Killing Season: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (Violet Darger FBI Thriller Book 2)

by L. T. Vargus

  “I did. The pretty Fed with the nice ass.”

  Darger ignored the comment. He was testing her. Trying to push her buttons.

  “For future reference, my name is Agent Darger. How’d you know I was FBI?”

  He snorted.

  Right. She made a mental note not to tell Owen about that. He’d only gloat.

  “So what can I do for you, Mr. Stokes?”

  “Randall.”

  She sighed.

  “Well, Randall, you’re looking at a whole slew of charges, including assault and battery, disturbing the peace, inciting a riot. I’m on about three hours of sleep, so either tell me what it is you want, or I’m going back to my hotel.”

  “Don’t you get it? I started that brawl on purpose.”

  “I gathered that you didn’t accidentally hit that kid in the face, yes.”

  Stokes shook his head.

  “No. I popped that pussy frat kid so that I could talk to you,” he said, eyes blazing with a manic glee. “I know what you want.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Come on, Agent. Roach is a good soldier. He told me everything your little boyfriend said to him. That’s what you wanted anyway, wasn’t it? Roach is a grunt. He wouldn’t have that kind of information. But I do.”

  Goose bumps prickled on her arms as a strange mixture of hope and dread filled her. Like a genie was about to grant her three wishes, but they came with serious strings attached.

  “Why help me?” she asked. “Doesn’t that make you a rat in the eyes of your brethren?”

  Clapping a theatrical hand over his chest, he said, “A rat! Agent Darger, you wound me. Besides, who said anything about helping? This is a trade.”

  “A trade? They’re not gonna let me give you anything,” Darger said, thinking about how ASAC Fitzgerald was probably already on the phone to Darger’s superiors at Quantico informing them of her noncompliance with his orders.

  “I think they will. They’ll at least hear you out.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it’s a twofer.”

  “A twofer?”

  “You know, a two-for-one kinda deal.” Stokes held up two fingers. “I’m gonna give you two for the price of one.”

  “And what’s your price?”

  “Don’t rush, Agent. You don’t want to skip over the foreplay, do you?”

  Darger raised an eyebrow. She wondered when he’d get the hint that the sexual innuendos didn’t rattle her.

  “Alright then. Why ask for me?”

  “Because I know who can get a deal like this done in the shortest order. The slack-dick local cops always think small. But the Feds… you guys know the big picture.”

  Darger got another chill then, remembering that “big picture” had been the exact term ASAC Fitzgerald had used when he told Ethan Baxter to lay off the biker angle.

  “And what’s the big picture?” she asked.

  “Catching these fucking psychos gunning people down in the street.”

  “Are we talking about the sniper now? Or your Nameless compadres?”

  His answer was a wordless smirk.

  “Here’s how this is gonna work,” Stokes said. “I’ll cop to the disorderly conduct. Thousand dollar fine. No jail time. Then you’re gonna go to the address I give you, and you’re gonna look underneath the kitchen cabinets. You know what a toe-kick is?”

  “Yes.”

  “One of the toe-kicks has a false front. I’m confident you’ll find quite a few treasures inside.”

  He flashed one of his predatory smiles.

  “When that’s done, and when the owner of said domicile is in custody, I’ll talk.”

  “Who’s the address for? A rival club member? One of the Lost Horse guys?”

  Stokes didn’t respond, and a small spiteful voice in her head said, Fuck this. She was done playing games.

  “Forget it, then. We’re not doing your dirty work.”

  Darger got up and was halfway to the door when Stokes spoke up from behind her.

  “The address is for Amanda Russo.”

  Her fingers wrapped around the door handle.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “The mistress of one Donald Hardegree. And it’s his name on the deed.”

  She squinted. He was giving up the club president? Why?

  “You go to that address and do what I said,” Stokes pressed on, “and I’ll give you the name of a man that acquired a Glock-18c not so long ago.”

  It was an effort for Darger to keep her cool at that. Maybe he wasn’t jerking her around after all. She circled back to the first question in her mind.

  “Hardegree?” Darger repeated. “Why would you turn on him? He’s your president. And your brother.”

  “Half brother.”

  “Half-blood isn’t quite thick enough?”

  She didn’t know why she was badgering him if he was really offering to turn on Hardegree. That alone might be enough to stave off the shitstorm that Fitzgerald would want to unleash upon her.

  Stokes shrugged.

  “You go take that deal to your people. Get me something in writing that I can sign. Soon as I see Hardegree marched in here with cuffs on, I’ll give you the name.”

  The adrenaline that kept her going during the interview with Stokes flagged when Darger was back out in the hallway with Loshak. God, she was tired. She rubbed her eyes, bumping the wound on her forehead as she did so. She winced at the sting of it.

  “Why do I feel like we’re making a deal with the devil?”

  Loshak studied her for a moment, head tilted to one side. She thought she was in for some sort of lecture. To her surprise, he smiled.

  “If it’s any consolation, I think it’s out of your hands now.”

  He nodded behind her, and Darger wheeled around to find Fitzgerald and another man marching toward them. Neither one looked pleased. Had they been asleep when they got the call? And who had called them, anyway?

