GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  Andi turned and ran toward Jenny, her arms extended. They hugged each other like long-lost sisters. In some sense, they were.

  “I thought something had happened,” Andi said, holding Jenny's head in her hands.

  “We missed our first flight. Nicholas here had to go potty.” She smirked at her young son, who gave a slight nod to his mom. "They were able to move us to the six p.m. flight. Just got in a couple of minutes ago. Sorry I didn't text you. All the chaos started to upset Nicholas.

  They hugged again, and then Andi introduced Trevor as the group ambled toward baggage claim.

  “Nicholas, can you say hi to Trevor?” Jenny mimicked a little kid wave, hoping to encourage a response...any reaction from her autistic child. He didn't respond, and Jenny appeared to take in a tired breath.

  Trevor leaned down and talked to Nicholas about all the bags that were streaming in on top of the motorized conveyer belts. Slowly, the two boys walked closer to the looping mechanism.

  “Jenny, you've been through so much. I just can't thank you enough for everything you've done.” Andi touched Jenny's arm and both ladies watched the boys interact.

  “It had to be done. I couldn't live with myself. Those poor kids are being treated like pieces of meat, even worse. And all the parents, real or adopted, are getting screwed by everyone at Big Heart.” Andi could see Jenny's emotions begin to bubble up.

  Jenny pointed toward her one enormous suitcase popping through the flapping plastic, and the ladies wandered up to the carousel.

  “There are big bags and small bags.” Trevor altered his playful voice for each item, and Nicholas appeared interested and more at ease in this strange place. “There are blue bags and brown bags and even green bags. What color is mommy's bag?”

  Nicholas ran five steps and put his hand out. “Red. This is Mommy's red bag.” He patted it twice and smiled. Jenny picked up her son and kissed him on the cheek. He mostly ignored it, then pulled a Lego spaceship from his mother's purse and began making swooshing sounds while twirling around with his favorite toy.

  The sliding door shut on Andi's Mystery Machine. They'd purchased a kid's seat at the airport and Trevor spent thirty minutes figuring out how to attach it. He only let out a few mumbled curse words during the process. They exited the garage and took a left onto Mockingbird.

  “Well, I guess this is our new home, a new life,” Jenny said staring out the window like a little kid herself. City lights blinked and jets rumbled low across the dark sky.

  Andi nodded at Trevor, who was feeling more like an actual boyfriend, dare she say.

  “Jenny, we know you're worried about piecing together a new life here, so I'd like to put your mind at ease.” Andi saw Jenny's eyes get wide with anticipation.

  “You have an interview set up for Monday to be a social worker up where I work, at Denton Regional Medical Center.”

  Jenny sat up and grabbed the headrest. “Really? Oh, Trevor, Andi, thank you. I hope I'm prepared.”

  “With your experience, I'm sure you'll be fine. I know the lady who heads up that department, and I have a feeling she's going to love you.” Andi noticed Trevor's cheeky grin highlighting his two dimples...cute, bordering on sexy.

  “By the way, I understand you're also a burgeoning artist?”

  “Well, I've done a little here and there. Always wondered if I had something inside, you know?”

  “My doctor friend at the hospital...her husband is a professor at UNT, and he said he can get you into the school with your previous art school credits, and you should be able to start taking part-time classes this summer.”

  Jenny made no audible reply. Tears streamed down her face. Andi handed her a tissue.

  “Jenny, this is what you've wanted. After everything you've been through, you deserve this, for yourself as much as for Nicholas.”

  Jenny nodded and put a hand on both Andi's and Trevor's shoulders. “I've never had help like this.” She giggled through tears. "One more thing, then I'll shut up," Trevor said. "Through my network of doctor contacts, I know someone who's been involved in research showing a possible connection between autism and Lyme disease."

  Jenny twisted her head. “I think I read an article about this.”

  “Well, I know the doctor. And he's open to seeing pediatric patients. I told him about little Nicholas.”

