Ryan Kaine: On the Defensive: Book Three in the Ryan Kaine Action Thriller Series

by Kerry J Donovan

  Adrenaline, part of the human ‘fight or flight’ complex, had saved him again. Most people didn’t know how to use it but, to a trained fighter, controlling the adrenaline response made the difference between success and failure—the difference between life and death.

  Close, Ryan. Too bloody close.

  As a rule of thumb, Kaine didn’t care much for the ‘flight’ part of the quotation, but perhaps he needed to rethink his rule. This time, he’d cut it fine. He’d come close to losing—much closer than he expected. Maybe he should learn caution. Maybe he should learn to accept the help offered by his cobbled-together team of experts. He owed Danny an apology. Next time, he’d listen. He was getting too old to take on youngsters in unarmed combat.

  Far too bloody old, Kaine. Idiot.

  Lovejoy groaned.

  Kaine straightened, pulled back his shoulders, and closed the gap between him and the human rubbish on the floor.

  “Still alive, young fella? Good. You and I’ll need to talk in a moment. Just let me get my breath back. Your dead mate was almost as tough as he looked.”

  Lovejoy groaned again, this time louder. His fingers scratched at the tiles, but nothing else moved except his mouth and eyes.

  Kaine wasn’t worried. Judging by the bruise developing on his elbow from when he crippled the pathetic lump, Lovejoy wasn’t going anywhere. He doubted the man would ever walk again. The bastard wouldn’t be commissioning attacks on families, or hitting defenceless women, either.

  Three deeps breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, lowered Kaine’s heartrate and paid back the oxygen debt he’d built during the fight. His stomach calmed and the shakes melted away.

  Thinking of defenceless women, the young blonde on the couch hadn’t moved since his arrival. Keeping his eyes on Lovejoy in case he’d misdiagnosed the severity of the spinal injury, he pushed away from the wall. Steering a wide path to avoid the spilled claret, he stepped around the bodies and crossed to the north-facing wall and the leather suite.

  The young woman, Lady F, lay still. Unnaturally still.

  Crap.

  Kaine placed two fingers on the side of her neck and found a steady beat, slow but strong. He made sure her airway was open and relaxed a little.

  “Now then, Alfie,” he called out, “why were you in such a hurry to reach your office?”

  Before searching the desk, he removed the leather gloves and replaced them with a more practical latex pair—no point making it easy for the crime scene investigators.

  In a bottom drawer, he found a loaded Ruger 9mm and two spare seven-round magazines.

  “That’s interesting, Alfie, what else am I going to find?”

  He carried out a quick and dirty search of the apartment and found two other weapons in interesting places. Once he’d finished, he rolled Tugboat onto his back—no easy task considering the man’s bulk and while trying to avoid smearing the blood pool. He dug his knife out of the big guy’s chest and washed it with bleach in the kitchen sink before returning it to its ankle sheath.

  From a block in the kitchen, Kaine took a carving knife and wrapped Alfie’s fingers around the handle before planting it into Tugboat’s wound. Its blade was wider and longer than Kaine’s dagger. The ploy probably wouldn’t fool a half-decent pathologist, but if the police used an overworked or inferior one, it just might pass muster. It would certainly add confusion to the issue.

  To screw with the immediate crime scene a little more, and to sell the idea that Lovejoy stabbed Tugboat, he pushed an unresisting but still groaning Lovejoy further into the puddle and squirmed him around a little.

  “Pity about your nice silk shirt, Alfie, but needs must, old chap. Send me the cleaning bill—I’ll leave my address with the doorman.”

  He stood back and examined the scene with as much of a forensic eye as he could gather.

  Jagged hole in the wall. Broken coffee table. Two men, possibly a couple. One dead, the other close to it. Lovejoy’s prints on the handle of the apparent murder weapon. Bruising to his face where he’d hit the floor. Broken back where Tugboat landed a final blow.

  It might pass as a lover’s tiff taken to extremes. Alternatively, the white powder on the glass top offered an alternative ‘drug deal gone wrong’ scenario.

