Rogue Alliance

by Michelle Bellon

  A scent wafted over the cool night air and caught his attention.

  When he turned, his body stiffened as he spotted two men standing just outside the shadows of the firelight. They were dirty from head to toe and wore thick, tattered flannel shirts. One had on a dingy baseball cap and the other had a knitted type with ear flaps that hung down. Their appearance wasn’t what bothered Brennan; it was the menacing looks on their faces and the way they held their rifles, poised, ready for action.

  It was dark out and had been for hours. These men weren’t out hunting, though it was the season. They must have seen Brennan’s Hummer parked down the hill and hiked up looking for him thinking he’d be a prime victim. They either must have been very quiet or he had been too lost in thought because he hadn’t heard them approach.

  “Hello there. Looks like you two have been hiking for awhile,” he said.

  They stared at him.

  “Can I help you with something? Maybe offer you something to drink? I don’t have much, just came up for the night. But I don’t mind sharing.”

  “You the driver of that fancy rig down at the bottom of the hill?” one of them asked.

  Brennan appraised the way the man who was speaking held his body and motioned with the gun. He would be quick in his movements, deadly if underestimated. The other looked bulkier, slower. He knew who he’d have to take down first. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. Even way the hell up the mountain, late at night, trouble found him.

  “Why do you ask?” he ventured.

  “Forget the small talk, city boy. Hand over the keys and toss us that backpack you got over there.”

  “Oh, I can’t do that guys, you see…that’s not my car. It’s my boss’s.”

  The men gave each other a quick and amused look.

  “Well, we don’t really give a shit, now, do we?” the one with the ball cap said. He his rifle and pointed it at Brennan, “Now quit stallin’ and give us the goddamn backpack.”

  Brennan had no desire for this situation to end badly but, given the circumstances, he was doubtful that it would end any other way. It didn’t help that his temper was flaring up and he could already feel the rush of adrenaline as it ripped through his veins. His training would take over soon and then they would all be past the point of no return.

  “Sure. I don’t want any problems.”

  As he sidestepped toward the pack, the other man raised his gun. Now there were two rifles aimed straight at his head. He didn’t think they intended to kill him or else they would’ve shot him already and taken what they wanted. Maybe the situation was manageable after all.

  “Come on now, toss it over,” baseball cap shouted. He was growing more agitated by the second.

  Brennan walked forward.

  “No, no. Just stay there. I said, toss it.”

  Brennan was now only about fifteen feet away so he hefted the pack and the guy with the knitted cap caught it.

  “Now toss us your wallet and the keys,” said baseball cap.

  Brennan slowly reached to his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and purposely tossed it wide and short.

  “That was a piss poor throw asshole,” the man said, jerking his head toward the wallet, “pick that up Derrick. Okay, jerk-off, now the keys.”

  Brennan made a show of digging in all of his pockets and coming up empty.

  “I…I don’t know where they’re at. Maybe I left them in the car.”

  Baseball cap looked angry.

  “No,” he said, “we looked already. There wasn’t shit down there. You have them and you know it.”

  Brennan felt his pockets again and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry guys. I swear I don’t have them.”

  “Bullshit!” he yelled, “Dammit, Derrick, get your ass over there and find his damn keys.”

  Derrick hesitated before tossing the backpack to the ground. He looked nervous as he approached Brennan. Switching the rifle to his left hand and pointing it to the ground he began to feel Brennan’s pockets with his right. This was the time.

  Brennan moved faster than they could react. In one motion he grabbed Derrick by the shoulder and swung him around, wrapping his bicep around his neck in a tight headlock. Derrick raised the gun and Brennan easily snatched it out of his grip, pointing it straight back at his friend from behind his hostage.

  “Drop the gun,” Brennan shouted.

  The guy with the baseball cap looked so stunned it was almost humorous. He shifted the rifle back and forth trying to line up his sites to Brennan’s head but it was too close to his friend’s.

  “I said drop the gun.”

  Derrick’s breathing was raspy and quick. Brennan tightened his grip.

  “Jesus, Chester, drop the damn gun.” Derrick choked out to his friend,

  After another few moments of hesitation, Chester put his hands up in defeat and lowered his gun, but Brennan could see by the look in his eye that he was not giving up.

  As that thought clicked, Derrick suddenly jabbed his elbow into Brennan’s ribs with shocking force. It was enough to take Brennan’s breath and loosen his grip.

  Though Derrick grabbed for his gun, Brennan was stronger. Wrestling over the weapon with brute force, and applying more pressure to Derrick’s windpipe, he took aim just as Chester dove for his own weapon. A shot rang out. Chester screamed and reached down for his injured leg.

  Derrick panicked. He started writhing and kicking and punching at random, slamming the back of his head into Brennan’s nose.

  Pain split through the center of Brennan’s face and fury boiled over. He turned into Derrick’s neck and bit down. As usual, there was the initial resistance of skin then there was the pop and the flow of warm blood into his mouth. The frenetic frenzy that usually consumed him threatened to take over. But for the first time ever, a sliver of logic wedged its way through the mania of his training.

  He released his jaw. He didn’t want to kill this man.

