Rain Shadow Book 3

by Tess Oliver

  We drove through a tree-lined neighborhood. The black SUV with dark tinted windows caught the immediate attention of some of the people out watering lawns and sitting on porches.

  “They sure didn’t pick a neighborhood to camouflage themselves,” I said.

  Carson leaned his head back but didn’t turn around in the seat. “Like I told you, they seemed to think that they’d gotten past all this. They were going to let Belkin take the rap and that was going to be the end of it. Good thing the primary witness came back from the dead.”

  “Yeah, I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Starting to feel like a zombie.”

  We pulled up to the curb several houses down and climbed out of the vehicle with our weapons. The neighbors ran for their houses, and doors and windows were being slammed up and down the street. We all knew our places and our purpose. The entire scene reminded me of the last raid I’d gone on with Dex. He’d gone to break down the door and had been shot at. His vest had saved his life that day, and I’d been so damn relieved when he’d finally drawn in a breath after being knocked out cold. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone on a mission without Dex. We’d always had each other’s backs. But not this time.

  The house was cozy and well-kept. It was hard to believe the landlord had decided to rent to the thugs inside, assuming it was rented. Their arrival must have put every neighbor on edge. These guys were like a branch of poison ivy in a field of daisies on this street. And now they’d brought a DEA raid down on their peaceful neighborhood.

  Five of us got into place. I’d badly wanted to carry the battering ram, but Carson was worried I wouldn’t stop with the front door. It was a good call on his part. Before the man with the ram could step onto the lawn, the front door opened. One of our suspects, Coolidge, a man who’d hung back through most of our ordeal, but who had definitely participated, walked out. In my head I’d nicknamed him Salt. He’d taken a sick pleasure in pouring table salt into the cuts Belkin’s knife had sawed into our flesh. Everything from my month long ordeal had healed now, with the exception of the Bedlam logo that had been burned into the back of my leg, something I’d kept hidden, and the void left in my heart by Angel’s disappearance.

  Coolidge was staring intently down at the cigarette he attempted to light. He was shirtless and grimy and completely inconsistent with the charming Cape Cod house behind him. It was a fairly comical scene, five heavily armed agents standing silently around the yard while he, completely oblivious to our presence, concentrated on blocking the flame from the breeze twirling around the porch. It wasn’t until his first puff that he lifted his bloodshot gaze to the front yard. The cigarette popped from his mouth, and his eyes bulged from his face. He stumbled back toward the door.

  “Stop and put your hands behind your head,” Carson commanded. But he didn’t listen.

  I lifted my Glock and aimed it at the metal mailbox hanging near the front door. The bullet pinged off the box, and the guy ducked instinctively. He froze and then put his hands behind his head. There was a flurry of activity inside now, and a woman cried out in fear.

  “Walk out here and get down on your knees, or my sharp shooter,” Carson cast me an angry, annoyed scowl, “will take off your ear.”

  I attempted a shrug but it wasn’t easy in a bullet proof vest. As far as I could see, my one bullet got the man in front of us and no blood was spilled.

  “Send the women out first,” Carson yelled toward the house.”

  A single bullet flew from the inside, and they nearly hit their own man. A voice inside yelled, “what the hell are you doing?”

  The front door opened and the man I recognized as Dilly, a name that fit him because he looked as stupid as he was fat, came out on the porch with a frightened woman in front of him. Her blouse was wide open, and she was naked beneath. She struggled to close the blouse, but he had too hard a grip on her arms. He pulled a gun from his waistband. We raised our weapons and kept them pointed at the fool. The look of terror on the woman’s face was one I’d seen many times before. It amazed me how many cowards decided to use a woman or even a kid as a shield in these situations.

  “I’m going to get on my bike, and if you stop me, she’ll die.” He pulled her roughly along.

  Carson’s eyes flashed my way, and his whisper creaked through my radio. “Barringer, stand down. It’s too dangerous for the girl.”

  “I can take out his leg and never even come close to her,” I said quietly back into my radio.

  “No,” he replied sharply, no longer bothering with the whisper.

  Dilly walked awkwardly across the yard with his human shield. His frightened gaze shot around the yard and landed on me. A look of terror, mimicking the woman he held, fell across his potato shaped face.

  I stared back hard at him, and he tripped on a sprinkler head. He lost his grip on the woman. She fell to the ground. Dilly stumbled onto his side like a downed elephant. I was over him before he could suck in a breath. Carson signaled the others to move in on the house. He came up next to me. “Good work. Now cuff him.”

  I heard Carson’s orders, but they made no sense in my head. My hand tightened around my weapon, and I aimed it right between the man’s beady eyes. He scooted back in fear. “Barringer,” Carson said. “Put the cuffs on him.” His tone was angry, but I ignored him.

  “Remember me?” I asked through gritted teeth. The guy looked at me as if I’d just returned from the dead. “You’re the pervert who kept getting off by twisting my balls.”

  “I will put you on suspension before you can take your next shit, Luke, I swear to you,” Carson said through gritted teeth.

  I nodded reluctantly and pulled the cuffs from my belt.

