The Widow (Federal Hellions Book 1)

by Gray Gardner

  She leapt to her feet as tears filled her eyes. “I’m fine, I swear. Can I go?”

  “Jane.”

  “Please?” she begged, turning her head. He wasn’t supposed to see this.

  “Sure,” he said, feeling more concerned than ever. He saw so much compassion in her that he wondered how she was able to keep everything together so efficiently.

  She grabbed her coat and bag and ran out. She sprinted back to her dorm, slammed the door, then banged her head against it until his smile, kind brown eyes, and dark-golden, curly hair left her head. This was getting way out of control.

  So out of control that as she scrolled back at her daily logs on the computer, she noticed she had actually gone into three sentences detailing the actual color of his hair. Awesome. This shit went to her boss and about five other people. Where were her priorities? Her job had to come first.

  She grabbed a beer and sat listening to Led Zeppelin playing for so long that when her computer beeped and caught her attention, the full beer was warm and the sun had completely set.

  Lowryder: Hey. U there?

  JOG: Yeah. What’s up?

  Lowryder: Checked those plates again for u. They’re in the city right now.

  JOG: Can you pinpoint a location?

  Lowryder: I can send you an image of them sitting in front of the building right now.

  JOG: I love u, Ryder.

  Lowryder: Sorry, I don’t like girls.

  JOG: Me either. Send their position. Thanks.

  Nelson wasn’t answering her phone as George frantically paced the rooftop of her dorm. She changed into her dark jeans, gray tennis shoes, and black Christian Audigier hoodie and left several messages before she packed up every weapon and listening device she had in her room, then gave up on trying to notify Nelson.

  She had a location on Christian Whitman, which might mean that the mystery man on the prepaid cell would be there, too.

  She tossed the bag full of gear out of her window, jumped out after it, and darted through the trees and cars to her Tahoe. She blew past the guard at the gate, knowing she’d pay for it later—unless this was it. This could be the night she found the supplier and nailed him. She sped down the dark highway and wondered if this was really her night.

  Dr. Thomas hadn’t meant to be spying on her. He was responding to a call from Mrs. Croney that a senior’s car was missing. She was just explaining to him that it was Christian Whitman’s vehicle when he saw a small figure moving through the trees. He wouldn’t have noticed her if it hadn’t been for the flaming skull on the back of her sweatshirt.

  “I’ll get right on it, Mrs. Croney. You don’t worry and go back to your rounds,” he said, grabbing his keys out of his pocket and running for his car across the campus.

  He sped out of his driveway and down the highway, finally spotting the black Tahoe passing in the middle lane a few cars ahead of him. What was she doing off campus at this hour? Where was she going? Was she after a lead for her story? He followed her at a distance all the way through town to the warehouse district.

  George was a little confused. They were among the warehouses where she’d interrogated the junkies, but she was next to Christian Whitman’s car in front of a different warehouse on an entirely different block. And there was music coming from inside. One of those pop-up parties where they texted the location an hour before. Was it just a dead end?

  Sighing, she parked around the corner and strapped herself with all of the pistols and recorders that she could, then slowly made her way in the darkness and tried to open the door. Locked. She took a couple of steps back, then charged at the door with her shoulder a couple of times. Then, with a final kick, it busted open and she stepped inside.

  The music nearly blew her back outside. Lights flashed and swirled, and sweaty kids mobbed her, dancing and not even noticing her presence. Someone at the door asked her for money, but she swung her fist at his head and knocked him down. No one even noticed. She didn’t want to be trifled with and it really felt good to hit someone.

  A rave. Sighing and shaking her head, she slowly stepped through the tripping crowd and looked for Christian. She just had to make sure he was inside and not just parked there, doing a deal down the street right under her nose.

  It sure would have helped if she could have gotten some back up. Still no answer at her office, though. She was used to being on her own when she checked out leads, but something about this felt wrong. She stuck her hand inside her sweatshirt and gripped her weapon.

