by Natasha Deen
Copyright © 2017 Natasha Deen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Deen, Natasha, author
Terminate / Natasha Deen.
(Retribution)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1462-2 (paperback).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1463-9 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1464-6 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8607.E444T47 2017jC813'.6 C2016-904582-X
C2016-904583-8
First published in the United States, 2017
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016950089
Summary: In this next installment of the high-interest Retribution series, Jo and her friends team up again to figure out why so many homeless teens are ending up in the city morgue.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover image by Getty Images
Author photo by Curtis Comeau
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
20 19 18 17 • 4 3 2 1
For Sven
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ter·mi·nate (ˈtǝr-mǝ-nāt)
verb
to end in a particular way or at a particular
place; to cause (something) to end
ONE
When it came to the low-lifes of the world, I was Bad Santa. The criminals better not run, and they better not cry. I was coming to get them, and they knew why.
Last time they had been in my sights, it was so I could avenge my family’s murder. This time it was to find a friend who had fallen into darkness. I was going to bring her back to the light. If that cost a couple of bad guys their freedom, a few teeth and some broken bones, I was fine with that.
And I had a no-fail plan. At least, that’s what I told myself as I headed into the East Hastings Community Kitchen.
I got three steps in before Clem’s rock- and-gravel voice sounded my way. “I’m getting awful tired of telling you to take off those sunglasses whenever you come in here.”
Some people say hello when they see each other. Not Clem and me. That would be too touchy-feely. For us, it was hound-dogging each other. I wore sunglasses to tweak him. He called me out on it to show he had noticed.
Even if it wasn’t routine, Clem had a superhero ability to see 360 degrees at once. It was one of the reasons he had been considered one of the best snipers the armed forces had ever known. He was a military guy, all the way. Respect. