The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 1 thru 5 (Smoke Special Edition)

by Craig Halloran

  “You said it again.”

  “Him. It. It was ugly. Ugh. He was ugly. Just let it go.”

  “But you said you shot him. Hit his leg. But didn’t slow him.”

  “Adrenaline.”

  “You said he walked up the shore and disappeared.”

  “It might have been someone else. It was too far to see.”

  “I don’t think anyone else would have been swimming in the Potomac.” Smoke pushed his plate aside, scooted back into the booth, and stretched his legs out.

  “Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you.”

  Smoke closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

  He’s getting weird on me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I have a confession.” His eyes were still closed.

  Oh great. Please don’t give me some sappy story about the last time you ate Pop-tarts with your sister.

  “Great. There’s a Catholic steeple down the street.”

  “I’m worried.” He opened his eyes and looked worried.

  “So?”

  “I don’t get worried.”

  “Well, I guess you’re just one of us now.”

  “AV. He’s not normal.”

  “No, most criminals aren’t. What’s the matter? Are you afraid he won’t be a good cell mate?”

  Smoke raised his eyebrows at her.

  “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” She leaned forward. “It’s been a really long day.”

  “Agent Shaw, did you get a good look when AV jumped off the balcony?”

  “I was there.”

  “Well, so was I. There aren’t many people aside from Olympic athletes who can jump that far in a single bound.” He sat up. “He made a mistake and ran for the boat, thinking the bodyguards would stop us. If he had run into the city, we never would have caught him.”

  “So he’s fast.”

  “And strong.” Smoke narrowed his eyes at her. “I have a hundred pounds on him. It took all I had to wrestle him down.”

  “He’s in shape. Adrenaline. Maybe he’s on something. That wouldn’t be a first. My father told me he saw a man on PCP burst out of his handcuffs once.”

  “No,” Smoke said in a hushed voice, “I’m telling you, he’s not normal. Just like that captain isn’t normal.”

  “Don’t overthink it.” She finished off her coffee and checked her phone. No messages from Jack yet, and it had been two hours. She yawned. “I wonder why this is taking so long.”

  Smoke started to ease himself out of the booth. “I say we head back.” His eyes were restless. “I have a bad feeling.”

  Can’t disagree there. But I’m not going to let him spook me either.

  “Sure, why not.” Sid fetched some bills out of her bag. “Do you want a doggie bag?”

  “What?”

  She dropped the money on the table. “Lighten up a little, will you?”

  ***

  Driving down the road, Sid couldn’t shake the butterflies from her stomach. Smoke was uncomfortable. It made her uncomfortable.

  What is his deal?

  She’d texted Dydeck before they left and hadn’t heard back. Jack was always quick to reply. Ahead, the half-moon shone brightly behind the rising mist of the late evening. She barreled down the exit ramp, merged onto the highway, cruised a few more miles down the road, and turned into Benson Estates.

  A pack of dogs darted across the road. Sidney slammed on the brakes. Her heart was jumping.

  “Whoa.” Smoke leaned forward in his seat. “Were those coyotes?”

  “Coyotes aren’t that big,” Sidney said, peering into the night. The pack had vanished behind the houses. “Those were wolves.”

  “Like timber wolves? I don’t know about that. But they were big. Shepherds, maybe.”

  “Wolves, trust me. I’m pretty familiar with the breeds of dogs.” She let off the brake pedal and eased on up the road. It was the second time she’d seen them in a day.

  “Care to fill me in?”

  “No.”

  “So, you used to be a veterinarian?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Really? Is it that hard to share the smallest detail of any of your history?”

  “No. I’m just staying focused right now.” Driving slowly, she surveyed between the houses they passed. “Just keeping it professional.”

  “I agree, but I think you should work on tuning up your social skills.”

  After a long pause, Sidney said, “I was a K-9 cop in the Air Force.”

  “Oh.” Smoke nodded. He sniffed the air. “Funny, you don’t smell like a canine cop. They usually have a scent about them.”

