Dedication
For every reader who loves strong, imperfect heroines.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from The Fixer Chapter 1
About the Author
By HelenKay Dimon
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Upstate New York
The shower burned hot enough to scald her skin. She didn’t care. After two hours of running and months of training for the half marathon, her muscles rejoiced at the healing heat.
She rested her hand against the white subway tile and let the water rush over her neck, through her tangled hair and down the sides of her face. Just a few more minutes and a good dose of bath gel and she’d be human again. Or as close as she got to that these days.
The dull ache in her knee kicked up to a steady thump, but she couldn’t take the time to baby it with a foam roller and more stretching. Minutes were all she could spare because she had dinner plans with her roommates. Not that she wanted to go, but she’d promised. They were waiting downstairs for her now. Would probably bang on the door any second. Sometimes they acted more like circus animals at feeding time than college students. Though, in reality, many days there weren’t many differences between the two groups when it came to two of her roommates, Nick and Steve.
As soon as she thought about being interrupted, she heard a loud slam. “Oh, come on,” she mumbled in the stall, letting the water run into her mouth.
A second thud interrupted her building frustration. It sounded like they were playing basketball inside the house instead of in the driveway . . . again. Well, they could all exercise a little patience while she found underwear and a brush.
“I need two minutes,” she called out to anyone who might be hovering nearby ready to bug her with an unending stream of whining.
Somewhere in the house glass shattered.
“What the hell?” She reached out and turned off the spray, letting the rings rattle against the metal bar as she pulled the curtain back.
Straining to listen for the inevitable screaming match that usually came with broken dishes, she waited. She expected to hear her name or for someone to call for her to hurry up. Quiet thundered around her. Missing were the expected creaks of the two-story house and punch of the air conditioner as the ancient, rarely used device kicked on.
The total absence of sound was so odd, so unlike every other day in the house, that it chilled her. Cold radiated through her and her teeth started to click together despite the humidity hanging over the room.
Wrapping a thick towel around her body, she climbed out of the chipped tub. With the cotton edges knotted in her fist between her breasts, she opened the door and peeked into the hallway. The slap of her bare feet against the floor echoed around her as she stepped out of the sticky warm bathroom.
“Hello?” When no one bothered to answer, a strange whirling took off in her chest. “This isn’t funny, you know.”
A click broke the silence. The front door. She’d know that sound anywhere. She’d slipped in often enough to identify a covert return. After all the nagging about her being late and holding up the food, maybe they took off. Figured.
Leaning over the banister and peering down the steps, she could see the overhead family room light was on. Darkness fell over the rest of the floor. Since she had the keys and the car, the idea of them leaving didn’t make much sense. If this was their way of getting her downstairs . . . well, it was about to work. But she’d had it with the passive-aggressive crap. She could tiptoe in and scare them first. That would teach her so-called friends to play stupid games.
She edged around the one spot on the hardwood floor guaranteed to produce a loud squeak. Sneaking was not easy in this place. Getting down the steps without clueing them all in on her approach would be harder. She tried to balance her weight because almost every one of those stairs made a sound. Hell, she could play a tune without even trying, so she barely let the balls of her feet touch while shifting from one step to another. Slow and careful.
Getting down took forever. She could swear she felt the minutes tick by through the thick silence. No one on the first floor made a sound. She had no idea when they’d picked up those skills.
With one hand on the railing and the other in a death grip on the towel, she rounded the bottom of the staircase and stepped into the main room prepared to make some noise of her own. She’d see how much they liked the interruptions.
Words caught in her throat as red flashed in front of her. Streaks of bright crimson slashing across beige paint and linen lampshades. Splashed on the walls. Sprayed across the drawn curtains. Forming a puddle on the area in front of the couch.
What the hell was she looking at? Her brain refused to function. It sputtered as the images ran in fast-forward in front of her. Her heart raced until it pounded in her ears. Her heavy breathing filled the room as she struggled to take it all in.
No chatter or laughter. No television or music. One body on the couch. Another on the floor reaching up to the cushions. Eyes open and deep gashes across their throats. Two bodies in the family room. Her friends and no signs of life.
Blood stained everything, seeping and growing, leaving a sea of red running through the family room. She inhaled a faint mix of metal and men’s cologne as she tried to shake the numbing darkness before it settled in her brain.
Nothing made sense. They should be joking and drinking beers. Sitting around complaining about how long it took her to shower.
She tried to gulp in air but her lungs refused to work. Had to grab on to the towel around her, digging her fingernails into the material until she heard a ripping sound.
After a minute, reality crashed through her brain. They were dead. Her best friends. Massacred.