  “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” Derrick screamed, “Help me Chester, he’s trying to drink my blood!”

  Chester was delirious with pain and oblivious to his friend.

  Brennan rolled Derrick over and looked into his frantic, wild eyes.

  “I’m not going to kill you…yet,” he said, “but if you ever do something like this again, if I ever see either of you again, I will. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Derrick nodded, “I understand. Just leave. Whatever you are, just leave.”

  Brennan released his hold and stood up. Blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy. Fighting off instinct and years of training was taking a toll on his body. With cold, clammy skin and shaky limbs, he grabbed both rifles, his backpack and wallet, then left the two injured men to fend for themselves before he could change his mind. He seriously doubted either of them would go to the police. What would they possibly tell them?

  He dropped the guns into a ravine not too far from where he’d parked the Hummer and drove down the mountain with sore ribs and a bad attitude. Guess I’m not going to camp out overnight after all, he thought.

  FORTY-THREE

  Un-freaking-believable, thought Shyla as she waltzed across the parking lot toward her apartment. She’d been looking forward to hiding in the sanctity of home ever since she’d boarded the airplane out of LAX, but now, watching a reporter scrawling furiously with a pen and paper as she interviewed a bemused Carmen, that feeling was gone.

  “This girl is a minor,” she said in a sharp, biting tone, “you have no right to speak to her without parental consent.”

  The thin, wisp of a woman looked up over her square framed glasses.

  “Excuse me?”

  The fake look of innocence and shock made Shyla want to land a solid punch on that beaked nose of hers.

  “Did I stutter? No, I didn’t. Now take your pencil and get the hell out of here before I shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

  Shock shifted to a mix of fear and embarrassment.

  “No need to ge
t upset,” the reporter said, “you’re Officer Ericson, right? Maybe I could just talk with you instead.”

  “Are you missing a chromosome?” Shyla retorted, “No. Get the hell out of here and don’t come back. And if I see you talking to this girl again, I’m going to have you arrested. Do you understand me?”

  The woman seemed to finally get the message. She pursed her thin lips, stuffed her notepad under her armpit, and stomped off.

  “Well that was rude,” Carmen said, teasing.

  Shyla wasn’t in the mood. She shouldered her duffle bag and stomped past her.

  “I told you to steer clear of here and stay away from reporters. Why is it that you never listen?”

  She heard Carmen’s clomping footsteps behind her, rushing to keep up.

  “If you’d of waited a second, you’d have heard that I was giving that lady the run-around. I was asking her more questions than she was and she was getting nowhere fast. It was actually pretty hilarious. She kept trying to get something out of me but I wasn’t cooperating.”

  Carmen giggled.

  “You should have seen her face,” she continued, “when I asked her if she ever got tired of making a living off of other people’s drama.”

  Shyla halted halfway up the staircase and turned to look down at Carmen, who was beaming up at her with pride.

  “You asked her that,” she said trying hard to suppress the smile that was threatening to creep up.

  Carmen nodded up and down.

  “Sure did. Man, I can’t believe you didn’t think I’d be able to handle a lady like that. You should know by now that you can trust me,” she said, putting a hand to her chest in mock, melodrama, “that hurts, Shyla. It really hurts.”

  Shyla finally let out a healthy laugh, completely amused with Carmen’s witty antics. The girl had worked her way into her heart.

  “Come inside, you brat. You can make me a sandwich while you tell me all about this conversation. I’ve gotta hear details now.”

  *

  The crash of shattering glass jolted Shyla awake. Disorientated, she rolled to the floor and reached under the pillow for her handgun in one simultaneous motion. Where was she? What was going on? Was she still in LA?

  Glancing around, she took note of her surroundings. Faint blue moonlight trickled in through a broken window. She was in her apartment. That’s right; she’d flown in late Thursday evening, taken two hefty swigs straight from the bottle and tumbled into bed, exhausted, the past few weeks finally taking their toll.

  Tires squealed against pavement and she leaped to the window in only her t-shirt and panties, gun held defensively to her chest.

  She honed in on the glow of taillights as the car zipped out of the parking lot and down the street. She couldn’t make out the license plate but by the width of the car and the vague shape, she guessed it was an older, larger make, possibly a Buick. Otherwise, she had nothing; they were gone.

  The crisp fall air rushed in past the shards of glass with a short gust and pricked up her skin into a thousand little goose bumps. Careful where she stepped, she cautiously made her way across the room and picked up the brick that had been expertly tossed through her bedroom window.

  As she was on the second storey and the parking lot was at an odd angle, whoever had thrown it had not only been aiming specifically for her bedroom, but they would have had to get out of their car and walk up the sidewalk in order to manage such a trajectory. It was not a random act by some reckless teenagers. She had been a specific target and they had known exactly where she lived.

  As she examined the brick and took mental notes of the scene, she started ticking off the possible culprits and motives. Though she had expected a backlash of sorts, she was surprised by the attack. Years on the force had taught her the mindset behind assaults such as these. If she had to make a quick guess, the person was a man who had an anger problem but wasn’t ready to face her head on. It was unlikely that they had any connection to Victor. Everyone under him would have very specific instructions on how to behave in regards to her and they were too professional to stoop to such levels.