  Carson kept his weapon on him as I locked up his hands. “You,” Carson told the woman, “pull yourself together, and go sit on that curb. And don’t even think about running.” She did as she was told.

  I finished cuffing the asshole. And then I leaned down to his ear. “You smell like rotten sewage, you overgrown pig.” I pushed my fist into the center of his back. “On your stomach, now.” With his hands cuffed and a wide girth to deal with, he landed on his stomach like a fat man doing a belly flop into a pool. It took all my control not to stomp his head with my steel-toed boot as I walked past.

  Carson hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

  I held out my hands. “What? All I did was cuff him. I’m like a goddamn saint,” I said angrily. His scrutiny was starting to piss me off.

  The other agents had pulled the remaining people from the house. They’d been outgunned, and with our gear, putting up a fight would have been useless. Two other women walked out, one in tears and one smiling as if the whole thing had been exciting. Then they brought out the third suspect. His name, according to his rap sheet, was Turner. I’d never caught the name, but the face had been the last one I’d seen before I’d passed out on the wall. He’d been the one to shoot drugs into my veins so that I would fall asleep. He’d been clumsy as hell with the needles, and my struggles had caused him to break off two in my flesh before he’d finally been successful. He was missing a front tooth, and he had one of those slack chins that gave him a gooberish quality. But he wasn’t a goober. He was a ruthless murderer. Agent Wharton forced Turner to his knees and cuffed him.

  Carson was still keeping a stiff eye on me as I strode purposefully across the lush green lawn. But I didn’t give a fuck. Turner had the same look of shock as Dilly when he saw me. His face blanched white as I stared down at him.

  “Special Agent Barringer,” Carson had switched to my formal title to let me know how serious my actions could be, “Special Agent Wharton has already secured that suspect. Head back to the vehicle now.”

  His order was loud and clear to my ears, but something was lost in translation once his words had sifted through my mind. I aimed my Glock at the man’s face. “How does that feel, having a gun in your face that could go off any second?” His mouth pulled tight, and I was sure he’d puke. I pressed the
barrel against his forehead. My finger tensed around the trigger. I wanted nothing more than to blow his head clean off. It would mean my job and my freedom, but it would feel so damn good.

  The yard grew as silent as a morgue, and I knew everyone’s eyes were on me. But I didn’t give a shit. As far as I was concerned, it was just me and that sonavabitch who’d stuck enough shit in my veins so that I couldn’t stay conscious to save Dex’s life. I’d kept awake for nearly three days, the three longest damn days of my life, but then this asshole came around with his fucking syringes and broke me down. And Dex was dead but this guy was still alive. There was nothing right about it, but I needed my freedom. I needed to find Angel before something happened to her.

  The guy nearly collapsed in relief as I lowered my gun. It was hard walking away. One of the hardest things I’d ever done. My chest felt heavy like I was suffocating, but it was not from the vest. It was from knowing that I’d just let Dex down by walking away. And then I heard the guy spit at me from behind.

  “Barringer,” Carson yelled as I spun around. I flipped the gun around in my hand and hammered the asshole’s skull with the grip. I heard bone split as the edge of my Glock sliced his skull. Blood shot up like a red geyser, and he fell to his side. He wasn’t dead, but his brain now had a view of the yard.

  I turned and walked toward the SUV.

  “Consider yourself on suspension Barringer,” Carson shouted at my back.

  I waved to him without turning around. “It was fucking worth it.”

  Chapter 10

  Luke

  The driveway was empty. Seth had made it up to the girl he’d bailed on the night before by taking her to dinner and a movie. I was glad to have the place to myself. I needed to cool my head. I was on suspension for a month. Carson had been spitting flames by the time we got back to the office. I felt some guilt for pissing him off so badly, but I just couldn’t walk away from the guy without hurting him.

  I’d checked my phone a dozen times and there had been no word from Jericho. Now that I was off work for awhile, and the assholes responsible for Dex’s death were behind bars, I could focus solely on the one thing that mattered most. Angel.

  A cloudy sky outside made the house darker than usual, and I felt my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The light inside seemed extra bright as I peered in to find a cold beer.

  “Yes, Officer, I’d like to report a kidnapping.” The eerie, but all too familiar, voice startled me, and I rarely startled. My head smacked the edge of the freezer door. I rubbed it as I turned slowly around, still not completely sure I’d heard him.

  There, illuminated by only my refrigerator light, Dreygon sat in my dad’s favorite chair, comfortably nursing a can of beer. I flicked on a light and he held up a hand to block it. “I’ve been sitting in the dark awhile waiting for you to come home. Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to a beer, Son.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, old man. I’m not your son. Far as I’m concerned, we might not even be from the same species.”

  His spine tingling laugh filled the air and then his face flattened. “Fine. But let’s get another thing straight. I’m not an old man. If we went toe to toe, you might win, but you’d still be walking away with your tail tucked between your fucking legs.”

  I lifted the beer I was holding in a truce toast. “How did you know I was alive?”

  “Well, Cash took off. I saved that boy from the streets, and he repaid me with deceit.”

  “I don’t know if you actually saved him. You took him from one lousy situation and shoved him into another.”