Panic exploded all around her. It filled every cell until it nearly choked her. Every muscle tightened as the room’s stale air smacked into her face. Her feet tangled with something beneath her as she stumbled back. Losing her balance, she grabbed for the entry table but missed. The lamp bobbled and then tipped. Her keys jangled as they fell.
In a whoosh, she went down, landing hard on her side and hip. Throwing out her hand, she barely missed cracking her head against the floor as her towel fell open and slipped off. Even without moving, the air refused to return to her lungs. Bile rushed up her throat as the blurriness left her vision. It took several gasps before she could inhale without gagging and lift her upper body.
She closed her eyes and tried to count down from ten. Around three her brain blinked out again. Her eyes popped open and she looked around, hoping the horror movie scene had vanished. But this wasn’t a dream and it was worse than any nightmare. Blood and death thumped off every wall. Blinding fear screamed through the room and skated down her spine.
When she
tried to sit up her foot knocked against something hard. Her gaze swept down her legs. The sight that greeted her had her jerking, pressing her back hard against the wall. Another body with lifeless eyes frozen in a look of pure terror. Hand outstretched with scratches against the wood floor. Her friend had fought and clawed . . . and died.
Nick . . .
A crush of pain rolled over her. Trembling started in her muscles then rocked hard enough to send her entire body into a shaking frenzy. She whimpered and fought for the fine edge of sanity as the full shock of her surroundings finally registered in her brain.
While she stretched and cooled down listening to music, while she showered, someone had broken into the house. She’d been locked away upstairs from her friends for ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and this.
The why and how swirled around her, making her dizzy, until a new bolt of fear shot through her. He could still be there. The attacker . . . him . . . her.
She had to move. Run.
Panic washed away the shock as her heartbeat hammered in her ears. She listened for footsteps but couldn’t hear anything over the wheezing pull of breath into her lungs.
Without moving her legs or stopping her constant scan of the room, she reached behind her and tugged on the phone cord. The receiver shook on the stand before tumbling. She grabbed for it as it knocked against her bare shoulder, fumbling before it fell to the floor. She pushed random buttons without looking and hung up then tried again. 9-1-1.
A man answered on the second ring. She heard the deep voice, felt the cool plastic under her fingers, as the words clogged her throat. “I . . . I need . . .”
“Ma’am?”
She closed her eyes, trying to block out everything in front of her. She had to concentrate. Had to move before an unseen knife sliced through her.
“They’re all dead.” The harsh whisper had her glancing around until she realized it had come from her dry throat.
The operator hesitated. “What?”
“They’re gone.”
“Who?”
Naked and shaking, she dropped her forehead to her knees and started rocking. “Help me.”
“Ma’am? I can barely hear—”
“Hurry.”
Chapter 2
Washington, DC
Seven years later
Matthias Clarke started this meeting like he did every other one that happened outside of his secure office space. By walking around the room, checking for hidden entrances and exits. Looking for the easiest way out if someone stormed through the only recognizable door. Figuring out where he would hide a weapon if he owned the place.
Not that he didn’t trust the men in the room with him, because he did. They were actually two of the handful of people he could turn his back on. Not that he ever did that sort of thing for long. His was a small circle, tight and efficient.
He never believed in the keep your friends close but your enemies closer adage. To him it made more sense to limit his friends to only a vetted few and keep a gun aimed at his enemies. He’d made it through thirty-four years of hard living with that mantra and he wasn’t about to abandon it now.
Matthias stopped across the table from the most solid guy he’d ever met. He went by a pseudonym as part of his near pathological need to hide his true identity, but Matthias was one of the few people who knew his real name—Levi Wren. Ever since they were thrown together in training more than a decade ago at the private security company Matthias now owned and ran, Wren had been Wren, and even that was only between close friends. Wren had another name he used in public. It all struck Matthias as convoluted and annoying, but it wasn’t his life.
Wren could shoot like a pro but he preferred to spend his time behind the desk. Strategizing. Being Washington DC’s biggest hidden secret, a powerful and influential fixer. A man who made problems disappear. Matthias could attest to Wren’s ability to maneuver and plot, since his own company—Quint Enterprises—was the one Wren called on when he needed muscle. Wren was the idea man. Matthias provided the actual bodies and put the complex plans into action.
The business arrangement benefitted them both. Made them very rich men in a town full of very rich people. But they maintained their privacy. Neither sought the limelight or congratulations. While Matthias didn’t go to the same lengths to avoid being known in public, he did avoid people. Whenever possible.
But today he needed Wren and his assistant, Garrett McGrath, on a project. A very personal project. And that’s what had Matthias even more on edge than usual.
Wren flipped his pen end over end through his fingers, stopping each time to thump the point or cap on the conference room table. “It’s not like you to demand a meeting.”