  Of course, Lovejoy would tell a different story, but would the tale of a little old man getting the better of poor defenceless Tugboat sound any more realistic?

  With the scene set, he searched the room more thoroughly, starting with the office.

  The laptop on the table proved interesting, and its two-factor security—password and thumbprint—didn’t provide any sort of a challenge. He found the password written in longhand on a card taped to the underside of a desk drawer—a pathetic breach of security and one that Sabrina would have justifiably screamed at Kaine for employing. The thumbprint he obtained from Lovejoy, not that he was in any condition to refuse permission. The laptop, being more portable than Lovejoy, made the job easy, although Kaine did have to wipe the suffering man’s thumb clean of blood to make the reader work.

  Stealing the laptop would have been one way of doing things, but he didn’t want to give the police any more reasons to suspect outside involvement. Luckily, he found an external hard drive in the same drawer as the password. He plugged it into a USB port and set the system to copy the entire main drive.

  “Lovejoy,” he called again, “thanks ever so much, old chap. You’ve probably just made my job a hell of a lot easier. If you don’t mind, I’ll look through that later. No doubt you’ll have all your bank details on file. You don’t mind if I borrow some money, do you?” He waited for a negative response. “No? Excellent. Thanks so much. I’ve been digging deep into my savings recently and your generosity will help me take care of business.”

  Kaine stretched his arms over his head and yawned.

  “There’s an awful lot of data on your hard drive. I’ll have to hang around for a while. Don’t mind a little company do you?”

  Still no response.

  “Excellent. You’re being extremely hospitable. Thanks ever so much.”

  Kaine stood, looked down at the sorry pair, but felt no regret, no pity.

  Given the chance, Lovejoy would have killed Kaine, the Constantine family, and anyone else who stood in his way.

  No, Kaine had no room for regret. That particular cupboard was already full to overflowing.

  Chapter 20

  Saturday 24th October—Early Morning

  Kensington and Chelsea, London

  Kaine prodded the young woman’s shoulder with a gloved index finger. She stirred and swatted his hand away. He poked again.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, her words slurred.

  As she rolled onto her side, her left breast popped out of the strapless top. Kaine averted his eyes.

  “Cover yourself, young lady.”

  “Huh?”

  She woke more fully, looked down through bleary eyes, chuckled, and pushed herself into a seated position, slumped-forward.

  “Like them?” she asked, dropped the other side of the bodice, and jiggled both breasts at him. “Big aren’t they? Firm, too.”

  Seriously?

  He stifled a yawn—boredom mixed with long-term fatigue and the after effects of the fight.

  “They’ll be down around your knees in twenty years.”

  She jiggled her assets once more.

  “Oh no, not these girls. Daddy bought them for me ahead of my coming of age party. Guaranteed not to sag or Daddy’s gonna pay someone to kneecap the surgeon.” She arched her back and squeezed them together with her upper arms. “Nice, yeah?”

  “Put them away, child. I’m not impressed by a couple of silicone bags.”

  The girl pouted and stuffed the overlarge, fake melons back in their storage sacks.

  “Duh. They don’t use silicone anymore. Too dangerous. These are saline. Don’t you know anything?”

  Lord above, save me from airheads.


  “Name?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What is your name, dear?” he asked slowly, enunciating each word clearly.

  She scrubbed her face with both hands, winced when she found the bruise, and looked at him through heavy lids.

  “If you must know, I’m Lady Fenella Penelope Jessica Banner-Hardy. Some people call me Lady F, or Fen, if you prefer.”

  He hiked an eyebrow. “Fen it is. I’m not much into titles unless they’ve been earned.”

  “What’s in a title?” she shrugged and nearly unloaded the melons again.

  “Precisely.”

  She rocked forward, trying to stand, but fell back into the leather sofa. A deep frown creased her high forehead, and her vacant blue eyes found focus on the mess behind Kaine.

  “Why are Alfie and Tugboat on the floor? Too much powder?” She sneered. “And he calls me a lightweight.”

  Time to get rid of the irritating child.

  “They annoyed me. Keep asking stupid questions and you’ll join them.”

  She waggled her fingers at him. “Oh, listen to Mr Tough Guy.”

  The girl tried standing again. This time she made it to her feet, but staggered sideways. She threw out her hands and leaned on the arm of Alfie’s chair. She stared past Kaine once again and discovered a better view of the mess on the floor. Her eyes widened and her face turned pale. One hand pressed against her rounded belly, the other flew up to cover her mouth, and she dashed to the kitchen in time to vomit into the sink.

  “Good catch,” Kaine said, impressed by the turn of speed in a woman previously so unsteady on her feet. And in six-inch heels, no less.

  She ran the cold tap, testing the temperature with a finger. When it was to her liking, she held back her hair and took a mouthful of London’s finest oily sludge. She swilled it around her mouth and spat it out. After another mouthful, this one swallowed, she turned to face him, leaning her backside heavily against the surface and gripping the marble edge with both hands. The livid bruise on her cheek stood out clear against her pale skin.

  “How’s you cheek?” he asked.

  She frowned. “Huh?”

  “Someone hit you.”

  Kaine indicated the location of her bruise by pointing to the relevant spot on his face.

  She turned and studied her reflection in the window above the sink, but dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, facing him again. “A little heavy on the foreplay tonight. A liberal dab of foundation will hide it from Daddy. Alfie and I sometimes get carried away, but I give as good as I take.” She raised her hands and mimed scratching the air with red-painted nails standing in as claws. “If you remove Alfie’s shirt you’ll see the damage these babies can do to a man’s back.”

  Yet another giggle grated on Kaine’s nerves. He was starting to think the girl’s fondness for recreational drugs might have done permanent damage. Beautiful, without a doubt, but seriously flawed, unless she was putting on a good act.

  He sighed. “You paint a charming picture, Fen.”

  “Are they … dead?” she asked, her voice growing firmer and more steady with each passing moment.

  “Tugboat won’t see another sunrise, but Alfie’s still breathing. For now.”

  “You did that?”

  “Who, little old me?” he said, pulling in his chin and adding an expression he hoped passed for astonishment. “Do I look as though I’m capable of besting so huge and muscly a man? Oh no. Dear me, no.”

  “Of course not, but you said …” She scrunched up her face, a question taking its time to form in her coke-addled brain. “What was it you said?”

  “When? I’ve said a lot of things in my life.”

  She sniffed and shook her head in annoyance. “Can’t remember. It’ll come to me. By the way, what are you doing in one of Daddy’s penthouses?”

  “Your father’s? I thought this place belonged to Lovejoy?”

  Fen snorted, pinched her nose, and ripped a square of kitchen towel from a holder on the wall.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, and blew hard. She stared at Kaine while crushing the towel and dropping it into the sink and turning on the waste disposal. “Father owns this whole building. Alfie was just looking after this flat for him. Live-in security, you know. And anyway”—she pointed at Kaine and the nail varnish sparkled under the lights—“who are you?”

  Kaine gave her a stiff bow and clicked his heels together. “Major Algernon Fortescue Carruthers, formerly of Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards, at your service madam. I’m house-sitting downstairs for a … friend who’s away on business with the Foreign Office. I heard a commotion up here. Sounded like an old married couple arguing. I thought one of them shouted something about snow, but I must have misheard him. It’s autumn and it rarely snows in London. Haven’t seen snow here for ages.

  “Anyhow, I rushed up the stairs. Found the door open, and there they were, on the floor. You were over on the couch, um … exposed, don’t you know.”

  She stared at him, slack-mouthed through the whole fabrication, nodding occasionally.

  “They did it to themselves?”

  “It rather looks that way, don’t you think?”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Who knows, my dear. Lover’s tiff?”

  Kaine made a point to keep up the forced ‘old soldier’ vibe, and she seemed to be falling for it.

  “Okay, but why’s Alfie making that horrid moaning sound?”

  “I rather expect it’s because he’s in a certain amount pain.”

