicine’s complicated to replicate.

  Aviere lifted the papers and shoved them in a desk drawer, guiding her mouse to another program on her Macbook. Sweat trailed down her neck at the heated mixtures and unventilated room. Blinking sweat from her eyes, Aviere slid her hand across the desk and turned on a miniature fan at the corner of her workstation, massaging her neck with her thumb and pointer finger.

  I didn’t want to see my doctor while Travis lingered around. But is it worth disclosing to an agent intent on executing me after our assignment ends?

  The mouse clicked on a green button, starting her analysis. The Poisoner grabbed a full vial and pushed a button on top, spitting out a dot of blood on a white test trip. Once she stuck it into the machine next to her computer, Aviere waited, sipping on bottled water.

  After a long gulp, she closed her eyes, letting the refreshing water soothe her parched throat.

  Travis—Neuro’s a pain, but Travis seems manageable. While rough around the edges, he’s certainly an excellent shot and understands his position well enough. But can I count on him when we’ve completed our assignment? Or will it turn into a standoff?

  The complicated outcomes and variables were tough to determine when her mind drifted. A sequence of beeps from the Macbook diverted her attention and Aviere cursed, banging her fist against the desk at another failed transformation. She raised her lip and held her breath, counting to ten before releasing a sharp breath.

  No point in fretting over Travis, Vi. Your meds come first.

  She examined the data across spread pages, trying to calculate numbers inside her frazzled mind. Aviere formulated the right estimates and scrawled equations on yellow Post-it notes, but paused halfway when piercing instrumental music blasted from the iPhone.

  Damn alarm. Didn’t realize it’s eight already.

  Aviere scrambled to collect the strewn papers and subdued the alarm when the music repeated itself. She continued to hum while moving around, thinking of the trench-coated agent haunting her. While Travis supported her fighting against Lowell Sanderson, his peculiar relationship with Peters left a sour taste in Aviere’s mouth.

  Neuro controls the unit, even if Travis moves on his own. If his link to Neuro is severed, he’ll listen to my instructions and avoid compromising our positions with ridiculous scents and outfits.

  She pushed vials and test strips into a drawer underneath the workstation while she printed out reports to show Limere when they met at their apartment. Additional pages quickly printed while she uploaded data to a cloud-based server, typing a note on her iPhone to access the material later that evening. Once Aviere secured her place, she powered the laptop down and stashed it under the baseboards, carrying the battery in her enormous handbag.

  The cell phone buzzed, then drifted toward her as it vibrated in place. The screen switched to show Travis’ incoming call.

  Travis—the bane of my existence, Aviere thought, letting the phone buzz. He’ll deal with text messaging. Underground or Renegades’ business isn’t conducted over telephone connections. I’m not breaking procedures for anyone, including Travis.

  As soon as the call went to voice mail, Aviere retrieved the device and issued a text message, nails tapping the touch screen with her fast keystrokes. “Meet me at the abandoned Annapolis shopping mall along Rt. 2. You’ll pass a crowded gas station blaring country music. If I hear this collar beep, I’m kicking your ass.”

  Aviere slid the phone halfway into her rear pocket before her butt vibrated. She pulled it out and flipped the device toward her, giggling at Travis’ response. “I’m outside your shop, Mye. Nice try slipping away, but you won’t bypass Peters’ computer tracking programs. I’ll drive when you’re ready.”

  Clever fucker. Suppose it’s time to level the playing field a notch.

  Aviere swung her keys on her finger and gazed at the ceiling, shouldering her purse before departing the workshop. She recalled the metallic cherry Corvette Joe mentioned and smirked at the gadgets her friend listed inside. Thinking about Travis’ personality and his difficulty with technological devices, she hoped the agent learned how to use the GPS without her assistance.

  A mischievous grin plastered on Aviere’s lips, foreseeing the outcome after racing against Travis. A little voice nudged Aviere to allow Travis a win, but dissipated when she went out the laboratory’s rear exit.

  I can’t. Otherwise he won’t learn. No.

  A gloved hand fin
gered her bracelet underneath the material and Aviere dialed a series of numbers, flitting her eyes as she latched the door behind her. When the call connected, her facial features turned stoic, voice vibrant and straightforward. “Martinez, make sure you and Marco are at Route 2 by eight thirty. If there’s foul play, someone needs to protect the spectators and other gangs. Coordinate with Limere and make sure Maurice doesn’t ask questions. I’d rather explain things myself than my brother learning from a third party.”