  “So you’re not going to tell me something like: You made your bed, now lie in it?” Darger asked, watching the men approach and knowing she was in for it.

  “That works too.”

  Fitzgerald fixed his raptor eyes on her and bared his teeth.

  “You’re lucky you don’t work for me, Agent Darger. If you were an agent in my field office, I’d slap you with a suspension so fast, the wind from the paperwork would knock you on your ass.”

  “Well then I guess that makes two of us glad I don’t work for you,” she said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Loshak twitch at her mouthy retort.

  The other man with Fitzgerald hooked a finger at her. He had sandy hair and the deep tan of a man that loved to golf and fish.

  “This isn’t just about you, Agent. You fucked up an undercover operation I’ve spent the last three years working on. All of it down the toilet now,” the tan man said.

  Well, shit. Ethan’s theory had been right after all.

  “That wasn’t my intention, sir,” she said. She didn’t know his position or even what agency he worked for, but Darger figured he was probably a “sir” to her, whoever he was. “And if it’s any consolation, he’s offering to give us Hardegree.”

  Tan man brought a knuckle to his lips and seemed to ponder this revelation.

  “Why?”

  Her eyes flicked over to Loshak. They’d spent a few minutes mulling over that very question.

  “Probably so he can take over the club. Stokes is second-in-command. With Hardegree out, Stokes would be an obvious choice to take over.”

  “That is neither here nor there,” Fitzgerald said. “The fact remains that you deliberately disobeyed a command and—”

  The other man interrupted.

  “Take it.”

  Fitzgerald let out an exasperated scoff.

  “Damn it, Jack.”

  Darger ignored Fitzgerald and addressed the other man.

  “We’ll need approval from the US
Attorney’s office for the deal Stokes wants.”

  “I’ll take care of that. Tell him it’s a deal.”

  Fitzgerald began to argue again, but Jack cut him off.

  “I’m not wild about how this played out, either, Fitz,” he said, shooting a quick, rebuking look in Darger’s direction. “But if this is a chance to strike a big blow to the Nameless Brotherhood, I’ll take it. It might be our only chance. Especially if he’s giving us two for one.”

  Darger’s scalp prickled. That was exactly how Stokes had framed the deal, and it felt like a bad omen for some reason. Stokes was too clever by half, and she didn’t like the notion that he was several steps ahead of them.

  She tried to figure a way that it could be a trap but didn’t see how. Stokes would avoid felony charges and get to take a swing at running the Nameless. He wouldn’t get that if he was setting them up.

  After facilitating the deal with Stokes, he gave them the address for one Amanda Russo and reiterated his instructions.

  Loshak was still waiting for her in the hall when she finished.

  “What if he’s playing games with us?” she said, feeling edgy and tired as hell.

  There was a blip from where Loshak’s phone hung at his hip. He reached for it.

  “Who?”

  “Stokes,” she said. “What if he doesn’t really know anything?”

  Loshak’s eyes were fixed on the screen of his phone.

  “We might not need him.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Text from Karla… Agent Dawson. They got the tire track analysis back. 95.4-inch wheelbase.”

  Darger raised an eyebrow. So Loshak and Dawson were on a first name basis now?

  “95.4 inches? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “Only one type of vehicle has dimensions that match: Jeep Wrangler. 2007 through the current models. They’ve got one team going back through any matching Jeeps in the footage from traffic cams near the crime scenes to see if they can find a plate. Another group is going through the state registry vehicle by vehicle.”

  “Combing the registry is going to take forever if they can’t get a plate from the video. We should go see if they need extra bodies.”

  “I’ll go,” he said, pocketing the phone. “You need to stick around to get that name out of Stokes. He seems set on talking to you over anyone else.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “I’ll call if we come up with anything before then,” Loshak said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “When you talk to Stokes, don’t let him get in your head.”

  “I won’t.”

  Violet watched her partner retreat down the corridor. He turned a corner and was gone, and soon his footsteps receded as well. Left in the hush of the empty hallway, she suddenly felt exhausted. She was tempted to find a chair somewhere. A seat to catch a quick nap in.

  Instead, she put her hand on the door of the interview room where Stokes was still being held. It wasn’t the time for sleep.

  It was time for action.

  Chapter 39

  The sky was gray. Dark. Drowsing on the cusp between night and dawn. And now that they’d turned off the Jeep and left it, the singing of birds seemed the only sound for miles.

  They walked down a dirt driveway flecked with sparse gravel, something Levi only realized whenever a rock stabbed into the sole of one of his shoes.

  Tall grass waved along the sides of the dirt path, some of it gone beige and crispy.

  Levi surveyed the scene as he walked, not sure what to make of it. He didn’t know where they were, and he was too tired to make any guesses.

  A fence took shape ahead of them. The posts appeared first, growing solid and black in the shadows, and the chain link faded in some moments later like a spider’s web stretched between the supports. A reinforced gate blocked the driveway, comprised of thicker metal bars.

  Beyond the barricade, Levi could make out piles of rusted out cars, refrigerators, washing machines and the like. A junk yard? It seemed the only explanation.