  She noticed some fogged glass separating a room in the back, probably VIP, but something about it didn’t seem right. A kid bumped into her and sent her to the floor, but she quickly maneuvered her way back to her feet and suddenly paused a few feet away from the fogged glass.

  Figures moved around behind it, figures danced behind it, and two figures stood sort of half-dangling behind it. It looked like their wrists were tied above their heads and they were hanging from a chain and a hook.

  They looked like props. Bondage and sex and all that rave stuff. She knew that was far from the case.

  George pushed everyone out of her way as she ran outside and back to her car. She threw open the back doors as she speed-dialed Nelson again. She placed loaded magazine clips into her sweatshirt and belt and cursed as the voicemail picked up again. She threw the cell phone down and had just placed her DEA badge that was attached to a leather holder and thin chain around her neck when the phone buzzed on her floorboards.

  “Nelson?”

  “Jane, it’s ten on a Friday. I am at a nice dinner with a nice man so this better be good!”

  “I think James Clancy and Christian Whitman are being held hostage by their suppliers,” she quickly said, cocking her pistol and placing it in her shoulder holster underneath her hoodie.

  Nelson was quiet for a second. “Are you sure?”

  “Look, I got a location on his plates, he’s parked outside of a rave, and I can see two bodies hanging by their wrists in the back!” she exclaimed, pacing around the back of her car in the darkness of the warehouse district.

  Her boss’s voice lowered. “That sounds like Los Gallos.”

  “I know!” George huffed, taking a breath. “And they’re looking to get even because the kids blew the supply and couldn’t pay. Either way, I’m going in to check it out again.”

  “Hold it!” Nelson whispered loudly. She heard her running and then stopping in what sounded like a bathroom. “George, you need to wait for a tactical team. I’m calling it in now.”

  She held the phone in silence as she frowned. She was supposed to protect people first, then get the bad guys, right? Nelson didn’t know how serious it was.

  “Those kids are going to die.”

  “And you are just an intelligence agent!” Nelson replied, her echo revealing that she was definitely locked in a bathroom. “You’re barely more than an accountant.”

  “I can’t just sit here while those boys are tortured to death,” George argued, grabbing her hair and looking at the building across the street.

  “You can and you will! You are Intel only! Wait for agents who are trained for a raid.”

  George took a breath and stomped towards the building. Her mind was already made up. “You know they’ll be dead by then.”

  Nelson sighed heavily. “They were dead when they started dealing and got involved with a deadly cartel, George.”

  “They don’t know what they’ve done. They’re kids!” she shouted, closing her phone and shoving it into her pocket as she entered the loud beats of the rave again.

  Dr. Thomas slowed and parked down the street, pulling his trusty binoculars out and watching George’s strange behavior. She’d busted a door in and then had gone inside, only to run back out, pace around on her cell phone as she yelled and gestured, and then she’d run back in.

  He jumped out and cautiously ran down the crumbling sidewalk, glancing around him the entire way. This was a sinister part of the city and he knew
nothing good was happening in that warehouse. The walls pulsated as he stood by the door. He entered anyway.

  He was very surprised to find that it was a rave. Had she followed Christian Whitman here to meet up with him? It seemed a little strange. Kids banged against him and someone placed a glowing necklace over his head. He sighed as he pushed his way through, looking for that little head of dark red hair.

  Critical minutes passed, and he began to wonder if he’d missed them altogether. Glancing back at the door to check and see if maybe they were heading out, he noticed something among the exposed pipes along the metal walls of the building as lights flashed. A flaming skull.

  She was climbing an old ladder that led to what appeared to be an old catwalk that circled the room several feet above the floor. What in the hell was she doing? He panicked as he shoved his way through the crowd, trying to get to her as quickly as he could. The building should have been condemned. If any of the supporting metal snapped she would surely fall to her death.

