Kill The Willing: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (I Fear No Evil Book 1)

by Martha Carr

  “Spill it, Tech-Still-Letting-You-Live-Man,” snapped Shay. Concealing his knowledge of magical history was one thing, but she could sense something far more serious.

  “Least favorite nickname so far, just saying. Don’t shoot the tech guy but I’ve been… using some of my well-honed computer skills to stalk my family from afar. I’ve been tracing their activities.” He wrinkled his forehead, clapping his hands together in resignation. “Randy’s movements and activities are a lot shadier than my sister’s. I found several suspicious payments the day after you iced me. I’ll give him credit, they were in different accounts, different amounts, for different things, but all on the same day, and all just conveniently happened to add up to the amount you were paid for my death.” He picked at a scratch on the top of the desk. “Makes it a little hard to refute.”

  Shay rubbed a hand over her face. Having an inner circle is fucking hard. No wonder it’s taken me this long. “Talk about your lame ideas. You’re good, Peyton, but you’re not perfect. Whether it’s your whole family or just your slick brother, they might still be looking for you. Don’t you think that poking around them in hackerland could end up being a big-ass flare saying you’re still alive?”

  Peyton put up his hands. “I know, I know. But I needed to confirm things. Still family… What you said before, I didn’t want to believe it without some proof, but now I can see that you’re probably right. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  Shay leaned over and poked him in the chest, her voice dropping to an icy whisper more for show than anything else. She needed to get her point across and have it last. “Next time you tell me right away. If your ass gets fried, it puts my fine ass in the crosshairs.” She punctuated her sentence with a glare, but she couldn’t blame him for wanting to confirm the truth. Maybe now that he saw the evidence for himself it’d help him adjust better to his new life.

  Peyton stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again. I’d hate to dispose of a useful asset.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and his skin grew pale as he held very still.

  Don’t worry, Peyton Coolidge. I’m not gonna kill you if I have any other choice. Your job is to keep giving me choices.

  “We should go get tacos.”

  “I’m still afraid to move.”

  Shay smiled, turning her head away for a moment. It was too much. “Peyton, relax. I don’t kill where I live, if I can avoid it.”

  She got up to walk toward her car with Peyton right behind her, jabbing his finger in the air.

  “See, it’s those loopholes you leave yourself that make the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. You either have a great poker face, Shay Carson, or I’m one foot away from a spring-loaded trap that I’m not seeing.”

  Shay opened her door and slid down into the leather seat. “Stick around long enough. You’re bound to figure it out.”

  Peyton opened the passenger side door. “That’s humor, right?” He shook his head. “I guess I’m sticking around long enough to see which way this goes. Clearly, I have issues with knowing when to leave.”

  Later that evening, long after Shay had driven out of Warehouse Two, Peyton eyed the various equipment lying on the table in front of him, jammers mostly. The more he could prove himself to Shay, the more she would let him into her business. The more he would learn how to roam the streets without giving himself away.

  Her look from earlier in the day still made his stomach tighten.

  That woman has killed more people than most Navy SEALs. I can’t tell if she’s fucking with me half the time, or if she’ll put me down without even blinking. “Hell, she was friends with her own dead stand-in.”

  Peyton groaned as he ran his hand through his hair, turning around, slowly figuring out where to start. He thought he understood what it meant to deal with dangerous people when he traded information in the underworld, but Shay was a whole new level of fearsome. A vicious killer in a pretty package who could crack a joke and eat junk food.

  Hard to get a take on her.

  On some days she passed for normal, even fun, but on others he felt like if he said the wrong thing she might slit his throat and crack a joke about him needing a cough drop.

  He snapped his fingers and ran to the keyboard. Anything to do with technology got his mind working. “I can check my research spiders.”

  Doing background checks on potential clients was one of the easier ways he could help Shay. But running their names through a few forums or websites wasn’t thorough enough. A mild dose of hacking some of their systems could help prove they were who they said they were and help keep down the surprises for Shay on the job.

  Peyton pulled his chair closer to him with his foot, still typing as fast as he could as he fell backward into the seat. He stifled a yawn as he watched the information flow across the screens. An alert window popped up with a sharp beep. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hands flew over the keyboard.

  The problem with looking for someone is sometimes they look back. Someone was counterhacking and had already traced back through half of his proxy servers.

  He had used an automated code he designed that crawled like spiders through both the crowded webs, light and dark. They were programmed to search for potential doors and holes that he could exploit. One of them had caught hostile attention.

  Just killing his spiders wasn’t good enough at this point. The hacker was tracing their path too effectively. He needed to lay down a false trail.

  “Please don’t let this end with a bunch of guys blowing in through the door with machine guns.” Spit flew as he did his best to focus.

  Sweat formed on his forehead as he typed faster, alerts beeping on his computer as the trace pushed through even more of his proxy servers.

  “Come on, come on. I can do this shit. Shay may be a badass killer and tomb raider, but I’m a badass hacker.”

  With only two proxy servers left, mere inches in hacker worlds, Peyton laid down a false trail leading to the computer system of the Eastern Kalama Church of New Eden. It was a cult that sprung up after the truth of Oriceran’s existence and spent their time yelling from street corners that everyone was going to hell. Magic was proof of it.

