The Wraith: Danger Close (Superhero by Night Book 4)

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  She put on an exaggerated pout, looking down and using her toe to smudge something on the floor. “And then?” she asked.

  “Then what?” I asked as I put everything into the tan Gucci knock-off purse and slung it over my shoulder. I didn’t look anything like the camerawoman, or Madisun Dumas.

  “When you have your revenge—”

  “Justice,” I corrected her.

  “Nuance. When you are done, what then?”

  I leaned back against the counter with my palms flat against the sink. “Honestly, Spice, thinking that far ahead is dangerous. I do know this: I owe you and Joseph everything. I won’t abandon you and I won’t dishonor his memory. Don’t worry, there’s lots of evil in the world, I’m sure I can find a city to clean up to keep you happy,” I said to her.

  She looked up at me and for a second she was my little sister, bright smile and all. “Oh good.” Then she was gone.

  I made one last check to make sure I matched the fake ID in my purse before walking out. And ran right into an alien...

  Lux, the alien from the planet Luxilla. She must have stretched to come up with such an original name.

  She was standing in the small dining room speaking to what I assumed was the manager. He was flustered, stuttering, and trying to tell her something. I stopped, dug out my phone and started taking pictures of her. After all, what teenager wouldn’t snap a pic of a beautiful alien superhero?

  She glanced at me, smiled and started walking over. Which was fine. Everything was fine.

  “Oh wow,” I said with a much more bubbly voice than I normally use. “You’re Lux, like, right?” I asked.

  “I am. I’m looking for a very dangerous woman. Have you seen anyone come in who looks like this?” she asked as she raised her hand, palm up. Light coalesced around her palm and formed a hologram of me holding a camera and then it morphed into a picture of me when I hopped on the bike.

  I was shocked at how much it didn’t look like me. I opened my mouth in a big ‘o’ and looked at her right in her big eyes. “Is that like, a supervillain?” I asked.

  Lux shook her head no. “Just a person of interest.”

  “No, I haven’t seen her. But you know, I wasn’t really looking, but I will now.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She handed me a card with the Protectors’ logo on it; a stylized ‘P’ on a Greek-style shield. Underneath it was a phone number.

  She turned, hovering off the ground as her body glowed, and then she was gone, flying through the window as if it wasn’t there.

  “That’s impressive...” Spice said from beside me. “She really turns into light?”

  I nodded, not wanting to seem weird. I hustled out of the restaurant and headed for the car. Once there, I drove half a mile to a parking garage, changed back to biker boots, torn jeans, a white tank top, and leather jacket, and then got into a second car, the Camaro, and drove home. A few minutes later I received a text message from Krisan.

  I’m good. They figured out who you were but I told them I hired you off a freelancer website. However, it won’t take them long to figure out that I’m helping you. We may have burned my identity.

  It sucked if we did, but we needed that phone. Krisan would go to her hotel and lay low for a few days. With her powers, she didn’t need to be with me—unless it’s the case of her having to literally be inside the place to access their network. I had a feeling the Protectors were going to be revamping their security measures over the next few days. Probably starting with ditching the assumption that their AI’s can protect them.

  “Where are we going?” Spice asked from the passenger seat. Her feet were up on the dash and she was sucking on a lollipop.

  I shook my head with a grin. Why she insisted on acting like a teenage girl was beyond me. Or maybe it was me… my idea of how Spice was before she died?

  “There’s a courier service. I need to send the phone to Krisan. It’s conveniently located next to an indoor gun range,” I said.

  “A gun range? Why? You get plenty of practice...,” she said with an evil grin.

  “True, but Joseph always said “’train like you fight and—'”

  “Fight like you train. You forget, I was a part of him for a long time.”

  “Do you ever miss him?” I don’t know why I suddenly felt the need to ask that question, but I did.

  She looked sideways at me, cocking her head a bit. “He was stubborn, and if it was up to him I would’ve starved... but... yes. I miss all of them.”

  “All of them?” I asked.

  “My hosts. At least the ones I’m with for more than a little while. I miss them all. Part of them lives on in me. I learn from each of them. I think, though, I’ll miss you the most.”

  “Don’t get all maudlin on me. I’m not going anywhere soon. There’s work to be done,” I said. I focused on driving to avoid looking at her. The unexpected emotions I was feeling about Joseph were hard, like a fresh knife wound. Joseph had been important to me. He trained, guided, and honed me into a person capable of determining my own destiny. Then, at the cost of his own life, he gave me Wraith.

  Three months of nonstop sixteen hour days turned me into a sharp sword that I could plunge into the heart of my enemy. Wraith gave me the strength to learn from my mistakes, and the power to stop those whom a normal person couldn’t hope to stop, regardless of how untouchable by the law they were.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. Spice disappeared after a minute—no goodbye, just vanished from the car. When I had approached Lockheart for help Spice had somehow managed to make her presence known to the other woman. Until that moment I had thought she was a hallucination or a mind trick that only I could see. Now, though, I was wondering if she didn’t have a physical presence of some kind.

  I was so deep in thought I almost missed my turn. I swerved across traffic, eliciting a few honking horns, and right into the parking lot of the little shopping center containing the courier service and the gun range.