  Jenny leaned back and wrapped her arms around her five-year-old treasure, who continued flying his spaceship like no one else was around.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Weary from a long road trip and then standing next to the outdoor grill for the last ninety minutes, Gerald decided to sit down in the ergonomic poolside recliner. If he was any more relaxed, he would fall asleep. Bullfrogs croaked and flying bugs caromed off the metal screen that enveloped the small outdoor pool. Gerald felt a bite on his arm, and he smacked the mosquito. He winced, aware of the noise it created and paused his breath, looking right toward the home's sliding glass door. Still no signs of life.

  Gerald peered toward the nearby golf course, a couple of landscape lights illuminating a tee box perched next to a small pond. Fresh water, salt water... it mattered not for alligators in Naples. They'd even take a dip in your pool, if not for the man-made barricades. As a fellow Floridian, he'd heard dozens of stories of kids being plucked off their yard by the piercing jaws of one of the fiercest creatures that walked the earth. He wondered if one might be eyeing him right now.

  The salty, humid air filled his lungs. Here it was almost midnight and he'd hardly budged, yet he oozed a light coat of perspiration. He hadn't brought the proper attire for this leg of the trip. He nudged his plaid shirt up his arms another couple of inches and thought about the purpose of this destination.

  There are some things in life that you can't avoid...you must face them head-on, even if the task doesn't bring immediate gratification. Gerald huffed and knew this, indeed, was one of those tasks. Roy Dixon had served a purpose, a most important cog in his plan to trigger the transfer of power in his father's company. Gerald had hired the hijacker—a college dropout toiling away at some greasy fast-food joint, making just enough cash to feed his heroin binges. He threw enough money at the greedy little bastard to kill the pot-bellied, golden-cuffed man lounging in seat 5A: Gerald's dad. Not by knife or gun, but by shoving his ungrateful, fat ass out of the plane as it was descending into Miami. A two-thousand foot plunge...more than enough time for dear old dad to beg for forgiveness for all his life's sins, most importantly how he'd mistreated his second son—the physically-flawed, adopted son.

  A gush of adrenaline raced through Gerald's bloodstream, and he felt goose bumps on his forearms.

  Roy had waited to the right moment, then shot the drugged-out hijacker with one shot to the head. His sharp-shooting skills were only outmatched by his own lustful desires and his ability to justify his actions. Killing that little punk had vaulted Roy to hero status, not just from fellow passengers, but also management. But his sudden retirement and irresponsible spending habits had drawn second looks, then an internal investigation. This story would have no fairy tale ending.

  Gerald touched his face, feeling undulations, a void of skin and meat in both cheeks and along his chin. He briefly closed his eyes, and powerful, sensual images flashed through his mind from his recent conquests.

  He felt a vibration. An automated garage door rising. He twisted out of his chair and stood on the other side of the wall next to the sliding glass door. He heard drawers shut and a glass cling against a counter. Gerald picked up a pebble and tossed it at the steel grill on the other side of the patio. The outside light popped on; the door slid open. He saw a cowboy boot and starched, creased jeans, then the back of Roy Dixon.

  “Hiya, Roy.”

  The former federal air marshal jerked his hand toward the spot where his pistol used to reside. Old habits die hard...but no harder than Roy would.

  Gerald took a step forward, his face illuminated by the yellow light.

  Roy til
ted his head, his mouth wide open. “Who are you? What happened to you?”

  Like so many others, Roy gazed nervously at something he'd never seen, never imagined. It wasn't the sunken face with a nub for a chin, although those features weren't exactly attractive, Gerald knew. The eyes stared at Roy. One eye so blue, it didn't look real. Not the kind of blue that anyone found handsome. This blue glowed like a mineral from another planet, another world. The pupil was tiny and the white background nearly nonexistent. The other eye was brown, with a wide rim of red. Gerald called it devil red.

  “I'm here to complete our business transaction, Roy.” Gerald tapped his instrument on his left hand and shook his head.

  “What transaction?” Roy couldn't stop staring at Gerald's eyes, but he leaned back as if trying to escape their deathly glare.