Wren usually picked his words precisely. Matthias didn’t like that one. “I asked.”
“Funny how everything you say sounds like an order.” Wren put the pen down and leaned back in his chair, tipping until the front legs left the floor. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to do something for me.” It almost killed Matthias to say that. He never asked anything of anyone. Not ever. Not the social worker who tracked him as a kid or the adults in the series of foster homes he’d grown up in. Not a teacher. Not even Wren. Until now.
Wren nodded. “Done.”
Matthias almost smiled at the near-automatic reaction. “You should know this one is personal.”
“Same answer.”
Yeah, Matthias gave in to the smile that time. He never offered advice or assistance. Not until he knew every detail and studied the ways the operation could go wrong. Lucky for him, Wren did not suffer from the same need for outright control of everything. “I like that about you, Wren.”
“You’re one of the few people who actually knows who I am. That means you’ve earned a favor.” Wren’s shoulders relaxed as he balanced his elbows against the side of the chair. “What is it?”
“I need to borrow your girlfriend.”
Thwap. The front legs of Wren’s chair hit the floor as he sat up straight again. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, man.” Garrett laughed as he pushed away from the wall just inside the door and took a seat on Wren’s side of the table. “I’m so happy I skipped lunch and stuck around for this.”
Okay, admittedly that might not have sounded right. Matthias wasn’t exactly in the weighing-words business. “Not her. Her brain.”
Garrett kept on smiling. “Do you think that’s a better answer?”
“She finds people, right?” The blank look on Wren’s face. The stupid amusement on Garrett’s. Matthias decided they were making this hard on purpose. “I need to find a woman.”
Garrett switched back to laughing. He even made an annoying snorting sound. “She’s not a dating service.”
“Matthias.” Wren dropped the side of his hand against the table with a soft thump. “Explain.”
“Can’t I give you a name and then you go and tell your woman to hunt this person down?” Seemed simple enough to Matthias.
Wren’s eyes bulged. “Only if you want to make sure I never have sex again.”
“Why would I care about your sex life?”
Garrett shook his head. “That’s cold, man.”
“I don’t get it. Just tell her. What’s the big deal?” Wren had been all but stapled to Emery Finn’s side since they met. The whole thing was weird, but Matthias figured while she was right there, she might be able to help.
“It’s amazing you’re single.” Garrett whistled. “I mean, damn.”
For just a second Matthias thought about whipping out his gun. Amazing how that quieted down a room and got everyone to focus. Instead, he pointed a finger at Garrett and turned to Wren. “Tell me why you keep him around.”
That seemed to wake Wren up. “You’ve tried to steal him away not once but twice to be your right-hand man at Quint, so you know very well why Garrett is here.”
Matthias’s gaze switched to Garrett. “You told him about that?”
“I use yo
ur offer as blackmail to get my way in this office all the time,” Garrett said. “Which reminds me, I’m thinking another raise is in order.”
Wren never broke eye contact with Matthias. “Let’s stay on topic. Tell me about the woman.”
“She knows something about a murder.” They just stared at him, a fact that might have made Matthias shift around in his seat if he hadn’t been trained to maintain his position no matter what. “What? That’s my answer.”
Wren made a humming sound. “Not a very helpful one.”
“You could try using full sentences,” Garrett added.
They were messing with him. There was no way they insisted clients spill every fact. Matthias didn’t intend to either. “She—this woman—was in the house when a guy I know was murdered.”
The “guy” was more than a guy, but there was no need to get super personal here. A murder. A woman. Seemed simple enough to him. He also noticed neither of them blinked at the mention of a killing. They might sit in a room and design strategy, but death didn’t scare them. They dealt in tragedy and life-ending consequences all the time, which was part of the reason Matthias had started his search here. Give him a target and a mission and he was good. Research, talking to people, interviewing—no fucking way.
“You’re describing him only as ‘a guy’?” Wren asked.
Matthias wasn’t really one for repetition, but he engaged in it this one time. “Yes.”
“You need to give me a bit more than that.” Wren sighed when Matthias stayed quiet. “Why do we care about this guy?”
“Is that relevant?”
Wren sighed louder this time. “Let’s pretend it is.”
The conversation really was starting to annoy Matthias. “He’s my brother.”
There. Enough said. They could all get to work now.
Instead, Wren frowned. “Since when do you have a brother?”
“Technically? All but the first eight years of my life.” He’d only known about Nick for the last seven months, but that really wasn’t the issue for Matthias. Blood was blood even if up until a short time ago he hadn’t known he had any. Now that he knew, he needed answers. Might even have to avenge the kid.
The Enforcer Page 1