  “I’m not one now, obviously.”

  “Just a little humor, Agent Shaw. Take it easy.”

  She almost cracked a smile as she pulled the car alongside the curb of the house. The two black SUVs were still in the driveway.

  Unbuckling his belt and getting out of the car, Smoke said, “It doesn’t look like anyone else has shown up.” He headed for the front door. Sidney followed in step behind him. The lights were on inside. The front door was wide open. No sounds came from within. “That’s weird.”

  “Sure is,” she said, drawing her weapon.

  Smoke stopped at the threshold. His arms fanned out, shielding her.

  “Wait.”

  Sidney’s body tingled with tiny fires. She slipped underneath Smoke’s arm and stepped inside. Blood dripped from the fireplace mantle. The stench of death was thick. She gasped.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sidney stumbled back into Smoke, mumbling, “No … no.”

  Blood pooled on the floor. Splattered on the walls. Two agents lay in mangled heaps of flesh. A man was disemboweled, his frozen gaze fixed on the hearth. It was Tommy Tohms. A woman lay with her elbow and neck snapped. The third agent sat on the sofa, coated in blood. His head was missing. Twisted clean off.

  Sidney swallowed hard and choked out a cry when she saw the head lying on the fireplace grate. It was Dydeck.

  She started shaking. This was inhuman. Uncanny. She dropped her weapon. Her knees sagged.

  Smoke caught her. “Let’s get you to the car.”

  “No.” She gasped, wiped the tears from her eyes, reached down to pick up her weapon, and took a deep breath. “I can handle this.”

  “This is madness. Not a lot of people can handle madness.”

  Sidney took another deep breath and straightened herself. “Not a lot of people can handle me mad either. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

  AV was gone. Sidney noticed the busted flex cuffs on the floor.

  Smoke was squatted down, eyeballing them. “These weren’t cut, they were torn,” he said, covering his nose. “Whew … Death stinks.”

  Sidney held her stomach.

  Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

  Blood coated the walls in the living room. It dripped from the ceiling. It looked like a Cuisinart had ripped through the agents in the room.

  “What could have done this?” she asked herself.

  “These are claw marks. A wild pack of canines perhaps.”

  “Dogs wouldn’t do this.”

  She studied Dydeck’s headless corpse. She’d lost a few friends in the field, but none that she knew well. Her heart ached. Dydeck had a wife and three children.

  Lord, no. Lord, no. This can’t happen. Not like this. Not to Dydeck.

  He was hard-nosed. Not always right. But she liked him. She liked him a lot.

  Dydeck still had his weapon in hand. It had been discharged. She turned. The same with Tommy Tohms.

  “Do you see any bullet holes?” She pulled some latex gloves from her inside pocket and checked the cartridge on Dydeck’s weapon. It was empty.

  He couldn’t have missed. Not at this close a range.

  “Two in the wall over here,” Smoke said, fingering the holes, “and one nick in the mantle.”

  “There should be more,” Sidney said, brushing the hair from her eyes. “This magazin
e is empty.”

  “I don’t see anything else,” Smoke said. “They must have filled something with lead.”

  Sidney noticed a pair of holes on the blood-stained floor.

  “Here’s another. Geez.” She took out her phone and dialed headquarters. It wasn’t her first instinct, but it was protocol. She wanted to call Ted, her old boss. A woman’s voice answered.

  “This is Agent Sidney Shaw—”

  She heard the squeal of brakes and pushed the blinds up.

  “Hold on.”

  An unmarked black van had pulled into the driveway. Four men in FBI jackets came out and slammed the doors shut.

  One of them was Cyrus. “Agents down. More agents arriving on scene at 241 Benson Estates. Send forensic team and homicide.” Cyrus spilled in the doorway and stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened and his face turned ashen. “What the hell?” He jerked out his weapon and pointed it at Smoke. “Freeze!”

  Smoke raised his arms over his head.