  Hardly surprising with a crushed lumbar vertebra—couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bastard.

  Kaine glanced at his watch, 03:41. Time was a-flying, but the file download was still running and, short of tying her up and locking her in one of the bedrooms, he had no idea what to do with the idiot woman-child.

  “Should I call an ambulance? My phone’s in my handbag.”

  Finally, a decent human reaction from the empty-headed one.

  “Don’t worry about that, my dear. I’ll call them after I’ve helped put you into a taxi.

  Fen frowned. “Hang on a minute, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? I hate seeing anyone suffer. Even if he is only Alfie.”

  Kaine nodded, she had a point.

  “Before calling, I’d like to ask Lovejoy a few questions.”

  “What are you going to ask him?”

  “A number of things. The name of his boss will do for a start.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Kaine suspected that confusion was her default expression.

  “That’s silly. Why do you need to know that to call for an ambulance?”

  Kaine leaned forward at the waist and put a finger to his lips. “Between you and me, his boss will want to know what’s happed to a valued employee. Don’t you think?”

  “Alfie, valued? What makes you think he’s valued?”

  “Well, isn’t that obvious? The poor man’s living in one of his boss’ properties. That would make him a valued employee, wouldn’t it?”

  She peeled a hand from the granite and fluttered it in the air. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? But it’s simples. Alfie works for Daddy. Something to do with … oh dear, I’ve forgotten for the moment.” Her frown deepened as the brain cells tried to coalesce, and her mouth twisted before the answer popped out as, “Security? … Protection? No, that’s a different one of Daddy’s staff. Fuck.” She hit the side of her head with the meat of her hand. “So frustrating. Mind’s a bloody sieve these days, I need some more medicine.” She glanced longingly at the coffee table. “Oh, I have it. Alfie deals with property clearance and contract issues. Yes, that’s right.”

  Clearly pleased with herself, she smiled and eased away from the kitchen surface.

  Kaine threw a look at the creature writhing on the floor. With Fen happy to divulge the information he needed, perhaps an extended and unpleasant interrogation would be unnecessa
ry.

  “Let me get this straight, Lovejoy works for your father?”

  “Yes. Has done for the past four or five years.”

  Fen nodded and trotted back to the sofa, where she picked up her clutch bag and rummaged through it for a moment. Kaine looked on in interest when her hand came out empty.

  “Looking for this?”

  Kaine held up the Ruger MkIV 22/45 Lite he’d taken from the bag while she was away with the fairies.

  Fen lowered her head. “No, I thought still had some ciggies left, but can’t find the packet. Must have finished them after we left the club. As I already said, my memory’s pretty scatty these days.”

  He stuffed the small pistol back into his pocket.

  “Hardly an essential piece of costume jewellery for the modern girl-about-town. You know there’s a minimum five-year prison sentence just for carrying one of these without a permit?”

  She snorted again, but this time, she didn’t need to reach for a kitchen towel. “Of course I have a permit. Daddy knows a man who knows another man in the police force. And as for costume jewellery, that’s a little sexist, isn’t it?”

  Kaine bowed. “You have my apologies.”

  “Accepted. And don’t worry, I know how to use it. Attended my first hunting party at the age of eleven. ‘Blooded’ on my first day out with the adults. Bagged a twelve point stag. Daddy was so proud.”

  She sighed.

  “Daddy never leaves home without his gun and insists I carry one for protection. Says he deals with lots of nasty people in his line of work, and if I want to live without a permanent bodyguard, I have to have one on me at all times. Hate the wanking thing, but I’ve had special lessons on the range. Like I said, I know how to use it.”

  “Do you, indeed?”

  She dropped the bag on the coffee table and folded her arms. “So, can we go now please?”

  Movement in Kaine’s peripheral vision made him snap-turn and reach for Lovejoy’s Ruger 9mm. He relaxed when his eyes found Lovejoy. The pitiful creature had managed to lift his chin from the floor. He stretched an arm out towards Fen and whispered, “Help … please, help me.”