  “I fed and sheltered him,” he barked. “Doesn’t matter now. Then there was Jericho’s bizarre phone conversation.”

  “Warned him he was being over-dramatic.”

  “I took the jeep out and kept an eye on Mickey’s. Then, there you were, walking out of the place looking considerably less dead than I’d expected.”

  “Guess you should have taken care of me yourself. That’s what happens when you’re constantly outsourcing your dirty work. Eventually, people decide to ignore your wishes and think for themselves.”

  I walked around to the front of the kitchen counter and leaned against it. Dreygon looked pointedly at the blood that had been splattered on my jeans.

  “Bent for Hell blood,” I said.

  Now it was his turn to raise his beer in a toast. “I always said you’d make a great addition to the club.” He took a loud gulp. “Except for the part about you being a fed.”

  “Yeah, that might have gotten in the way.” I stared down at him. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I do. Gunner is such a fool. He’s actually using an old industrial park that the club used to provide protection for, if you know what I mean.” The lines in his face seemed to have deepened even more. He was acting his usual cool and callous self, but the last few weeks seemed to have taken a toll on him. Gracie had died. Angel and Cash had left, and now Gunner was after his job.

  “I don’t know what you mean. As far as I can tell, you guys only cause problems. Can’t imagine what kind of protection you’re good for.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He waved this conversation tangent away as unnecessary. “Cash is gone. That’s a whole other story, but he obviously betrayed me since you’re standing here as alive and cocky as ever.”

  “I know nothing about Cash,” I lied, and he seemed to sense it.

  “No matter. I will deal with that in good time. Traitors don’t usually get too far. Even on this giant of planet of ours, there just aren’t that many places to hide.” He chugged back the beer and crushed the can in his fist. “Aside from Cash, there’s only one other person who scares Gunner shitless. And that is you.” He paused. “And me, of course, but I can’t go after him personally. It’s a club legacy thing.”

  I made a show of rolling my eyes. “Angel told me all about it. You people really consider yourselves the specially anointed chosen few. It’s pretty fucking funny.”

  His face reddened. He moved to get up. “If you don’t want to find her—”

  “I do. How do I know you’re not just sending me into an ambush?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t, except I want Angel away from Gunner a lot more than I want to see your brains splattered over a wall.”

  “My how things have changed. Tell me where she is, and I’ll get her.” I spoke as if I wasn’t already tight with adrenaline. “Gunner doesn’t scare me. But once I find her, she stays with me. She will never go home with you again. Understand?”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out for me. “It’s only about eight miles from the compound. They’re probably in the office building at the back of the complex. There’s a storage garage behind it without windows and only one door. I’m sure that’s where they have Angel.”

  He spoke casually about his own granddaughter being held captive. “You sure don’t seem too worried about her.”

  “Gunner is stupid, but he’s not foolish enough to hurt her. Family ties or not, he’d be out.”

  “Then what’s he holding her for? Seems like a pretty idle threat he’s making.”

  “You don’t know anything about it, and it’s not your business. Just get her out of there, and if you kill Gunner in the process, that’s even better.”

  “I’m not going to kill him unless I have to, so you can stop rubbing your hands together over that prospect.”

  He stood, and immediately, I tensed. I couldn’t trust anything about him. One minute he’d seem rational and the next he’d be plowing his fist into my face. He was that stick of dynamite who always seemed to be waiting for someone to light his fuse.

  He walked to the door. “You should get there at dawn. They’ll all be passed out from beer and greasy food.”

  I nodded.

  He left and a black chill followed him out. I walked to the window. His motorcycle
had been parked several houses away and out from the glow of the street light. After the afternoon I’d had, I hadn’t even noticed it. The bike motor started, and he cruised slowly past the house.

  I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Seth. “You still at the movies?”

  His text came right back, which didn’t bode well for the date he was having. “Tickets were sold out. What’s up?”

  “I know where Angel is. You up for a little adventure tonight?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m just about to take her home. I’ll be there in forty minutes. This night isn’t a total bust, after all.”

  I put down the phone and another text came through. “Do I get to carry a gun?”

  I texted back. “Was sort of hoping you’d just be there to drive the getaway car.”

  “Pretty please,” came back.

  “Maybe, but you have to stop saying pretty please. Doesn’t really work with the whole gun thing.”

  “Whooee.”

  I walked into the bedroom and slid off the blood-stained jeans. I dropped them into the hamper and went in to take a shower. I had no choice but to trust that Dreygon was telling me the truth. I wanted to find Angel, and I was willing to take any risk to find her.

  Chapter 11

  Angel

  The aspirin had brought relief for several hours, but as it wore off, the fever crept back into my body. Even inside the stifling brick room, I felt as if I was stretched out on the tundra. I used my one free arm in a pathetic attempt to hug myself. Bringing my legs close to my chest did little to warm me, and bending my knees had coaxed fresh blood from the scrapes. I was pissed at myself for running from Gunner. It had been a silly, spur of the moment plan that had no real logical conclusion, except the loss of several inches of skin and misery every time I moved my knees, elbows and chin.