No Good Dead (Bad to Be Good #1)

by Dana Volney

  “You called her, right?” Able side-eyed Samson as they headed to the beer line.

  Samson blew out a sigh, and his dimples showed in his dissatisfaction.

  “Yeah.”

  His answer was clipped. Claire Citare and Samson as a couple hadn’t ended well. But they had to call her in on this if it was as bad as Able’s gut told him. If they ended up having to con anyone they were going to need her. Not to mention Able had a bit of a soft spot for her. If she was in town she was a possible target, and they weren’t going to leave her out in the cold.

  “I called the others.” Able glanced around to see who’d arrived already.

  “We need all these guys?”

  “Better to be safe.”

  Samson might fly by the seat of his pants, but Able never did. He enjoyed the planning, it made him feel at ease. It wasn’t like killing people was ideal. The only thing he could ever take solace in was that his plans were solid and the people on his lists were just jobs.

  They got into line; the energy of the crowd there for some grunge band practically hummed. He glanced at the exit twenty feet from the beer stand; he was thirty seconds from clearing out of the concert hall if he had to, Samson always carried a knife in his boot and was packing a pistol in the back of his jeans. Risky considering sometimes the concerts had metal detectors. Able had stashed his own bit of weaponry on his person: his standard knife in his boot, just like Samson, and a stun gun. If another dickweed came after him, he wanted to be able to ask him questions instead of having to kill him.

  “What have we here?” A familiar low-toned female voice caused both of them to turn around. “The Brothers Grimm, I see.”

  “Claire.” A small smile crossed Able’s lips. “Thank you for joining us.”

  Claire eyed Samson, her jaw rocking back and forth for a moment. “Wouldn’t miss a reunion.”

  “You look good.” Able took in her tight blue jeans, midriff white shirt that dipped low in the front, and flashy gold earrings. The pro in her was obviously not missing a beat of fitting in.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You, too.”

  Able didn’t have to look at Samson to know he was seething on the inside, and he didn’t have to look into Claire’s eyes to know she’d only made a show of greeting him to piss Samson off. Claire was a skilled liar.

  “This better be good.” Rife Kais came out of nowhere and shifted his gaze around the corridor as he spoke. “I don’t like being exposed like this.” His leather, flyboy jacket was not an attempt to fit in. Rife didn’t give two shits if he looked the part or not; he dressed how he dressed. His stature made him impossible to hide in a crowd either way.

  “It is,” Able answered. “We’re just missing one.” His eyes locked with Sabene Walter, the crowd parting as she walked a straight line right to them in leather pants, high black heels, and bracelets lined up practically to her elbow.

  “This call was too intriguing to pass up.” Her bright white smile greeted the group.

  “You have a dog.” Rife’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Arkham. He goes where I go.” Her brow arched but not out of a taunt. She loved that German Shepard.

  Able had met Sabene years ago. She was the youngest in the group at twenty-five but had seen some shit in her life.

  “Nice touch with the orange harness.” Able was 92 percent sure Sabene had tactically trained the K-9 sitting attentively at her leg in Hebrew commands. Something he should probably find out if they were going to be working together. If she should happen to sic Arkham on Able, he wanted to be able to call him off. Shooting a dog would be going too far.

  “People ask less questions that way.” She winked and eyed the beer list. “Grab me what’s on tap, yeah?”

  Samson ordered beers for everyone. They needed an excuse to huddle up without drawing attention to themselves and a drink in hand appeared normal.

  “Let’s get this party started.” Milo Oberon, with his quick grin, produced a credit card between his fingers for the bartender as he leaned on the counter then glanced over to them. “I’ll have what they’re having.”

  Able spied the name on the card. Not Milo. And he doubted it was any of his aliases. Milo was a world-class thief who would always use his skills to not pay for anything given the chance.

  Able drank from his Solo cup. Stealing a credit card tonight when they didn’t need to draw attention to themselves was careless. Just like the person holding it. Able had made Samson call Claire, and he’d apparently returned the favor by extending an invitation to Milo.