  “Who knows? Maybe they’ll get a visit from an angry Wizard, proving their point. Everybody wins.”

  Peyton took in and let out several deep breaths. He slapped the top of his head.

  “That was too close. Shay will waste my ass if she finds out I almost led someone right to one of her warehouses. Fuck, I need to get out of here for an hour and relax. I’ve been alone so long I’m talking to myself and my only companion is a retired killer.”

  Peyton pushed out of his chair. After what he’d just gone through, grabbing a quick bite to eat didn’t seem that dangerous. He patted his belly. “Food, you are my only comfort.”

  Peyton sat on the leather-topped metal stool, slowly chewing, wondering if cardboard was one of the ingredients. The place was mostly empty except for a couple of drunk bros, taking turns eating, going back over the details of their night and punching each other in the arm.

  Peyton looked back down at the paper plate in front of him.

  How the fuck does someone screw up pizza?

  He swallowed the disappointing bite and felt his tongue. I think it’s going numb.

  Maybe the name itself should have been a clue. Pasadena’s Best’s Pizza, neatly tucked into downtown Los Angeles.

  I’ve had crap out of vending machines better than this. “Excuse me.” He stopped a tired waitress slowly cleaning the counter. “Do you have a vending machine here? You do?”

  “It’s usually empty.”

  Peyton blinked, staring back at her bored face. He rose and followed the direction she was pointing in, finding the machine back by the bathroom. Nothing but lifesavers. “Who still eats lifesavers,” he muttered. He leaned his head against the glass and felt it slip down.
The front was covered in a film of old grease.

  His stomach lurched as he grabbed at small, folded white napkins, partially used from a nearby table and rubbed them hard against this skin.

  “Try the Hawaiian. Tastes the most like food.” An old man with long, stringy hair was standing behind Peyton with his hand out.

  “You want me to pay you for your help?”

  “No, I want money. Seemed kind of obvious to me.”

  He smelled like old sweat and grease and his thin body was in oversized jeans and a faded flannel shirt. Peyton dug out a five-dollar bill and gave it to him.

  “The Hawaiian, you won’t regret it… well, as much.” He picked something out of his teeth, flicking it onto the ground.

  “Really? Was that necessary?”

  The old man shrugged and turned to go, lifting a hand to wave. Peyton shook his head, waving back. “My first friend outside of the warehouse. Forgot to get his name.”

  He watched the old man walk out to the parking lot and turn toward the What-A-Burger. “Well played, old dude. Well played.”

  He walked back to the waitress and slapped another five-dollar bill on the counter. “I’m feeling lucky tonight. Something has to go right. I’ll take a slice of that Hawaiian on my friend’s recommendation.”

  The bored teenager standing behind the cash register gave him a quick nod. “I already closed the cash register. Can’t take any more cash tonight.”

  “Seriously, how are you still open?” Peyton swiped his phone over the pay panel, grateful to one of his many, many aliases for paying for the food.

  The teen pulled two limp slices out of the warmer and placed them on a single plate. She shoved the plate toward him and delivered the restaurant’s catch phrase in a complete monotone, “Please enjoy another slice of the best pizza in Pasadena.”

  “Usually I love irony.”

  The teenager gave Peyton a blank look and turned to get a key on a long wooden stick with the word, Men’s written in black magic marker. He handed it to Peyton and went and sat down, pulling out his phone.

  “Is this some kind of friendly warning?” The kid didn’t even look up as Peyton returned to his table carrying the stick and the slice of pizza.

  Come on. I can find a slice of pizza to eat. It can’t be that hard.

  Peyton munched down and let out a sharp laugh. “Tastes like food!” He waved to the teenager who looked up, rolling his eyes. An actual flavor... He swallowed, biting off another large bite. As he got to the last bite, his stomach rumbled, and he felt a gurgle in his throat.

  “Truth in advertising. Respect.” He pressed on his belly with his hand and grabbed the key, getting up to head to the bathroom. The waitress looked up and smiled at him.

  “Finding good pizza is more of a secret skill than I realized.”

  “Tell me about it. I bring my dinner with me. Hot Pocket.” She leaned against the counter and tilted her head, watching Peyton make a beeline past the vending machine.

  17

  Shay pushed the glass door, stepping into A.J.’s Kitchen. Greg Abbot had sent a text requesting a meeting, and this place was far enough away from any critical locations and still served decent food. That mattered to Shay.

  She spotted Greg in a corner booth and walked over to him, taking quick looks from left to right looking for immediate threats. It was L.A., so of course there were a few people who looked shady, but no one who looked like professional trouble.

  Shay slid into a seat across from Greg. “Hey, did I keep you waiting.”

  “Good afternoon, Shay. No, I got here early. Gives me the lay of the land. Nervous habit. Appreciate you coming so quickly at the last minute.”

  Shay grinned, placing her hands on the table. “The promise of money can get me moving pretty damned quickly.”

  “There’s a potential client for you. He’s big money. A million is on the table for delivery.”