  “I think you know. You've been a bad boy, Roy. Very bad.”

  “What are you talking about? I'm a former federal air marshal, retired with honors.”

  “Oh, don't feed me that line of bullshit, Roy. I know who you are, what you've done. I paid you, dumbass.” Gerald shook his head, annoyed at the man's attempt at fooling him. “The question is, do you want to die quickly, or take up a lot of my time?”

  Roy raised both arms, his body rigid with unmitigated fear. He glanced around, obviously looking for a weapon, a way out. He had neither.

  “Roy, I'm stronger than you, quicker than you, and smarter than you. But I've also got this mean streak that tends to rear its ugly head at the wrong time. Which one is it, Roy? Die quickly, or die slow and suffer?”

  “I—” Roy touched his head.

  “Roy, answer me.” Gerald moved closer, his blade flashing off a neighbor's backyard spotlight.

  “I can't—”

  “Nothing I hate worse than a mumbler.”

  Gerald could see Roy eye the latched screen door ten feet away. So predictable. Roy jolted left, and Gerald simply stuck out his foot. The former federal agent wasn't as spry, and he stumbled like a drunken sailor, his forehead and face skidding to a stop on the brick poolside tumblers.

  “That's all you got. Really? Not very impressive from the former air marshal of the year.”

  “You don't have to do this.” Roy's voice cracked with emotion. He raised a shaky hand, and Gerald almost felt a tinge of sorrow for the old bastard.

  “I think we need to look at this situation through a scientific lens. For every action, there is always an equal reaction. You know, like physics and shit.”

  Confusion overtook panic and dread on Roy's creased, tan face.

  “You don't have a clue what I said, do you?”

  Roy slowly shook his head, his eyes pasted to the scene before him.

  Gerald belted out a huge laugh. “Here, let me help you.” He methodically took Roy's hand. Roy slowly returned the grip and began to get up from the ground.

  “You see, this has all been a misunderstanding,” Roy said, just rising to his feet.

  Using Roy's weight as leverage, Gerald swung his right arm with all his might and jabbed his scalpel into Roy's eye socket. Roy let out a blood-curdling scream.

  “No, I don't see,” Gerald said between his teeth. He then sliced downward, gashing Roy's face.

  In five minutes flat, Gerald ripped Roy's entire body to shreds. Then he removed his own bloodstained clothes and jumped in the pool for a quick refresher.

  Reinvigorated, Gerald stood naked next to a circle of blood, pool water dripping onto Roy's mutilated carcass.

  Oh, how the mighty hero has fallen. But one will rise to the top.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Any word from your long-lost brother?” Brandon chewed a bite of a breakfast sandwich, and crumbs spilled onto my desk.

  “Half-brother.”

  “I'm not sure I'd claim that high of a percentage.”

  I wasn't surprised with Brandon's opinion of Jeremiah, especially since Brandon had led the interrogation during our last night together—a supposed going-away party.

  “We haven't received a thank you card or towering gift basket from Harry & David,” I said.

  Brandon picked melted cheese off the wrapper. “Thank God that tool left town. I know the girls...well, Carrie was all enamored with his quiet personality and studly body, but he seemed off-kilter. No offense.”

  I held up my hands as a way to disassociate myself from Jeremiah, although I knew the bloodlines still existed.

  “There was something that didn't click about that guy. He tried too hard to be pleasant...until he had that strange passive-aggressive departure from your house.”

  I thought more about the aftermath of Jeremiah's visit, and Marisa's odd detachment that had morphed into the slightest of wedges in our relationship. Nothing confrontational, just a little annoyance on the bottom of your foot that once you finally look at it turns out to be a black, fuzzy wart.

  I popped a knuckle. “Key word there is departure. Gone. Behind us.”

  Brandon nodded. “Couldn't agree more. Life has returned to normal...if a relationship with Carrie can be normal. She's never boring, but she's certainly frisky.”

  “TMI, dude.”

  Brandon turned a shade of red then stuffed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. “See you in ten for our brainstorming session.”