  Yep, Samson smirked and took hold of one of the cups brimming with an amber ale.

  Able had thrown on dark wash jeans, black shoes, and long-sleeved black shirt with four buttons at the top to fit into the concert scene. He’d added layers of an open button-up jean shirt and black jacket over it and put on his black beanie to hold his hair back. He hated this meeting spot but appreciated the tactical advantage. He’d much prefer a private lounge and a nice bottle of red while a string quartet regaled him with the classics. He wanted to explain what was going on, solve the problem, and get on with his life. One that would hopefully involve the sun in his face and sand between his toes in a couple of weeks. There’d probably be a senorita in it for him, too.

  “So, let’s hear the big reveal. Some people were less than chatty when they called.” Claire stared down Samson while she spoke, her auburn, shoulder-length curls swaying as someone brushed past her a little too closely. The motion wasn’t lost on Samson, who diverted his gaze, watching the young kid as if deciding whether or not to stab him in the side.

  That would be all they needed. Lock up was a much easier place to eliminate a mark.

  Able watched the crowd for a moment to make sure there was nothing suspicious—multiple gazes, guns sticking out of waistbands, people with shoes that didn’t belong—then said in a quieted voice, “There’s someone out there targeting people in our profession.” Able glanced to each person in his group now huddled in the corner by the exit. Not surprising. It was the best vantage point to keep the crowd of people to one side and an exit at the ready. Theirs was a trained group. All crack shots. All good at other singular aspects of the job that made them the best. And all without a moral compass compelling them not to kill.

  This was his reality.

  “By targeting you mean—” Rife crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  “Three dead in the last two weeks in this area alone. I was set up yesterday. I assume by the same person.”

  “Did you get an ID?” Sabene asked. Arkham stood at her stern tone.

  “No, but I took prints and a picture. That’s where you come in.” He handed her his phone. “Take what you need.” The phone was a burner so it wasn’t a big deal to put it in the very capable hands of this hacker extraordinaire who knew no technological boundaries.

  “Ah, you used my app.” She smiled into the phone as she tapped away using two hands.

  “I put the guy down easily. He can’t be that high up in any food chain.” He’d saved the worst for last, not even telling Samson on the phone last night. “Rodney is the one who set this job up for me. Sold it as a quick and clean.” He slipped one hand into his jean pocket, leaving his thumb out.

  This was a major problem and they all knew it. Rodney had been around a long time. And was ruthless and shady as fuck. Rodney knew most in the game worth their salt, had trained a decent amount of them. But going after this many assassins in this short of a time period wreaked of end game money. If Rodney was set to retire off the bundle he was surely making for taking this type of risk, it wasn’t going to be easy to eliminate him.

  Not that it would’ve been on a good day without a clock on them. Rodney’s paranoia levels and experience alone made him a hard target. Now Able had to contend with figuring out how to kill Rodney while also not being killed.

  A real assassin’s dilemma.

  “How are we supposed to find this
guy?” Milo chimed in, and Able fought the urge to forcibly make him leave. The kid, two years his junior, had no idea about this world. And it was annoying as hell.

  “You don’t find Rodney, he finds you.” Samson’s tone changed, his game face intact, as he put words to what they were all thinking. All except Milo, who, again, didn’t know shit.

  Able locked stares with Samson, his already light brown skin darker around his features now. Samson never had liked Rodney, so Able was always the one to contact him when it’d been necessary.

  “We’re just going to have to change that.” Sabene handed Able back his burner. He’d break it and toss it in the Potomac later tonight. “I’ll need a place to set up.”

  “See if Rodney has left any connection between him and the three dead, too,” Able directed to Sabene. It was a long shot.

  “Are we going after him together, or was this a heads up?” Rife hadn’t moved any of his many muscles as he stood in a fixed position, and Able wasn’t sure which answer Rife would prefer.