  Getting a good story wasn’t worth dying over. But by God she’d wish she was dead when he got through with her.

  A partition of fogged glass appeared in front of him, with two dark bouncers standing by the doorway, but he wasn’t concerned about them. His eyes were on the ceiling. He watched her pause and look down into the room that was on the other side of the glass. She looked like she was going to jump.

  Then his heart began thumping loudly and he forgot to breathe.

  What. The. Fuck.

  She leapt off of the catwalk, pulling two pistols out from under her sweatshirt and opening fire into the room below. He couldn’t hear the gunshots over the music, but he could see the fiery spurts discharging as she gracefully soared from the ceiling. Blood splattered on the fogged glass and a body fell against it, the features of the person’s terrified face showing through, and then sliding to the floor.

  The bouncers were alerted by this and opened the door, barging inside. Dr. Thomas took a couple of hesitant steps forward, totally perplexed and not sure if he should run in or call for help.

  Then she emerged, slowly and with a pained looked on her face, pulling with all the strength she had in her. Blood smeared down her cheek and neck. Was it hers? Was she hurt? She had two bloodied bodies. one on either arm, trying to support their weight and get out of there as best as she could.

  He couldn’t wait anymore. He stepped forward and realized that the bodies trying to limp out with her were James Clancy and Christian Whitman.

  “What the hell is going on?!” he yelled over the music, leaning down and trying to get a good look at the boys’ beaten faces.

  George only paused for a second, looking up at him in astonishment and then changing to total gratitude. Christ, the relief she felt was palpable.

  “Take him,” she shouted, dropping her shoulder and letting Dr. Thomas catch Christian. He groaned and held his broken arm into his chest as he gave the professor an appreciative look from his blood streaked face.

  “What the…” Dr. Thomas began, as she began walking through the crowd towards the door with Clancy limping next to her. “Jane!”

  “I need your help. We need to get out of here! Come on,” she ordered, pushing through and finally reaching the door. They burst out into the chilly night and George hurriedly led them around the corner and behind a dumpster. Shouts were echoing from somewhere. More trouble was close behind. She wasn’t sure they could make it all the way down the street to her car.

  Shots popped on the street as they settled against the cold brick wall.

  “What the hell,” Dr. Thomas said through heavy breaths, holding James’s face as he coughed up blood. He had no clue what was going on, only that two of his students looked half dead and the third was waving guns around. Jane was trying to kill people.

  George pulled up the leg of her jeans and yanked out a small Berretta as she leaned back against the wall and tried to peer around the corner. There was more yelling and commotion outside the warehouse now. More shots popped.

  “Fuck!” she grunted, banging her head back a few times and closing her eyes. “It’s Los Gallos. I hate those bastards!”

  “Jane!” Dr. Thomas loudly whispered, still in a state of shock.

  Jane yanked a pistol out from the waistband of her pants and checked the clip, then pushed it back in and looked at Dr. Thomas. She shoved the small Berretta into his hands. “Shoot to kill,” she muttered, looking him in the eye and then crouching at the corner of the building.

  “I demand to know what’s going on here!” he said, watching in disbelief as she pulled her two pistols out, released the clips and thrust fresh ones in, pulling back and loading the chambers on each. Ignoring him, she peered slowly around the corner and bullets suddenly ricocheted off the brick wall, the sound echoing throughout the empty streets as puffs of brick dust clouded the air.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” She grunted through her teeth, looking back at the boys on the ground next to Dr. Thomas. “Gaw-damned kids!”

  “Jane?”

  “Just stay here!” she ordered, looking angry and a little frightened as she took a few breaths, then leapt around the corner and returned fire, running across the street and trying to lead the people shooting at them away. She hadn’t planned on Dr. Thomas being there, but it was actually a big help. Now she knew for certain that her duties were to save everyone’s lives. First and foremost. Her life was secondary. She’d taken an oath.

