Black and Blue_Black Star Security

by Cynthia Rayne

Meanwhile, West’s phone buzzed, and he slid it out of his pocket slowly, while Batman and Flash were otherwise occupied.

  “Seriously? You’re texting now?” Stormy whispered.

  “I told my daughter, I’d always be there for her, and I meant it. Katie comes first.” After reading the message, West fired off a short text telling Katie he’d talk to her later. Katydid, I’m in the middle of something. Text you later. Can’t wait to her about your trip to DC.

  She was a bright nine year old, full of questions and the apple of West’s eye. Katie was using his ex-wife’s phone because Katie was too young to have one of her own. They were careful about how much screen time they allowed her to have.

  Katydid was his name for her, like the insects he’d played with as a boy running through the Smoky Mountains.

  His ex, Paige, Katie, and her new husband were sightseeing in the capital. West was glad his daughter got the chance to learn about the nation. After all, West had put his life on the line to defend it, but he wished she’d been able to spend her Spring Break with him.

  OK. Talk to you later, Daddy. (heart emoji).

  He grinned when he saw the message. To work on her spelling, they’d made a pact to never use “text speak”—“u” for “you” and so on. She was holding up her end of the bargain.

  West had vowed to never break another promise to her. He couldn’t make things right with his son, Tommy, but West had a second chance with Katie, and he wouldn’t let her down.

  Sirens sounded outside. “This is the sheriff, come out with your hands up!” Evidently, the cops had arrived, and they’d brought along a megaphone.

  Yeah, that should calm the situation right down.

  “Fuck that! Man, we gotta get outta here.” Flash backed up, clutching his gun.

  Batman nodded. “Yeah, but we can’t just walk out of here. We need a hostage.”

  Superman pointed to Mack. “Let’s take her, the pretty one.”

  Oh fuck.

  Storm shook his head. “They took the wrong hostage.”

  This group should’ve worn Joker masks. They were making every mistake in the book.

  West gritted his teeth.

  He didn’t know Mack very well, but she was a former FBI agent. She’d come very highly recommended, and he’d hired her on the spot. Before joining his organization, she’d been a member of the very impressive Hostage Rescue Team.

  Mack said nothing. Flash grabbed Mack by the scruff of her neck and hauled her to her feet. She could have taken him down but didn’t resist. Yet.

  The rest of the hostages huddled on the floor, as though trying to disappear into it.

  Batman stood with his back to West, only a foot away. Stormy was only a foot or two away from Superman who’d joined the group.

  It was now or never. Once they walked out the door, the police would be involved, and Mack might get hurt in the crossfire.

  They all exchanged looks, and then West nodded, giving them the signal.

  West punched Batman in the back of the knee causing him to stumble. He vaulted to his feet and grabbed the shorter man around the neck. Batman raised the gun but West seized it with his other hand and flipped the safety off. It went off, hitting the ceiling and sending an explosion of plaster into the air.

  “See? I fixed it.” Then West turned the weapon on him.

  Meanwhile, Mack elbowed Flash in the gut and his hold on her loosened. When he raised the gun, she spun around and slammed his head back with the flat of her palm, catching him under the chin. While he was disoriented, she disarmed Flash, without even breaking a nail.

  Stormy didn’t have the same kind of training the rest of them had, but he was sneaky and fit. Superman didn’t stand a chance when Storm swept his leg out, tripping the man. As he stumbled, Storm took the gun.

  “Well, that didn’t take too long.” West grinned, proud of his new team. He’d chosen well with these two. West had big plans for the firm, and he’d like to sock away some serious cash for Katie’s college fund.

  West turned around to address the room. “It’s okay, folks. We got this under control. You can stand up now. ” Slowly, the crowd got to their feet. They were shaky and bewildered, but unharmed.

  “Should we see who were dealing with?” Storm asked.

  “Why not?” West shrugged.