  “That’s what we need to decide. He’s already my problem. I didn’t want any other good people taken out without at least a warning of what’s out there. If you want to stick around, we’d probably flush him out quicker, eliminate him, and be able to go back to our duties without looking over our shoulders. I don’t think I was last on whatever list Rodney is working from.” The knot in his gut returned. He also didn’t like that six of them were in one spot. Bullets and knives weren’t the only thing professionals with half a brain could use. Bombs were sometimes appropriate.

  “Is he playing for a family? A power move to wipe out competition?” Rife held his stare, not acknowledging anyone else.

  “I doubt it. But anything is up for debate at this point. The three dead didn’t have any affiliations to local families. Could be some new international one though.”

  Most assassins preferred to work alone, but like any good business, some had found that by pooling time, money, and resources, they could accomplish more. He’d never wanted to be that celebrated for his chosen profession.

  “We’re just supposed to go after him? On this little of information?” Claire cocked a hip and rested one hand on it.

  “Shying away from a fight isn’t really your style.” Samson turned to his left to face Claire.

  “I’m not shying. I want to be certain before we go waging war. I want to know exactly who Able’s pissed off and who Rodney’s aligned with.”

  “Fair enough.” Able sipped is beer. “I’d like the answers to those questions myself.”

  “I’ve got something,” Sabene piped up. “The guy you shot on the roof, he had another thing on his schedule.” She used her finger to scroll on her phone. “Oh, I know that place. It’s by a diner that has the perfect waffles and maple syrup that are absolutely to die for.”

  “Sabene,” Able clipped.

  “It’s tonight. In forty-five minutes.” She slipped her phone into her pocket, meeting his stare.

  “Let’s go. Get this over with.” Rife unfolded his arms.

  “I’m in.” Sabene snapped and Arkham circled her before sitting at her feet, ears up.

  “I don’t have anything else going on tonight.” Milo downed the rest of his beer.

  “Surprising,” Able said with a sideways glance. This week couldn’t be over quick enough. These little reunions were fun and all, but they were too risky and it wasn’t like any of them were team players.

  “You know I’m going, bro.” Samson, for once this entire time, wasn’t focused on Claire.

  “Yeah, yeah, let’s do this.” Claire affirmed they were all in.

  Able couldn’t explain why his shoulders lightened. But they did. He wanted them to catch Rodney and be done, but there was more nagging at him. Why those other three assassins? Why him? Nothing about this felt random. There was a plan hidden in the background of what they were seeing, and they had to figure it out before him or any of them were in the cross-hairs.

  * * *

  Teagan hit the pavement with a start. Don’t run. She had to be as casual as possible with the intel she had. The five blocks seemed like five miles as she kept her eye on the diner marque lit up in white and red in the night sky.

  She rounded the corner into the alley beside the diner, a hand over her bag that was slung over her shoulder. A man in a black suit and peacoat leaned against the wall.

  “Ms. Wyatt?”

  She nodded then glanced over her shoulder for the hundredth time to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Since she’d sat down at her desk this afternoon, she’d felt like all eyes were on her. Now the hairs on the back of her neck stood. She’d had the evening shift this month and it was dark out. And late. If someone had been following her it would’ve been hard to know. The downtown streets of Arlington were bustling.

  And she wasn’t exactly trained in covert shit.

  “Yes.” This is what she was supposed to do. Right? This is what Tabitha wanted—she’d seen the wrongdoing and was trying to fix it. Now it was up to Teagan to follow through in her sister’s name. She’d come this far.

  But the way the tall, slender man in the government issue-looking suit eyed her … something was off. The air swirled with an unmistakable feeling that had no proof but filled her chest anyway. Walk away. Give it to someone else.

  “I’m Agent Aaron Wheeler.” There was a darkness in his eyes as he pushed off the wall and walked toward her. “Did you get what you were looking for?”

  “I … ” She paused, so unsure of her next move. Dammit. She had to get it together. This was the only thing of meaning she’d probably ever do in her entire life.

  This was all she’d been focused on for the last six months. She’d finally found the preverbal smoking gun and, what, now she was going to totally choke and not hand it over? Not take the people responsible for her sister’s death to task? That’s what she assumed anyway, that Tabitha’s death had meaning instead of being completely senseless and a mere number in a growing list of causalities from global instability.