  No, she realized, this was someone from her past, someone who, now that they knew who she really was, was still angry with her for things she’d done when she’d lived in Redding before. If that was the case, the list of suspects was fairly short. Although she imagined there were plenty who didn’t like her much, she doubted there were many who would hate her enough to toss a brick through her window in the middle of the night. Chances were, this person was close to her father. If so, she would bet they were a heavy drinker. Her dad only socialized with fellow drunkards down at his favorite bar.

  She looked at the clock. Yep, two-thirty; last call was forty-five minutes ago. He had most likely spent an entire evening shooting liquid courage and working up a good mad over old vendettas.

  As she swept up the glass, she wracked her brain trying to recall the names or faces of men she’d seen her father with, but it was useless. Her dad didn’t have people to the house often and when he did, she’d always kept to her room. Out of sight, out of mind. Having unwanted attention from her father was more than enough.

  Deciding her room would be too cold to sleep in and the window would have to wait till morning to fix, she grabbed her comforter and closed the door behind her as she headed for the couch.

  Huddled under the blanket, she couldn’t warm up, couldn’t stop trembling. She felt so cold from the inside out. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet, too hollow. It was almost tempting to give Shawn a call and make him come over. She knew, though, that Shawn would get on her nerves, asking her a hundred questions about what had happened both tonight and in LA. With the recent revelation of his attraction to her, he could get the wrong idea about her inviting him over at nearly three in the morning, too.

  Besides, the person she really wanted to see was Brennan. He’d been the first person who’d come to mind as the solitude settled around her. Though she initially shoved it aside, she had to recognize that his face, his voice, was the one that came to her when she felt that first surge of weakness.

  Maybe it was because he had been the one to save her from Victor. Maybe it was because he had been the only person she had ever fallen apart in front of and he had simply held her until she put herself back together. Maybe it was because they both knew intimate secrets about one another and though they were on opposite sides, they had built a bond of trust that was more reliable than any other relationship she’d ever had.

  Trust me to build an attachment to someone like Brennan, she thought.

  Well, attachments weren’t her style, she decided, they were messy and confusing. Giving up the idea of sleep, she tossed the blanket aside and marched to the kitchen in search of a pen and paper. She wanted to write Carmen a quick letter. Her life was too convoluted to be making friendships with young teenage girls. She’d known that from the beginning but had ignored her instincts as Carmen had won her over.

  It took five revisions but eventually she settled on a quick note, folded it up and set it on the kitchen counter so she would remember it on her way out in the morning. Carmen would be upset when she read it, but she was young and resilient. She’d get over it.

  Tucking away guilt, she hopped in the shower just as the sky was beginning to turn a grayish-pink. Guilt was a useless emotion, she reflected; it made a person soft. She couldn’t afford to be soft, especially now.

  As she showered, she couldn’t stop picturing Carmen and Brennan, no matter how many times she told herself she didn’t need them, or anyone. Regardless of how high she turned up the hot water, she couldn’t stop the trembling.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “Thanks for picking me up, Brennan.”

  “No problem, Boss,” Brennan said, keeping his eye on the road.

  “Stop by the burger joint before heading home, will ya. I’m starving and that food they feed you in jail is bland as cardboard. I need something juicy to sink my teeth into.”

&
nbsp; “Sure.”

  Brennan was distracted and moody. Victor’s brash, careless attitude was clashing with his own. Gritting his teeth, he kept quiet and drove.

  “Now on to business,” Victor continued, “I’ve got to make some phone calls and see if everything’s on schedule for the drop before Halloween. I want security tighter than usual and all possible loop holes sealed up. I know that bitch Shyla is going to be on my ass and I can’t afford for the guy running this shipment to get wind of what’s been going on and get spooked. I assume Shyla is still around?”

  “She is.”

  Victor rolled down the window and took in a deep breath of fresh air.

  “Yeah, I figured,” he said, “it’ll be fun to mess with her. I don’t know who she thinks she is or who she thinks she’s messing with, but she’s got another thing coming if she thinks she’s going to win this battle.”

  “She’s just doing her job.”

  “Oh, really?” Victor said, glaring at him, “Well so am I. And so are you. Don’t forget it.”

  “How could I?”

  “What’s going on with you today? You’re grumpy as hell and it’s like pulling teeth to get you to talk.”

  Brennan wasn’t sure if he should share the news about his health, or the incident in the woods.

  “I haven’t been feeling very well lately,” he said.

  “What, like you’re sick or something?”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “Are you taking your supplement? Maybe you need to increase your intake.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Don’t worry, Boss, I’ll be alright.”

  “Well, I need you to be your best. Things are crazy around here and I don’t imagine they’ll settle down anytime soon. Which reminds me, what’s the scoop on Ricardo?”

  “Word is,” Brennan said, “that he didn’t talk while he was behind bars but he’s out now on a technicality.”

  “Hmm, good,” Victor said, easing back in his seat, “it’ll be a lot easier to get to him on the outside. I’ll make a few phone calls. He’ll be taken care of by the end of the week.”