  “That sounds very good to me.”

  “You’ll have to really want this one.”

  Shay drummed her pale pink fingernails on the white Formica top. “As opposed to what? I’m a tomb raider. I take jobs. Why would I have to want it? I take jobs to find shit. I find the shit. I get paid. Pretty simple. I like simple.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an LA actor. I’m not finding lost objects, so I can write a book about it.”

  “You don’t understand.” Greg leaned across the table. “There are some complications that make this a lot more difficult than the Dutchman gold.”

  “Complications? Worse than gold being stuck in the middle of cartel country?”

  The older man nodded. “Those criminals didn’t know about the gold. There are some rough characters interested in the same job. They’re working for a rival client and they are closing in. If you take the job, you’re going to have to deal with them. It’s not a question of if...”

  Shay tapped her foot under the table, doing her best to contain the sliver of anger. “It’s nice that you care but I can take care of myself. You’re not going to bring me jobs with caveats all the time, are you? That’ll get old. No, wait… got old.”

  Greg glanced up at the waitress as she put down two glasses of water. He took a sip and chewed on a piece of ice.

  Shay did a short count. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. People skills when you wanted someone to live still weren’t her strong suit. She took a deep breath and let it out, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll start again. No one becomes a tomb raider if danger bothers them. I’ve already almost died a few different ways.”

  She smiled and waited for him to say something. He doesn’t know your resume. Let it go.

  “You’re sure?” Greg said, uncertainty lingering on his face.

  The waitress stopped at the table to take their orders. Shay ordered jalapeno cheese grits, and Greg ordered a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. “Hold the tomato, and can you put mayo on one side?”

  “You have to be from the South.”

  “Hard to hide sometimes,” said Greg, smiling more easily. “What about you? Cheese grits…”

  “Picked it up on a trip. I’ve lived all over, never for very long.”

  “Holler if you need anything else.” The waitress stepped back, her pad resting on her hip as she turned and went to the next table clearing dishes.

  “I want the job. More importantly I want the million dollars,” Shay said in a low voice. “The job’s kind of a requirement for that.”

  Greg took a deep breath and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper and slid it across the table to Shay.

  “That’s the client’s contact info. Since you’re going to take the job, I’ll try and do what I can on my end to encourage him to hire you.”

  “Thanks, Greg. This one’s on me. After all, I’m about to get a lot richer.”

  “That’s not a lot of details so far,” Peyton said over the phone.

  Shay glanced in her side and rearview mirrors to make sure she wasn’t being followed before purposefully taking a wrong turn. Going back to the warehouse from a meeting required extra security protocols.

  “The million dollars is the detail I care about.”

  “Even though Abbot is trying to warn you off?”

  “He led me to it. I’ll go in prepared. That tends to make things less dangerous. I’m not worried about that kind of danger.”

  Shay narrowed her eyes as she passed a pizza place she didn’t recognize.

  How the hell did I miss that? Or are they just new?

  “Okay, what’s the play now?” Peyton asked.

  “I’ve got the client’s contact information, but I want you to set up a way to contact him online and exchange information that can’t be traced back to me.”

  Peyton whistled. “A guy’s going to throw a million dollars around, but doesn’t care about meeting you? I don’t think even my dad’s that kind of rich.”

  “Greg’s got enough clout that he can vouch for me, but run it through an
online alias. Make sure there’s a secure distance from me and tie it to my new tomb raider rep.”

  “How about Pizza Girl?”

  “As an alias?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you shitting me right now?”

  “It fits you.”

  Shay snorted. “It makes it sound like I’m a delivery girl.”

  “Technically, you kind of are. You go find something, then you deliver to the client.”

  “But I don’t deliver fucking pizza.”

  “Okay, okay.” Peyton muttered something under his breath Shay couldn’t make out over the phone.

  “How about Aletheia?”

  “Aletheia? As in the Greek Goddess of Truth?”

  “The one and only. Unless you want to go Roman?”

  “Nope, the name sounds good.” Shay smiled, slowing down at a light. Goddess of Truth. She liked that. Goddess of Truth and Asskicking, but no Greek goddess covered both of those.

  “See, I’m not just a well-dressed techie.”

  “Things are really going to break out from here. When I finish this job, I can finally land a meeting with Smite-Williams.”

  “What if you can’t finish the job?”

  Shay scoffed. “I don’t fail to finish.”

  “You never failed in your old job?”

  “Came close a few times, but I don’t walk away. Half measures add up to nothing. I do what I’m paid to do. Set up a boiler plate contract. We can’t wait on this one. Need to get there before whatever douchebag patrol gets there first.”

  The next morning when Shay arrived at Warehouse Two she noted the presence of yet another cubicle room. The invasive species was growing.

  “Good morning,” Peyton called from the office, a bright smile on his face. “I can’t believe that guy hired you so quickly. Does my cool nickname have anything to do with it?”

  “Or Greg vouching for me.” Shay shook her head. “This one reeks of magic, though. That’s promising for my rep.”

  “Oh? Tell me the details, woman.”

  Shay gave him a cold stare.

  “Okay, uh, tell me, please?”