  Luke scaled the fence first. He kicked his legs up and over, and a cloud of dust fluffed up from his landing spot on the other side.

  Levi followed, fingers hooking into the chain links, toes scrabbling for any kind of purchase. He didn’t know why he was doing this or why they were here, especially at some ridiculous pre-dawn hour, but he was too tired to ask. He was here now. The explanation would arrive soon enough the way he figured it, with or without words.

  The piles of junk cast long shadows, draping everything in inky darkness on this side of the fence. Levi could only really make out the white of Luke’s t-shirt at times, but that was enough to keep going.

  Hissing erupted somewhere before him, and the hair on the back of Levi’s neck pricked up. He shuffled into something like a karate stance and snapped his head around to find the sound’s source, fists raised.

  When his brother turned to face him, he could see Luke’s teeth exposed in a smile. Luke was giggling out an almost soundless laugh. Spitty. The whistle of air jetting through clenched teeth. It took longer than it should for all of this to register: Luke laughing was the sound that had startled him.

  Levi let his fists fall back to his sides. At least the adrenaline woke him up a bit.

  “What’s your problem?” Luke said, still huffing out something like laughter.

  “Nothing.”

  “OK. Just… you’re standing like Captain America or something.”

  Levi looked down at his legs, watched his stance retract from something beyond shoulder-width to a more normal position.

  Luke wheezed out additional laughter, enough moonlight catching his teeth to make them glow in the dark. The white hunks of bone in his mouth radiated purple against the black of the shadows around them, like this whole area was under black lights, and some raver dudes with glow sticks would pop out any second now when the beat dropped.

  At last Levi mustered enough alertness to ask the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since they pulled off the road.

  “So, like, what are we even doing out here?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  Luke bent at the waist, one hand fishing into the cargo pocket of his shorts. He dug for a while before he retracted his fist, a ball of what looked like gray Play-Doh in it. It was small. Somewhere between the size of a golf ball and tennis ball from what Luke could see.

  He fiddled with the stuff a bit, shaping it some with his fingers. It was still hard to see, but it looked like he jabbed a little pin of some kind into it, and then he either moved it or added a second pin.

  “You ready?” he said, looking at Levi.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “Wait here.”

  Luke jogged some fifty feet to a rusted out El Camino and leaned into the open driver’s side window. Levi could see that his brother’s back and arms were moving a little, but nothing else was clear to him from this vantage point.

  Levi’s stomach grumbled, a rising pitch that sounded like it ended with a question mark. He blinked a few times, waited for some kind of clarity to occur to him, but none did. He figured he should probably know what Luke was doing by now, or at least be able to make an educated guess or two, but nothing came to him. His thoughts were still foggy with sleep — warm and slow and cloudy like a dream — even if he hadn’t gotten much slumber of late.

  The sound of Luke crunching back over the gravel brought Levi’s focus back to the present moment. Again, he blinked a few times.

  “Here. Put these on,” Luke said.

  He extended his arm, something clutched in his hand.

  Goggles. Plastic safety goggles like something a factory or construction worker would wear. Levi took them and watched as Luke slid on a pair of his own, still grinning that purple grin. He followed his brother’s lead and put on the goggles.

  A strange sensation interrupted Levi’s thoughts — an incredibly distant a
wareness clicking into place. Some part of him knew now what was happening. He was confident of that. It just happened to be taking a long, long time to make its way to his conscious mind.

  Luke lifted one hand before him, a small black rectangle suddenly appearing there. It looked like a slender remote control and featured two red buttons.

  His thumb slid to the top button, hesitated.

  “You ready?”

  Levi considered how to answer. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he shrugged.

  The plum smile widened at this, lips quivering a little along the edges of the teeth.

  The thumb flexed and pressed. The button clicked, and Luke yelled.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  The blaze lit up everything in angry reds and oranges. Fire licked out from the El Camino’s windows. A flash. A whoosh.

  The force of the shock wave slammed Levi in the sternum like a kick drum at an ear-bleeding concert, and he felt its rumble in his feet at the same time.

  He could just barely see the gaping hole blown into the windshield and dash of the El Camino, all of it coming apart into tiny bits before the cloud of smoke and debris covered everything.

  It was so violent. So loud.

  So right.

  Levi’s heart hammered in his chest, and he felt his palms go cold with the surge of excitement. He was definitely all the way awake now.

  After the incredible volume of the explosion, the silence seemed strange and empty. Almost eerie.

  “C4?” Levi said.

  “Shit yeah,” Luke said. “Got a fuck ton of it. And this?”

  He wiggled the remote control in his hand.

  “The detonator works by radio wave. No wire or any hassles to fuck with.”

  Levi nodded, considering this revelation for a moment.

  “So wait,” he said. “What are we going to do with that?”

  “You’ve never seen Die Hard?”

  “Everyone has seen Die Hard.”

  “Well, what did Bruce Willis do in Die Hard?”

  Levi thought about saying “walked around barefoot on broken glass, mostly,” but instead he said:

  “He threw a bunch of C4 down an elevator shaft?”

  “He fucked shit up. And that’s the plan right there. You and me? We’re gonna fuck shit up.”