Rogue Alliance

by Michelle Bellon

“Cheers,” he said.

  “What exactly are we toasting? I’m black and blue and unemployed. What’s to celebrate?”

  He smiled and for a second she thought he looked very attractive in a rangy kind of way.

  “Here’s to going rogue.”

  Shyla almost choked on her drink. It burned her sinuses as she tried not to spit it out. It was the first time in days she’d actually laughed.

  “Rogue, huh? Yeah, I guess so. I’m no longer following the system or part of the bureaucracy,” she said before the humor stepped aside for thoughtful consideration of where she was at and where she had been, “but then again, maybe I’ve always been that way. Maybe trying to adhere to policy and procedure was going against the grain of who I really am. Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself into thinking I was a good detective. I mean, I am after all the girl who, instead of just telling someone about what her dad was doing, she decided to stab him with the kitchen steak knife.”

  Shawn sat his drink down and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “You are a good detective,” he said, “and you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

  He was too close. The conversation was too intimate. She brushed his hands away and stepped back.

  “So what’s your angle here?” she asked, “you said maybe you could get in on the action. What exactly did you mean by that?”

  Shrugging, he took a seat at her small dining room table.

  “Well, if you plan on sticking around with the intention of being a permanent thorn in Victor’s side, I imagine that you could use someone on the inside to help you out. Jason and I are still on the case. I got no problem sharing intel with you, as long as you share with us.

  “I don’t know what your plan is exactly, but I imagine you’re going to make the best of not having to follow certain protocols and guidelines that the rest of us do. You might actually get further that way. But in the end, you won’t get too far with whatever evidence you gather if it’s not acquired by procedure and you know that. It will be inadmissible in court, worthless. You’re going to need me to help you.”

  “And you want to help because…?’

  “Hey, you aren’t the only one who’s invested time and energy on this bastard. I want to nail him almost as bad as you do, especially after what he did to you. We’re protective of our own. Besides nothing drives me more crazy than someone like Victor who thinks that he’s above the system, an exception to the rule. It would give me great satisfaction to put him away for a very long time.”

  Shyla could appreciate everything that Shawn was saying and knew he was speaking his truth. What she was concerned about was her suspicion that Shawn had other reasons to want to help her. However, he was right. She was going to need someone from the inside to ensure anything she dug up on Victor would be processed within the parameters of the law.

  “Well, I can’t really claim to have a plan per se,” she said, “but I have every intention of using my training to get to the core of his business transactions. I want to start with some of these connections that we’ve been able to confirm over this past few weeks. If we start digging into their backgrounds and watching their behaviors, I’m betting we can get to Victor through them. It’s a bit indirect, but if we slowly establish who exactly is all under him and find a way to track where the shipments are coming from, we could possibly do a bust that would take out most of his henchmen.”

  “It’s a good plan. Take out his men, confiscate his wares, and generally cause his business some real trouble. He’d have to scurry fast to save his ass and regroup. It could even lead to some hasty decisions on his part. I like it. I’m in.”

  She chuckled and enjoyed the way the alcohol was melting away the tensions from the day. She basked in its familiar warmth and solace.

  “Don’t get too hasty, now, Shawn. It’s going to take some time. I’ll obviously need to make a few trips south. I want to talk with Ricardo and do some digging on Cougar, the guy Victor met with last time we were in San Francisco. I refuse to allow that trip to be a complete waste of time.”

  Shawn furrowed his brow.

  “What about Brennan?” he asked, “I really think we need to get that guy’s number. He’s too much of an enigma. It bugs me. Was there anything that came up during the time you spent with either him or Victor?”

  Shyla hesitated. The urge to protect Brennan was still confusing and unsettling, but she had no intention to share what she knew. Reasoning that it was best to keep his secrets in order to maintain the possibility of still using him to get to Victor, she shook her head.

  “No, but leave that me. I’ve got a few ideas. You just focus on Champlain.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Why do you think he stepped in and stopped Victor from killing you that night?” Shawn asked.

  Shyla searched his eyes. He was watching her very carefully, looking for the answer beyond her words.

  “What he reasoned with Victor is that killing me would be the beginning of the end. There would be nothing that would keep him out of jail for life if he killed a cop. That’s it. He wasn’t caught up in the mania, like Victor was. He was logical and calm.”

  “He seemed very concerned about you that night when he brought you home,” Shawn said, looking skeptical, “I get the feeling that he’s got feelings for you.”

  Memories of the kiss she and Brennan had shared were seared into her brain. Shyla averted her gaze and took a deep slug of her drink.

  “I don’t think so. I think his loyalty to Victor runs deep and nothing is going to change that. It’s Victor whom he’s protecting at all costs. It will be that dedication, that cause, which will destroy them both.”

  Suddenly tired, she wanted to be alone. Shawn’s perceptive read of Brennan made her uneasy. She didn’t want him to read anything in regards to her emotions toward the forever elusive Brennan. They were for her to sort out, no one else.

  She walked to the kitchen sink and rinsed out her glass.