  On the count of three, they pulled the masks off the criminals. West had been right about the robbers, they couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

  West scowled. “You done fucked up.”

  The pimply- faced Superman shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Who put you up to this, son?”

  “It was my idea.” His lips flattened into a thin line.

  Mack laughed. “Yeah, you’re the brains of this operation.”

  “It ain’t our business anyway, the police can sort this out.” West had a lot to do today. This had started out as a short errand. Mack and Storm had wanted to set up local checking and savings accounts.

  Stormy grinned. “I’d suggest a lawyer, but…” He trailed off, pointing to the security cameras overhead. “You’ve been caught red-handed. Even Perry Mason couldn’t save you.”

  The superheroes gaped at the cameras, jaws dropping.

  “Let’s do this.” West headed for the front door.

  “Just one second.” Mack balled up a fist and punched Flash right in the kisser. Grimacing, he clutched his face.

  “Nice right hook,” West said.

  “We have you surrounded.” Once again, it was the man on the megaphone. “Come out with your hands up.”

  And then West heard the distinct sound of a helicopter hovering above the building. He was all too familiar with helos. Sometimes he heard the whirring blades in his own head at night, the steady drone as they turned relentlessly.

  Storm checked it out. “It’s Channel 8 News.”

  And look at that, I might even get some free publicity for Black Star.

  Shoving the criminals out the door ahead of them, the trio walked outside, and West prepared for his close up.

  ***

  An hour later, they were still handling the fallout from the situation.

  While Mack and Storm were interviewed by other police officers, West spoke with the sheriff. The cameras had gotten some fantastic footage of them handing the crooks over to the sheriff. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to be interviewed by the news team, before they’d left to pursue another breaking story.

  Must be a busy news day.

  “And you disarmed all of them?” Sheriff Huck Wells asked.

  He liked the sheriff. They’d crossed paths a couple of times but hadn’t had a real conversation yet. Huck was in his mid-thirties and wore a khaki uniform with a big ass star pinned to his chest. West supposed most women would consider him handsome. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a lot of country boy charm.

  Huck had also mentioned in passing he’d been in the Air Force, which only increased West’s opinion of him. Military men were a breed apart.

  “Yes, sheriff.”

  “I already told you, call me Huck. Just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

  West shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a former Navy SEAL, and they weren’t exactly skilled criminals.”

  Huck whistled. “Still…”

  “Well, Huck, I hate to cut this short, but is there anythin’ else you need?” West asked, trying to hurry this along. He didn’t mind shooting the breeze, but he had a lot to accomplish, and he’d already gotten sidetracked.

  “Now that you mention it, we have reports of a fugitive being sited in the county.”

  “A fugitive?” West wondered where this was going.

  “Yes, he’s one of three who escaped custody a few months ago, and they haven’t been rounded up yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “They stopped looking six months ago.”

  “But you think they’re here?”

  “One of the guys is a local boy, and I think he�
��s hidin’ the rest. He knows this place like the back of his hand.” Huck crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve approached everyone I can think of, but they’ve turned me down. I can’t afford to pay you, but there’s a bounty offered on all of them. Roundin’ up three fugitives would put your company on the map, wouldn’t it?”

  The man had a point. “I see, so this is pro bono, so to speak?”

  “Well, since you ain’t a lawyer, no,” Huck said, with a chuckle. “Think of it as a good deed and a way of advertisin’ your services.”

  This conversation suddenly got interesting. As a matter of fact, it sounded like it might be their very first case.

  “Tell me about the fugitives.”

  West listened as Huck gave him a rundown of the prisoners. He’d heard of Turner and Doe, who’d both made the papers, but Ryder was a complete mystery.

  “And the Marshal Service just gave up?” It sounded like the agency had gotten a big black eye. Why wouldn’t they try to fix it?

  “They had to because they were fresh out of leads.” Huck shrugged. “You should’ve seen them, West. They spent weeks searching every building in a 60 mile radius, but they didn’t find the convicts. They even set up checkpoints and roadblocks, but there was no sign of them.

  Which means the sheriff could be right and they stayed put.

  “Turner’s granddaddy worked as a conductor on the railroad, running coal trains. And he spent summers with the old man, so he’s familiar with every inch of the territory.”

  “I see.” It would make him harder to hunt down. They’d had difficulty tracking terrorists in Afghanistan, too, because they knew lots of hidey holes.

  “Plus, he still has some contacts in the area.”

  “Like who?” West asked.

  “His brother, for one, Jason Turner. They questioned him for hours, but he swore up and down he hadn’t seen his brother in years.”

  “Jason didn’t visit him in jail? Or write him letters?”

  He snorted. “They haven’t had any official contact.”

  “But you don’t believe him?”

  “They’re family, and that means somethin’ in these parts.”

  “You think the prison guards smuggled in letters?”

  “The job don’t pay much and people have got mouths to feed.” Huck narrowed his eyes. “Besides, somebody helped him flee the scene, although the man was wearing a mask, so he wasn’t identified.”

  “Have you questioned Jason?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t get a damn thing out of him.”

  Interesting. “Which one’s been spotted?”

  “Ryder. He’s been seen at the Hooch and Scooch on the other side of the county.”

  “Did you tell the marshals?” West would focus on Ryder, and worry about Turner and his brother when the time came.

  “I did. They sent a marshal over to check it out, but he was only in town two days before he high-tailed it back to Lexington. I was hopin’ you’d take a gander, and see if it checks out.”

  “Why aren’t you chasin’ down this lead?” West wanted to know why Huck was passing the tip onto him. Apprehending a fugitive would do wonders for his career.

  Huck shrugged. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re a small office, and I don’t have the resources to do a stakeout.”

  “A stakeout?”

  “Yeah, I have no way of tellin’ when Ryder will be there, or even if the tip’s legit. The fella that called it in was three sheets to the wind at the time. ”

  Fuck it all.

  As a whole, people sucked at giving eyewitness testimony. They often didn’t remember details clearly. Besides, this guy might just be full of it and looking for reward money. Still, it was at least worth checking out.

  “Understood. Any idea what this guy looks like?” When West got home, he’d cruise by the marshal’s website and see how big the reward was.

  “Give me your fax number, and I’ll send you his mug shot, along with the other fugitives.”

  West scribbled down the information and handed it to him.

  “Much obliged.”

  This hadn’t been such a waste of time, after all.

  Chapter 3

  “This place puts the seed in seedy.” West snorted.

  Hooch and Scooch was the ideal location for backroom deals and shadiness. Smoke hung thick in the air. Given the fingerprints on his glass and petrified gum on the underside of his table, he was afraid to even touch anything.

  “Yeah, it’s a freak show alright.”

  Spark’s voice was as clear as a bell in his ear, even though he was back at the command center, instead of standing right beside him. He’d purchased comms for the entire team so they could stay in touch during an operation. West had gotten used to constant contact with his colleagues.

  “Roger that,” West said.

  In this area, right outside Lexington, the windows were covered with bars. Several of the homes had been vacated during the housing crisis. They were boarded up, spray painted with gang graffiti. This was the sort of neighborhood where people made it a point to not notice things.

  Behind the club, there was a rusted out Dumpster, along with some scattered trash. Left by scavengers of either the animal or human variety. They’d parked the Jeep near it, so they wouldn’t attract undo attention, but West worried someone might boost it.

  “Yeah, let’s hope this thing’s legit.” West didn’t want to waste everyone’s time on a fool’s errand. He’d chosen a corner booth so he could see the entire bar, and hadn’t seen a damn thing.

  “Don’t worry, Chief, I’ve got a good feelin’ about this,” King said.

  His teammate, Thomas King, sat on the opposite side of the room. They’d walked in separately and cased the joint, looking for any sign of their target, as well as potential problems. King served as his backup tonight, in case things got out of hand.