  Ten minutes later the phone was in a sealed box on the back of a bike heading for Krisan’s hotel, and I was walking into the gun shop.

  There were numerous signs warning that every employee was armed and that no weapons were allowed out of their holsters while loaded.

  I picked this place for several reasons. One, they rented firearms. Two, they were frequented by police officers. And three, they had the rifle I wanted.

  Walking to the back of the shop I smiled at the clerk behind the rental counter. He was a younger guy, early twenties with a red muscle shirt. His ripped physique spoke of someone who worked out often and probably obsessively.

  “C—can I help you?” he asked, his eyes lingering far too long on my chest. I pushed down the flicker of annoyance. Just once... whatever.

  I dropped the pretense of civility and frowned. “I need a lane, the FN2000 you have there behind the counter, and five-hundred rounds of 5.56. And an ACOG sight for it, if you have one,” I asked pointing at the weapon I wanted.

  “Uh, you sure? It has a heck of a kick, maybe you want this SIG 522, it’s loaded with—”

  “Hector, what the hell are you doing? The lady asked for the FN, not your opinion,” a man said from behind me. He had the kind of deep voice that deserved to be on movie trailers that started with, “In a world...”

  I smiled and turned around to thank him for his assistance—not that I needed to, but he was being nice and so I was going to be nice back—and I froze. He was ruggedly handsome, with shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and straight, pearly white teeth behind thin lips. He had to be about forty, though I could only tell by the slight lines around his eyes. He had the build of someone who used his body for a living, not just from gyms.

  He wore a pair of jeans over cowboy boots, a long sleeve polo shirt with a leather shoulder holster over it. A brown leather jacket was folded over his off hand, leaving his right for drawing his weapon if needed. The badge on his waist identified him as Phoenix PD, or PHXPD as they were k
nown locally.

  My stomach was suddenly tight and my mouth dry. I managed to keep the smile on my face before turning around to face Hector.

  “The FN, please,” I said. I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, I didn’t try very hard and Hector blanched while he retrieved the weapon I wanted.

  “You fire bullpup rifles much?” the man behind me asked while Hector rang up my sale. I gave him one of my fake IDs and signed the liability form.

  “No, actually. It’s why I’m here. I... am getting one and I want to make sure I like it before I use it,” I said. It was a version of the truth. The FN2000 was one of the weapons Krisan had secured for me. I really hadn’t fired one before and this was a test of sorts. Pretty much every pistol operated the same, but with a rifle… well, the last thing I wanted was to find out how it worked when my life depended on it.

  The man behind the counter assigned me lane 4, and the police officer got lane 5. He wasn’t renting a weapon, just using his service pistol. I donned the required hearing protection and went in, he was right behind me. The rest of the range was empty.

  “You shoot here often?” I asked him as I put the weapon on the stand and started loading the four magazines that came with it.

  “The PD has its own ranges, but I don’t really care for them. Besides, it’s good for community relations for us to mingle when off duty,” he said while performing a similar task with his pistol.

  He set up the paper dummy on his own target and pushed the button, sending it out to twenty feet. He checked to make sure I had on ear protection before he launched into a number of drills. His grip was smooth and he drew and fired with the practiced ease of someone who did it more than at the range.

  By the time he was done, I finished loading the mags. I put my paper target all the way to the end of the range; one-hundred feet. Shouldering the rifle I pulled the awkward charging handle and it was ready to go. I burned through the twenty-round mag in a few seconds.

  I had a big grin on my face as I put it down, and hit the button to bring the paper target forward. All twenty rounds were dead center in the face.

  The officer gave me a long low whistle. “That’s some damn fine shooting. Can you do that with a pistol?” he asked.

  I put up a fresh target, ran it all the way to the end of the range, then held my hand out for his gun.

  He pulled the slide and locked it back, handing me the gun butt first and then a mag. I popped the mag in, released the slide and hefted the weapon. It was a .40 cal Glock. The exact model slipped my mind. I put the gun down on the bench, took a deep breath, then picked it up and leaned forward with both hands cupping the pistol. I fired all fifteen rounds then dropped the mag and turned and handed the gun back to him.

  “Well, you can unload it fast, that’s for sure, but how did you do?” he asked. From the grin on his face I could tell he was expecting a lot of misses.

  I smiled at him and hit the button. I didn’t need to look to know; instead, I just gave him my sexy eyes while the machine brought the paper target back.

  “My names Roy. Roy Hauser,” he said holding out his hand.

  I took his hand in mine and we shook. I almost gave him my real name, then I remembered I couldn’t do that. “Samantha Caine. Sam to my friends,” I said.

  “Well, Sam-to-my-friends, would you like to have dinner with me?”

  I glanced over at the smiley face I’d shot into the head of the paper target and grinned back at him. “Say when,” I said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Thirty minutes East of the city proper was a town called Apache Junction. According to Krisan’s hacking of Carmine's cell phone, it was where the “shipment” was departing from at midnight. Right off Highway 60 that ran dead east then turned south as it left the populated parts.

  If I was just interested in stopping the shipment I would hijack the truck on the highway well south of the city.