  Aviere rolled her eyes and sucked breath between her teeth when Martinez’s deep-toned voice conveyed his concerns. She twirled her keys and gazed at the underground city, noticing the fading lights and desolate street.

  When she made it to Jet, Aviere stroked the door and grinned before getting inside the Ferrari.

  “Martinez, I appreciate the concern. You’ve always been honest with our family, so please stop acting like I’m brushing off your suggestions. I’ve hired ample protection—okay, fine—we’ll title it ‘forced protection’—but consider my brothers. Limere’s a loose firecracker with his powers. Someone’s got to direct people in case pandemonium breaks out.”

  She started her automobile and lowered the radio to hear her associate, still opposing her orders. Discrediting her husband’s trusted associate seemed plausible when Martinez ranted, but Aviere knew he cared. Voicing her displeasure always caused contention, but Aviere followed gut instinct when she reiterated her orders.

  Before Martinez objected, Aviere shifted the Ferrari in first gear and flew through the tunnel.

  “For Christ’s sake, Martinez! Stop asking questions and arrange everything for this evening. I believe Limere will show up first if you require any final details. I have a federal agent to find before he arrests the racing gangs. Any problems, call immediately.”

  As she terminated the call, Aviere wondered about the diverse racers and what rumors circulated about her. Being identified with a federal agent never looked promising, but Aviere reminded herself the situation had slipped from her control.

  Nevertheless, she forecasted Travis’ actions and rushed to Annapolis Junction, afraid he’d arrest most of her associates and colleagues before she intervened. The Ferrari squealed and rubber burned on the asphalt.

  Aviere cackled as adrenaline surged and excitement finally hit her.

  What started as excitement boiled to passion as Aviere entered the near-deserted parking lot of the old Annapolis mall. A guitar solo quieted when Aviere lowered the volume and flipped to her CB device, recoiling when a woman’s voice spoke about Aviere’s plight. Aviere hugged her abdomen and lowered her head, trying to fight off the heat flushing her skin.

  Goddammit! I’d hoped things would remained quiet, but no matter. If I see Jemina, she’ll relay instructions about meeting Louis Armandi. But avoiding Travis to contact the don of South Baltimore…

  Orange and yellow hues from the sunset reflected into Aviere’s eyes and she dropped the visor to avoid being blinded. Loud chuckles outside Aviere’s vehicle caught her attention, and the Poisoner rolled down her window, recognizing several Corvettes parked a few spaces away from her. As darkness concealed the sunset, three silhouetted shadows stretched across the blacktop, illuminated by the lamp posts. High pitched laughter next to Aviere reminded her of youthful times until she saw Jemina’s set of racers giggling amongst each other.

  Do Jemina’s girls perceive the danger lurking ahead? Racing’s become dangerous since Ma started—hell, since high school, honestly. And yet, these youngsters and college kids decide to pave their way to glory while dying young.

  Crackling from the radio silenced her racing thoughts. When Aviere adjusted the volume, her butt vibrated against the seat. She rolled her eyes and put up her window, mindful to remain inconspicuous.

  Christ, Travis. Every time you call, you bitch about something.

  Aviere tossed the phone on the passenger’s seat once she identified Travis’ number, focusing back to the radio’s static noise. At the next round of crackling, Aviere grabbed the microphone and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s with the noise? Someone not connected properly?”

  “I installed my radio today,” a youthful female responded. “Still working out the mechanics, but it should be fixed next week.”

  Karyn Greene, Aviere reminded herself, watching the phone flash another incoming call. Maybe she stopped pissing her boss off. Last I remember, Jemina asked other teams about placing Karyn with them. God, I hope it’s not mine. Karyn may possess experience, but her mouth…

  “Karyn, was installing your radio encouragement to return to Tricksters?” Aviere asked, picking up her voice at the end of her sentence. “No wonder Joseph’s been in a better mood.”

  “Christ, you’re a piece of work, Aviere Mye.” The matter-of-fact answer from Karyn turned to scorn. “Yes, I worked all week. Your fault Joe forced overtime, you know.”

  “Congratulations,” Aviere replied, clapping her hands. “You made it through an entire week without calling out to play that Knights of Cornivea MMO. I suppose there’s no new expansions, huh?”

  “Fuck you, Aviere.” Karyn’s tone changed from contempt to revulsion. “I hope you hang with your rent-a-agent. Shame Limere and Reese tolerate your crazy ass.”

  The line crinkled before Karyn ended her connection and Aviere smiled, putting the microphone back in place. An ear twitched when the cell phone vibrated once more. She fished for her Bluetooth device and slipped the navy-blue and silver attachment behind her left ear, holding the button while counting Travis’ missed calls.