  “Well, Shawn, I appreciate the drink. I will definitely keep in mind everything that you’ve said tonight. I’ll sleep on it and give you a call.”

  Taking the hint, he capped the tequila.

  “I’ll leave this with you, a little present for the epic day you’ve had. You did a good job this morning. I know it must have been tough to face him again.”

  He opened the front door.

  “Let me know when you’ve decided to go back to LA,” he said.

  “Sure. No problem. Goodnight, Shawn.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  With hair sopping wet and fresh out of the shower, Shyla wrapped a fluffy white towel around her torso and sprinted down the hall to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Holy shit, Shyla! What in the heck is going on?”

  “Jesus, Carmen, watch your damn mouth,” Shyla said, biting her cheek when she realized she was swearing at a thirteen year old while telling her not to swear.

  “Have you taken a look outside? There are like a ton of people in the parking lot and by your front door.”

  Shyla rubbed her temple. She didn’t need to take a look to guess that the people Carmen was referring to were reporters. News traveled fast.

  “They’re probably reporters, Carmen. Remember how I told you that I’m a cop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I arrested somebody yesterday then I quit my job. I’m sure by now the whole town is talking about the fact that I’m really not a secretary and that I’ve been under-cover. I’m sure they want answers and a good story. Where are you right now, Carmen? Are you out front?”

  “Yeah, I was just coming by to remind you that you’re supposed to come over this Friday. I was on my way to school and saw this craziness. This is far out!”

  “Ugh, it’s not far out. Listen, why don’t you stay away from here for a few days until things settle down? I promise I’ll be there on Friday.”

  “You better or else I’m going to come o
ver and do some of those kung fu moves that you taught me.”

  “Oh, I know you would,” Shyla grinned, “now get your ass to school.”

  Hanging up, she stood, nearly naked, staring at the front door for what felt like an eternity. She could feel all of them out there, waiting to pounce. It made her feel trapped, restless. Why in the hell were there reporters in the world anyway? They always stuck their nose into business it didn’t belong. She could remember far too many times when a juicy scoop on the front page had botched a case. She was in the business of finding information and holding it close to the chest. They were used to taking info and blurting it to the world even if it meant avoiding justice or causing someone harm.

  She’d always felt it was reporters and their callous ways which partially contributed to her mother’s suicide. Had they not dragged out the sordid details of the goings on within the privacy of their home, she might not have felt so completely overwhelmed with her sense of failure. But with the town watching her, judging her, she had never had a chance. To this day, the sight of the lecherous media made her feel tangled in old emotions.

  Well, I’ll have to face them sooner or later, she thought, better to get dressed and get it over with.

  She threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, brushed her hair and pulled it back into the usual pony tail. Her agenda for the day was a long stretch of research in the library. She’d just have to give the reporters their few minutes and get on with it.

  Taking one deep breath, she stepped out and her senses were overwhelmed. The bright morning sun was blinding. The cold autumn air seeped into her clothes and gave her a chill, and the shouting and shoving rattled her nerves.

  “Hey, there she is. Excuse me, Officer Ericson, do you have a minute?”

  Six people crowded around her at the top of her stairs. There were another ten to fifteen in the parking lot including two television crews. The case was drawing more attention than she’d anticipated.

  Shoving her way down the stairs, she approached the closest anchorwoman. The woman’s eyes danced with delight at she realized she was going to get first dibs.

  “Good morning, Officer Ericson. Can you tell us anything about the man you arrested yesterday? Sources say that it was someone who has been linked to the mafia. Is this true?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question, ma’am. I’m no longer on the case.”

  “So it is true that you are a police officer? And is it also true that you were working under cover in this small unassuming town and that you were nearly killed while on duty by this criminal?”

  Shyla knew the marks on her neck were faded to a sick yellow but still visible. “Again,” she said, “I can’t make any comments on the case. You can talk to chief of police, Hal Jorgenson, in regards to these matters. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  “One more thing. Wasn’t it difficult to maintain discretion working in the town where you have so much troubled childhood history? Did any of that factor in to how you were able to carry out your duties?”

  Shyla shoved her way to her car and refused to answer any further questions. Ignoring her obvious frustration, they clamored around and threw a barrage of questions at her simultaneously shouting over one another like a brood of clucking hens. It was best she left before the anger that was rising up within caused her to do or say something she’d later regret. It seemed she had a habit of manifesting more than her share.

  FORTY

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, with the IV connected and running at a steady rate, Brennan replayed his conversation with Shyla over and over. He kept wondering if he was making the right decision, but when he considered the alternative, the ending to that story had only one possible conclusion: Victor in jail and him running for his life as Victor sought revenge. It wasn’t an option, even if Brennan could bring himself to betray his only friend.

  Despite that, he couldn’t help feeling like he was turning his back on the one woman he could ever remember feeling so many powerful emotions for. It was more than attraction. It was more than respect for her courage and strength. It was the fact that he understood the depth of her in a way that was intimate. And she understood him, which was something he’d never dared to expect from another human being.