  “Cyrus.” Sidney cut in between the two men. “They were dead when we got here. Lower your weapon.”

  Three other agents poured into the room with their weapons drawn.

  “Did you clear the house?” Cyrus said.

  “Not yet, I just got—”

  “Secure the house,” Cyrus ordered his men. “Now! You,” he said to Smoke. “Don’t move.” He grabbed one of the agents by the sleeve and said, “Cuff him.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Sidney objected. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

  Smoke’s arms were jerked behind his back and he was shackled. “Don’t forget to double-lock them,” he said.

  “Stay with him,” Cyrus said to the other agents. He looked at Sidney. “You, come with me.” His eyes drifted toward the fireplace. He blinked and leaned in. “Is that … Dydeck?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Cyrus, I just arrived a few minutes before you. How come the transport was late? It should have been here over an hour ago to take Adam Vaughn away.”

  “Sir,” one of the agents said, coming from downstairs. “We have another agent down, but she’s breathing. The rest of the home is secure.”

  “Call an ambulance,” Cyrus said, rushing down the hall and down the steps.

  Sidney was right on his heels. At the bottom of the stairs a woman in an FBI vest lay still. Sidney swallowed. The agent—a short-haired black lady—was crumpled up in a heap.

  “Back broken,” said one of the agents, a short wiry man with a mustache. He shook his head. “Probably from the fall. A bad spill.” He patted her leg. “Hang on, honey. Hang on.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Cyrus said, kneeling by the woman’s side. “Wait for the ambulance to arrive.”

  “She didn’t fall,” Sidney said, gazing at the stairwell. There was a large indentation in the drywall. “She was thrown.”

  Cyrus stood up, glanced up the stairwell, and said, “That’s not possible.” He eyed the spot. “Maybe it was already there.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sidney said.

  “Well, I don’t care what you think, Agent Shaw.” Cyrus’s forehead started to bead with sweat. “Forensics will decide that. You need to decide how to explain all this.”

  “Me?”

  He got in her face. “Yes, you!”

  “Hey, Cyrus,” the short agent said, “look at this.”

  Cyrus took out a pair of glasses and put them on. “What is it?”

  “She has something in her hand,” the agent said. “It looks like hair.”

  Sidney leaned in. The hair was long, dark brown, and very coarse. Cyrus scooted over and blocked her view. She said, “Do you mind?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He rose up, stood in front of her, and pointed up the stairs. “Go.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m the senior agent on the scene,” he said. “And you are going.”

  “Going where?”

  “Going home.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Whap! Whap! Whap!

  Sidney laid into the heavy bag that hung in the gym.

  Whap! Whap!

  Sweat dripped from her brow.

  Whap!

  Chest heaving inside her Under-Armor hoodie, she walked over to a nearby bench and twisted the cap off her bottled water. It was Saturday, two days after the massacre at Benson Estates. She’d spent all day Friday doing paperwork, and she hadn’t heard a word about the case since. Cyrus didn’t return her texts. He’d iced her. She finished off her water, crushed the bottle, and tossed it in a can. Damn him.

  The gym had a little bit of everything going on and was fairly busy for a Saturday. Men and women pushed weighted sleds. Cross trainers pushed their clients to the limits. Sweating bodies churned on treadmills and elliptical machines lined up row-by-row in front of the wall-mounted television. The entire gym smelled like sweat, and the music playing gave it energy.

  She ripped a sidekick into the bag. Launched another and another.

  A man walking by stopped and watched. He was a little shorter than her, red-faced, and all muscle in a little T-shirt. Tattoos of daggers and snakes decorated his shoulders. He nodded and smiled. “You really know how to work that bag. Impressive.”

  Great. “Thanks.” She paused. “Are you waiting?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his chin. “I’m enjoying watching.” He looked her up and down. “You really are something. How long have you been working out?”

  “Listen—”

  “Tommy. Tommy’s my name.” He extended his hand. “Weightlifting is my game.”

  She laughed. “Tommy, you really need to go.”