  I gestured then picked up today's edition of the God love Ireland. I touched the newsprint, and my fingers turned black.

  Headline: God love Ireland

  Sub-header: God love Ireland

  I read the entire story, including the jump page. Must have been sixty inches or more. Our college intern had freakin' knocked it out of the park.

  “Andi Osborne, what the hell have you done?” I slapped the paper on the glass house meeting room table.

  Her brown eyes got wide, her face full of trepidation. “Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. What did I do exactly?”

  “You nailed this story like a twenty-year pro. You just reset the standard around here. Congratulations.” I walked around and extended a hand. She stood up, looked around, and shook it.

  Brandon and Rolando whistled and clapped, and I even joined in with the applause.

  “Nice job, Andi.” Rolando shared a fist bump with her.

  I just noticed we were minus our elder statesman. “Anyone seen Stu?”

  Rolando lifted both arms, and Andi shook her head. Brandon had his head buried in his iPad.

  “Earth to Brandon.”

  “Huh? Sorry. We just got another email.”

  “Yours Truly?”

  Brandon nodded.

  “No doubt an email related to the Dallas murder...Jordan.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Let's get Carl and Guidry on the phone right away. And print copies for those of us in the room and our evidence board.”

  Minutes later, the Polycom chimed, and two voices came alive.

  “We've got to stop meeting like this,” Carl said.

  “You guys stop the killer, or killers as the case may be, and we'll stop calling,” I said, then looked at Brandon. “Did you send it?”

  “On the way.”

  Just then, Stu flung open the glass house door. “Sorry I'm late. Been in Denton. Share my info later.” He sat down and grabbed a hard copy.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, this is my first time to read it. Here it goes.”

  God love Ireland

  God love Ireland

  God love Ireland

  Carl jumped in with his two-cent analysis. “So far, none of the ME reports show any semen or sexual assault. This email talks about how sex gets in the way. Gotta be a connection there.”

  I didn't want us spinning our wheels, so I tried to move it along, knowing we usually did our best work without the FBI looking over our shoulders.

  “We'll put this on our list to evaluate, as I'm sure you'll do the same with the BSU.” I miraculously contained my sarcasm.

  “You know the process,” Guidry said.

  “We did make a connection on Sam/Joe in Oxfor
d—not the Facebook photo, the email. Turns out that quote was from Sam Baldwin in God love Ireland,” I said.

  “Shit. Another Meg Ryan movie,” Guidry said. “I'm sure our BSU was just a step away from that.”

  I was beginning to wonder if they could find their asses with both hands.

  “That'll narrow their focus for this last one in Dallas,” Guidry said.

  “Just to be transparent, we spoke to Patricia, the Baton Rouge barista once more.”

  “Shit, Michael. Do you carry a badge I'm not aware of?” Carl inquired.

  “Free world and all. Anyway, we had her look at the Facebook photo, hoping she'd see a resemblance to F-O-X. Even with a couple of leading questions, they sound like different people, hair color, glasses, facial hair, everything.”

  “We'll follow up.”

  Guidry sounded annoyed. So be it.

  “Any other news you guys can share...will share?” I asked.

  “Cyber team pinpointed exact location of the email sender. It's in the Pudong business district in Shanghai. A small office in the Jin Mao Tower, one of the tallest buildings in the world, I might add. Apparently, some of the world's most prominent hackers have worked out of this office. Global operation. We're working with Chinese authorities to raid the office, confiscate computers. We're hoping to get a list of their customers, find out who hired them.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. The power and reach of the FBI had finally been felt.

  We hung up and tried to continue the momentum.

  Stu cleared his throat. “Before we dig in for the day, let me share some information I just learned.” He put on reading glasses and opened his notepad. "Olivia was a music grad student, and she was at this bar watching an Eagles cover band."

  “Too bad it wasn't the real thing.” Brandon looked at me, but I ignored him and nodded to Stu.

  “I got a name and a description of a guy she was seen leaving with. The name was Sam.”

  Everyone looked up, and Andi flipped open her laptop and started clicking.