  His thoughts trailed off when he heard a muffled ringing sound. The room was silent. When it sounded again his brain made the connection. It was coming from the drawer of his bedside table. It was the cell phone that he’d confiscated off the hit man who’d tried to kill him. Before he’d buried him, he’d made sure to go through his pockets for any sign of who he was. Nothing came up except for a small, traceless cricket phone. Right away, he’d known it was the contact for who ever had hired him. Expecting that they would grow anxious when the man didn’t make contact, he’d kept the device.

  Now, it was ringing and he was ready to talk with who ever was on the other end.

  Dragging the IV along with him, he crossed the room, opened the drawer and flipped open the cheap phone. He didn’t say a word. The line had a faint static but was otherwise silent.

  Eventually, the caller spoke up.

  “I hope that you don’t think that just because our first attempt was unsuccessful that we’re just going to give up and forget about you.”

  “Why would I make such a naïve presumption?” Brennan asked.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re too smart for that. Why don’t you come back on your own free will and we’ll work something out peacefully.”

  Brennan was taking note of the man’s voice and speech, which was soft-spoken and articulate. He imagined extreme wealth and intelligence.

  “I don’t consider what occurred the other night with your hired henchman to be very peaceful,” he said, “so I’m going to have to take a pass on that offer. Why don’t you come on down here and deal with me face to face? I’d love to take care of this once and for all.”

  “No. I don’t think so,” the caller laughed.

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m an investor who doesn’t take too kindly to anyone who destroys years and year’s worth of my lucrative investments. I had a long term goal with that institute and your training which I held very dear. And I’m not particularly thrilled with the fact that you killed Dr. Shinto, either.”

  Brennan didn’t respond.

  “Now that plan A has been unsuccessful, that leaves us with plan B. Unless, of course, you change your mind about turning yourself in.”

  Brennan despised the casual manner in which the caller was speaking about the attempt on his life, as if it were a game.

  “I’m guessing that since you brought plan B to my attention, you want to tell me about it,” he said wanting to draw out the conversation. It occurred to him that this person probably knew about his history, his life before the institute.

  “Very perceptive,” the caller said in a smug voice, “yes, I think you should know what plan B is. I think it might change your mind about how you choose to move forward. You see, during your…training, we planned for the possibility that a scenario such as this might develop. We knew that we couldn’t just have you out in the world if you ever escaped so Dr. Shinto and I came up with a solution.

  “We not only made you dependent on human blood for survival, we made you dependent on a very specific type of blood. We injected a protein into the infusions we gave you which your body was slowly conditioned to need. Without it, your red blood cells will begin to break down before they can fully mature, as if you haven’t received the transfusion at all. Soon it won’t matter how much blood you consume. Your body simply won’t be able to process it properly without this protein.

  “It will be a much slower process than if you were deprived of supplement altogether - possibly up to six months, but it will eventually kill you. I’m sure you’ve already begun to experience a tiredness and fatigue in your body that you haven’t been able to shake.”

  Brennan was suddenly cold to the core and very aware of the truth of
what he was being told. He had been more tired than usual lately but had chalked it up to the chaos of his current situation. What he hadn’t been willing to admit was the nagging suspicion that it was more complicated than that. Now his hunch was confirmed and he knew that he would never have the future he’d dreamed of.

  He was clenching his teeth. Forcing his muscles to relax he spoke in a slow, direct tone.

  “I’m not turning myself in. I’d rather die than give you the satisfaction, so on to plan B.”

  Snapping the phone shut and tossing it on the bed he stared down at the almost black liquid which was still slowly coursing into his left arm. He’d always hated his dependence on the substance and now even it wouldn’t save him. Anger spiked and soared.

  Grabbing the plastic tubing, he yanked it out with a vicious tug. Blood spurted from his vein. He ignored the mess and threw the equipment at the bedroom wall, knocking out a basketball-sized chunk of drywall. He didn’t care. Destruction was the only thing that was going to relieve his pain and frustration. Picking up the small kitchen table, he tossed it across the room and it shattered the television imagining his dreams breaking into a million pieces with it.

  With his chest heaving, he looked around and felt no reprieve. He grabbed a dishtowel from the stove and pressed it to his arm. The room was closing in on him. He needed to get out of there. Not knowing or caring where he was going, he grabbed the keys to the hummer and fled down the stairs. He had to get away for a while. He needed to think. If he was going to be dead within six months, he had to decide how he wanted to live the rest of his life.

  FORTY-ONE

  Shyla stepped out of the LAX terminal and into the fall sunshine as it filtered through layers of smog. Scrunching her nose, she realized that she’d forgotten the way home smelled of carbon monoxide and hot asphalt. Even in early October, LA was a toasty seventy-eight degrees.

  Donning her sunglasses, she hailed a cab. Before she left Redding she made a few calls and found that Ricardo had been released from jail on a technicality. Before her unexpected transfer to Redding, she’d been on his case. She was quite familiar with his behavior and knew exactly where to find him.