  “I can’t leave without your name.”

  She walked over the padded floor to her gym bag, grabbed her badge, and held it in front of Tommy’s widened eyes. “Here are my initials. Now beat it.”

  He eased back but kept smiling. “Well, FBI, you are one fine agent. You can cuff me any time.”

  “Can I shoot you too?”

  He swallowed. “Er … No.” He blinked a couple of times, turned, and walked away.

  Loser.

  Sidney worked the bag again. Combos of kicks and punches. She loved kick boxing. It had been a passion of hers since she was nine. Her arms became heavy. Her black stretch pants were soaked in sweat. She unleashed some more roundhouse kicks.

  Whap! Whap! WHAP!

  She took the sparring gloves off, tossed them into her gym bag, and headed toward the treadmills. The ghastly images from the crime scene still burned in her mind. Dydeck was dead. Good agents were dead. One paralyzed. And somewhere, a killer was out there running free. Could it have been Adam Vaughn? It wasn’t possible. But that wasn’t what bothered her most.

  Smoke was gone.

  She climbed up on a step mill, punched in the time and intensity, and started walking.

  Things had gotten ugly between her and Cyrus when he’d told her to leave. She had objected. The mousy man with frosty eyes had responded by having Smoke carted off behind her back, with no goodbyes between them.

  “Your boyfriend is headed back to prison. You’ll have to get your kiss goodbye some other place, some other time.”

  It gnawed at her gut. After a forty-five-minute workout, it still stuck in her craw.

  Maybe I should go for a run. Or go shooting.

  She gathered her things and exited the gym into the biting wind, headed for her car. The Interceptor wasn’t alone. A man wearing a brown leather Donegal and a tweed trench stood there.

  “Ted?” She looked around the parking lot. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just came to see how you were doing.”

  “Really.” She unlocked the car and tossed her gym bag inside. “Why?”

  “Come on, Sid. Agents died. You were there. I saw the pictures.” He grimaced. “In all my years, I’ve never seen … well, never. Let’s just leave it at that. How about we go and get something to eat?”

  She crossed her arms. “How about you tell me what
’s going on? I should be in on this, you know.”

  “Headquarters is in turmoil at the moment. It almost takes an act of God to keep these incidents out of the papers.” Hands stuffed in his pockets, he leaned his shoulder on the car. “When I heard the news, I thought it was you in that bloodbath. I’m glad you’re still alive.”

  “Still?”

  “Ah, don’t start that.” He rolled his eyes. “Quit picking sentences and expressions apart.”

  “Didn’t you teach me that?”

  “I don’t know.” Looking at her with his soft eyes, Ted reminded her of the old actor named Brian Keith from movies she watched with her father. Tough, yet soft in a very manly way. “Probably. Let’s get out of this cold and go eat. There’s a nice little greasy spoon around the corner.”

  She pushed her back off the car. “Nice little greasy spoon? I don’t think so.”

  He chuckled and offered his elbow. “Aw, come on. I’ve never seen anything in there that could bite you.”

  They made their way out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk, brushing by many passersby.

  “Sir, I have to have a part in this. I was there, I brought in AV, and now I’m cut out? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The Black Slate doesn’t make any sense either. Those files are off the books. I’m trying to make sense of it myself.”

  “And what have you learned?”

  “Huh, well, from what I’ve gathered, the Slate precedes the FBI.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a mystery where it came from.”

  “Wouldn’t that make the people on the list really old … like you?”

  He laughed.

  “And,” she continued, “Adam Vaughn didn’t seem very old. He seemed little older than me.”

  “Over time, the list … it changes, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Well, who keeps the list updated?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “What do you know?”

  He pointed at the sign on the door of a restaurant. The stenciled lettering on the glass door read: The Wayfarer. He opened the door and nodded. “We’re here.”

  The smell of fried food and cooking oil wafted into her nostrils. Soft rock music and the clinking of dishes caught her ear. She stepped inside. “Great.” She shivered. “At least it’s warm.”