  Dr. Thomas crouched down with the boys as they listened to the automatic gunfire shrill around them. He still had no idea what was happening, only that James and Christian needed help and Jane seemed to be the one helping them. He suddenly frowned as he lifted his head a little. The gunfire had stopped.

  Shouting grew near. Tires screeched.

  George knew that the people in the warehouse were the connections to the cartel, but if she wiped them out she could get the boys back and efficiently knock out the link to the school and possibly even others in the area. She didn’t ask questions, just jumped in head first and let her Glock 17s do the talking.

  She crashed into a wooden table in the middle of the room in the warehouse rave, firing the entire way and hitting almost everyone partying in there. She knew more people were probably in another secret room, so she quickly untied James and Christian and tried to drag them out. Someone moved around on the floor and she swiftly kicked him in the head.

  The bouncers barged in and surprised her, but she shot at them, then punched a few times until they fell to the floor. She turned, grabbed the boys, and continued trying to support them both as she headed for the door. It wasn’t working. She wasn’t strong enough. The others would come after her any second.

  Then, just like fate had always done, it caused Dr. Thomas to materialize right in front of her. She handed off Christian and led them outside, knowing that he’d want an explanation and wishing that she had the time. The Los Gallos affiliates were assembling, though, and she knew she’d have to distract them if she wanted to have a semi-successful outcome. Once they set their minds on kidnapping and killing someone, they always followed through. Even the low-level connections they planted in major cities around the world followed through.

  She’d left Dr. Thomas with a Berretta, knowing that he’d at least be somewhat familiar with it since he’d been trained with one in the Army. Then she said a quick prayer and ran out into the street. She turned her head, squealed, and continued running for the alley across the way.

  Holy shit, they had ten guys jumping into Ford Excursions with AK-47s and what looked like an M136 AT4 light anti-tank rocket. Jesus Christ, only the Navy SEALs used those—in war zones.

  She fired a few times and ran as hard as she could to the cover of the next building.

  Their return fire deafened her as they tried to make their getaway. Wait, why were they running? She’d never seen a cartel run before. The two black Excursions squealed down the street as she ran back out and chased their tail lights, firing unti
l there was nothing left in either of her clips.

  Click click click.

  She stood in the middle of the empty street, her breath misting out in front of her as she tried to catch it. What in the hell was going on? She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand as she heard tires screeching behind her. Oh God. Dr. Thomas and the boys.

  Running back down the street, she abandoned her empty pistols and pulled her five-inch serrated knife out of her waistband holster. It was all she had, so she’d have to make due. She flipped it open as she slid around the corner and suddenly froze at the entrance to the alley.

  A black Suburban was sitting there, James and Christian were gingerly being helped inside, and Dr. Thomas was talking to Cramer and another agent. The rest of the team was obviously inside, collecting bodies and evidence, and club-goers slowly exited the building, not in any kind of orderly fashion, behind the DEA’s suburban.

  “What happened?” Cramer asked, throwing his arms out and frowning at her. “What about waiting for the tactical team?”

  “There was no time!” she yelled, shaking her head and snapping her knife shut.

  “Nelson is going to rip you to shreds. Once they connect these bullet casings to your weapon they’re going to suspend you and take your fucking badge!” Cramer said, pacing around and scratching his head. He looked back at the boys in the car, then at her, shaking his head. “Goddamnit, George. You saved their lives, didn’t you? They were up on the hooks?”

  She sighed and rubbed her eyes as she knew what would come next.

  “Well, now we’re taking them in,” he sighed, glancing over at Dr. Thomas. He’d read George’s daily logs, too. And he’d see the video. “Him, too.”

  She nodded and tried not to make eye contact with Dr. Thomas as she said, “Let me take him. We’ll meet you there.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Cramer said, pointing at her as he got into the Suburban and pulled away. After his car moved she saw the black body bags rolling out on the gurneys. Nelson would certainly not be happy about this, but she had another crisis at the moment.