  “Yeah?” West asked.

  “Yep, we’re gonna find our tango.”

  They all had a superstitious bent, certain rituals they followed before or during deployment, like lucky socks, or not shaving. West doubted it helped at all, but he always felt better when he drank coffee out of the mug Katie had made for him in school.

  They need all the advantages they could get. Let’s face it, when did anything go according to plan?

  Like West, King was a former Navy SEAL, although they hadn’t been on the same team. They’d both trained at Coronado together, and they’d been stationed in Little Creek, Virginia afterward. West had offered King a job, and he’d accepted, before turning his resignation in around the same time.

  King was six foot eight with reddish blond hair and a thick layer of stubble on his chin. He could bench press twice his own weight, although he didn’t have a bulky bodybuilder physique. West figured King’s size contributed to his strength.

  “So far it’s been a bust.”

  “Now, I wouldn’t say that.” King hummed along with a Savannah Summers song. “This beats hangin’ out in the desert with sand up your crack.”

  West chuckled. “Lord help me. You’re still hung up on her?”

  The man had a serious obsession with the singer.

  Savannah Summers was a famous country music star and every song she released topped the charts. During one of their deployments when they’d been in Afghanistan at the same time, he’d driven West crazy by playing her music night and day. West didn’t even like her songs, but he knew every fucking lyric.

  “Damn straight. Me and Savvy are always and forever. Get used to it.” Her nickname was Savvy, and King acted as though they were best friends. King followed her on social media and commented on every fucking post she made, too.

  Like a stalker.

  “You better get some earbuds because I ain’t listenin’ to her wail twenty-four hours a day,” Quentin Zane said, over the comms. Like West and King, Zane was a former Navy SEAL, although he’d been teammates with West.

  King crossed his massive arms over his equ
ally large chest. “She doesn’t wail! People magazine called her the voice of her generation.”

  “Savannah sounds like a howler monkey. Don’t make me come over there and whoop your big ass, King.”

  Zane was six feet tall, but anyone looked small next to King. He had steely blue eyes, medium brown hair, and a sinewy, well-developed frame. Like the rest of them, he worked out all the time. Staying in shape wasn’t optional when you had to run for your life at any moment.

  Zane stood on the roof, across the street, monitoring the entrance and playing overwatch for the night. It gave him a bird’s eye view of the block.

  He also had a visual on them from the body cams they wore this evening. It wasn’t standard procedure, but West wanted to review the footage later and make sure he hadn’t missed the tango, lurking in the background somewhere.

  “As if you could, and, for the record, my ass isn’t big, it’s toned, Zane.”

  West smothered a laugh.

  “Hey, speakin’ of nice asses, check out the brunette at the bar,” King said.

  West had noticed her when he’d first walked in. She was sitting all by her lonesome, and his gaze had drifted her way far too often.

  I’m here on a stakeout for God’s sake. Not to ogle chicks.

  Zane whistled. “Damn, she’s a looker, and if I ain’t mistaken, exactly your type, Chief.”

  King, West, and Zane were Southern. Although, King was from Virginia and Zane hailed from Georgia.

  And Zane wasn’t wrong about the woman.

  West had a thing for dark-haired girls. He blamed it on all those episodes of Dawson’s Creek he’d watched as a young teenager with his older sister. Katie Holmes had been his first celebrity crush.

  “Stay on task, guys. We’re here to do a job, not leer at the ladies.”

  The truth was, West couldn’t take his eyes off the brunette, no matter what he’d just said. Her jeans were so tight they showcased every single inch of her long legs, and she had a peach shaped ass so damn fine it made a man want to sink his teeth into it.

  When she turned to the side, he got a glimpse of her pretty face, although she wore a lot of makeup—glossy lips and lots of mascara. West preferred the natural look. He loved sleep tousled hair and kissable naked lips.