  Once the Bluetooth beeped, Aviere accepted Travis’ latest attempt and rolled down the driver’s side window. “What, Travis?”

  Clicked tsking from Travis’ end sent goosebumps across Aviere’s skin. “There’s so many racers, Mye. Just think—one phone call would end your precious racing streak, wouldn’t it?”

  “Christ, chill out.” She lowered her voice and waited until the ladies moved inside the vehicles. “You’re already on the wanted list in my crowd, and imprisoning them won’t earn their respect, Travis. Besides, you have nothing else to do.”

  Aviere combed fingers through her hair in triumph when Travis growled. “Reports. I haven’t completed them because you gallivant everywhere in Charm City. Sanderson’s bitching for one.”

  “Get Neuro to complete it. He’s the computer geek.”

  “He’s covering the day job paperwork, not for Sanderson!”

  Aviere lowered her head, inhaling slowly against a weighted chest. The reference to Lowell Sanderson hampered her concentration. She studied the digital clock on the iPhone and devised excuses to end Travis’ call.

  Tires squealed from the entrance of the parking lot and Aviere snapped to attention. Cerulean eyes widened when a black Mako Shark skidded next to her car. Shallow breaths made their way through Aviere’s nose as she forced her door open and jumped out of the vehicle’s path.

  Travis’ panicked voice registered in her pounding ears, but Aviere dived to the ground, mere feet away from the metallic black vehicle.

  Spectators gasped and shouted as she landed and rolled, avoiding the incoming car. A few ran close to the Poisoner, but she blocked their advances, pushing herself to breathe. Sputtered words and curses flowed from Aviere’s tiny lips and Travis’ worried complaints ceased mid-sentence, gasping in shock at her reviled curses.

  “Travis, stop bitching. Jemina’s just screwing around, like usual.”

  Aviere’s vision wavered, and she blinked warm liquid from her left eye, curling her upper lip as Jemina Rodriguez’s plump frame stepped out of the metallic black Mako Shark. She straightened her glasses and narrowed her eyes, then counted to ten before shuffling away from her precious Ferrari.

  Since Jet remained intact, Aviere needed time to recompose herself before spewing statements she’d regret in the presence of colleagues.

  Each step stung Aviere’s cheek and ankle as she hobbled away, still spewing vile curses about her d
etested rival in Travis’ ear. She cringed and grunted, inspecting her body for other scrapes and bruises as Travis’ rough voice soothed her fraying nerves. Despite Travis’ condescending tone about being a danger magnet, Aviere wiped blood from her cheek, gasping at the burning sensation.

  “Mye, Rodriguez followed you.”

  Aviere’s throat rumbled. “Yes, I know. She’s been trailing me since I stormed off.”

  “You need backup?”

  “No.” Aviere stared at the stars, longing for seclusion. “I’ll handle Jemina, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “Maybe Rodriguez didn’t mean to scare you shitless, Mye.”

  The Poisoner stopped, cerulean eyes widening in disbelief as she wiped droplets of blood from her face. “Don’t bullshit me. You told Joseph she’s incorrigible, Travis.”

  “You’re Rodriguez’s associate.”

  Aviere laughed, and it eased the heaviness in her chest. “Associate? No. Big misconception, Travis.”

  Heels clicked on the blacktop, echoing harder the closer Jemina approached. Aviere sprinted toward Jemina and seized Jemina’s shoulders, shaking her in place. For once, Aviere retained the advantage, stunning Jemina with an offensive approach.

  “Jemina Rodriguez, what in the blue fuck—”

  Aviere clenched her fist when she discovered the Latina’s malicious grin. “Best show of night, Aviere. But tuck body before rolling. Saves on scrapes, bruises—bleeding.” A fat finger pointed to Aviere’s forehead. “You miss bloody trail on forehead. Dripping in eye.”

  “Mye, I swear to God—”

  The Poisoner ended Travis’ call and concentrated on Jemina’s beefy body, wiping a trail of blood from her left eye. She surveyed her glasses and tightened her lips at the scratches decorating her plastic frames. When Jemina struggled to cover her stomach with the scarlet halter top, Aviere snickered under her breath.

  “Damn, clothes shrunk.”

  Aviere eyed Jemina’s attire and gestured to the shiny jet-black PVC skirt and matching thigh-high boots. “No, you’re fat, Jemina. Doctor warned you about gaining more weight, didn’t she?”