  But what if Teagan turned this data over and the FBI failed? What if they succeeded? Her sister wouldn’t be raised from the dead.

  You found the second books with the trail. Hand them over.

  She started to root around in her bag; what little light the streetlamp down the way gave wasn’t enough. The USB must’ve gotten knocked to the bottom with all the jostling down the stairs and five-block walk. She picked up her bag and dropped her head to search harder.

  Bzzzzz, bang.

  A shot zinged by her head, the noise ricocheting off the brick walls of the alley. She dropped to the ground in a squat on instinct, her mouth opening to scream but nothing came out. Not one sound.

  Bang. Adrenaline coursed through her body. That shot was quieter. She’d only known another bullet was flying at her because the brick splashed out in pieces just beyond her.

  She covered her head and scurried behind the dumpster on the far wall. It was the only thing to hide behind.

  Silence.

  She glanced around, her eyes not focusing, her entire body frantic and her mind disjointed. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears; she could practically feel her pulse in her wrists as her hands shook.

  Sirens wailed. They were close. And instant. She knew the crime rate in Arlington was high, but this response time should win an award. Had Agent Wheeler called them? She swiveled on the balls of her feet, still crouched behind a green dumpster, her hand planted on half paint, half rust. Where was he? She looked around again and there, halfway down the darkened alley she saw him leaning against a closed door. She peeked her head out from behind the dumpster. Was the shooter gone? There’d only been the two shots. She couldn’t stay where she was. She was a sitting duck, and if the shooter came out from wherever he was, she’d be a goner for sure.

  “Agent Wheeler,” she tried to keep her yell to a whisper. He didn’t move. She tried again, except this time a quiver controlled her voice. Shit.

>   She glanced out again, up and to the sides, too. No one stood there with a gun pointed.

  She stayed bent down and ran back to the agent, her bag knocking against her knees.

  “Hey, what happened?” She squatted near him, glancing around again, and still the area was clear. “Do you think Hume Corp. is on to me?” Her stare was glued to the entrance of the alley, and she took a deep breath, letting it out with a shake.

  He didn’t answer her. Wasn’t he the one with the gun? He should’ve fired back. She’d never heard him fire his weapon. Had she? She slowly turned her head to look at him. Ice ran down her spine. His body slumped against the wall, his coat disheveled, up around his waist as if he’d slid down the wall. His head tucked to his chest.

  No. Her breathing was hurried. “Agent Wheeler!” Panic rose in her voice, and all she could say was his name. Red caught her eye. Blood was seeping from his upper left chest. He’d been shot. By the heart. Her gaze flicked to where they’d been talking only moments ago. One of the bullets had hit him and then he’d taken off this way. She didn’t even remember him saying anything to her. No “get down” or “hide”—he’d just left her there. Did he take a bullet for her? She’d been the one to steal information from a powerful defense contractor.

  She had to get the hell out of here before whoever had killed Agent Wheeler came back for her. “Sorry,” she whispered and scrambled to her feet.

  Searing pain lambasted the side of her face. Bright lights flashed in her eyes, and the world turned black.

  Chapter Three

  A shot rang out, and the guy in the alley stumbled backward. Has no one heard of fucking silencers? The cute woman who’d popped into his view a minute ago looked like she was on a mission. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back and the ponytail had swayed back and forth. She’d bounded in on heels and a black power suit with a white button-up and open tan trench coat.

  From his vantage point on a balcony attached to an abandoned condo, Able could see the blonde duck down smack dab in the middle of the alley with no cover and she wasn’t moving. She was going to be killed. What is so important about this meeting? He pulled out his 9mm with silencer, squeezed off a round, and the HK hit the mark above her head to get her ass to hightail it behind something. She scrambled to take cover. He readjusted his aim to the right, leveled Rodney, who had his rifle up and ready to shoot again, in his dot sights, and pulled the trigger. Rodney stumbled to the side and hid in a doorway.