  Just stopping them was never my goal. They all needed to die. Preferably in the most gruesome painful way possible as a lesson to the other members of this cartel that human trafficking would not be tolerated.

  In the past when I’ve raided this sort of thing it was always in some sleazy, decrepit part of town. Apache Junction wasn’t that. From my vantage point on the roof of a seven-story office building, I could see three retirement communities, a golf course, and an expensive-looking mall. Either the cartel wasn’t worried the cops would accidentally come across them, or they’d paid them off. Regardless, this was the kind of place where gunfire would attract a lot of attention.

  The transfer of the women was taking place in the parking garage of the building I was standing on. I had about half an hour before they would arrive. Which gave me plenty of time to get ready.

  I’d put my hair back into dreads, using a little bit of Wraith’s powers to restore my locks to a healthy level after the damage straightening them had done. Despite the heat, I was in my leather pants, tank top, armored vest, and black leather jacket. I traded the traditional red scarf with its long flolwing ends for a more bandana like face shield. It wrapped around my throat and I could pull it up when the time came and it would just cover my neck to my nose.

  I took a knee and went through my gear. A Kimber Arms 1911 with five mags and a silencer went into my hip holster. Then the many, many knives I carried—including a half dozen specifically for throwing—went into my boots, pockets, belt, and sleeves. There was no such thing as too many knives. I slid a Timber Wolf Ninja sword into the sheath on my back. It had come in handy numerous times and I would be silly to not carry it now. One of the great things about operating in the US instead of a hole like Belize was the availability of weapons other than guns. Guns were actually easier to get south of the border.

  Nothing beat Amazon for knives, swords, masks, and everything else a vigilante crusader needed. Though I doubted they would be calling me for an endorsement anytime soon.

  Unfortunately, I had no explosives this time around. Krisan was having a lot of trouble securing military-grade C-4 for me.

  I double-checked my load out and made sure everything was in the right place and that I knew where that was. Once I was done, I tied the grapple hook to the A/C protruding from the roof and tossed the bag with the three hundred feet of rope off the side.

  It never hurt to have an emergency exit, just in case teleporting wasn’t an option.

  I could almost sense Spice’s anticipation at the meal ahead. Me too.

  It was a simple matter to pick the lock leading to the interior stairwell. It wasn’t a bank, it was a call center for a bodybuilding company and their security was a joke. It was also a great location to bring in models and other attractive women they wanted to sell.

  Anger turned to rage that built with every step as I descended to the parking garage. Rage that these scum were allowed to live. Rage that no one else seemed to be interested in doing anything about it.

  I hit the parking garage floor at the stroke of midnight. The only light in the building was the night lighting. I slowly opened the door a crack, peeking through. It was empty. I raised my mask up to cover my nose. While the cat was out of the bag on my identity, the red scarf was still a source of fear for the enemy. And I liked them afraid.

  I slipped in, sticking to the wall and making my way to the junction box that covered the building. Concrete support pillars every thirty feet formed a box inside the garage, marking the stalls and the edges of the route cars traveled to get in and out.

  Over at the far corner was a chain link box that contained the power grid controls. I could shadow step through but I was worried about taxing Spice before I could balance the books. I picked the lock, opened the gate enough to squeeze through, and moved inside.

  While I studied the controls I heard the main gate crank to life, along with the sound of a diesel engine.

  They’re here.

  From my position, I saw a semi-truck with a long trailer drive down into the garage and make a long turn as it maneuve
red through the columns until it was pointing back the way it came.

  A couple of minutes later a box van rolled in, followed by several black SUVs. They parked nose-in on the side of the semi, like kittens nestled up to their mother.

  Dozens of girls got out of the vehicles, dressed for a night on the town and ignorantly chatting away as they were herded toward the back of the semi. The box van door opened and five girls who looked like they were taken off the street, got out.

  “What’s this?” an attractive redhead in skin-tight jeans and a swoop neck shirt that showed way to much cleavage asked.

  Along with the girls were eight men that I could see, and one woman who appeared to be in charge since she had a radio and was directing the men with hand gestures and sharp words spoken in Spanish.

  The men were dressed in slacks and business casual shirts. I spotted the bulge of weapons on their hips... so that was how they were playing this; all innocent until it was time to move them. These women represented weeks of work. I did a quick count; thirty-four women, all around eighteen years old.

  “Nothing to worry about Sasha,” the woman said. “Just line up at the back of the semi with the other girls. We’re giving out some special prizes from the agency and this was the vehicle they sent them in,” she said with a smile.

  I could tell the ginger wasn’t convinced, but at this point, she was powerless to change what was about to happen. From the look on her face and the way the other girls were acting, they knew this. Even if they wanted to run or go home, it was too late for them to do anything to stop it.

  Good thing I was there.

  I reached over and pulled the breaker. The transformer whined as the power went out. The overhead lights flickered and died as one. Emergency lights on the exits came to life with an audible click as the batterys kicked in.

  “You ready to eat?” I whispered to Spice.

  “Oh Madisun, you bring me the tastiest meals. Two of them have superpowers, so be careful,” she said.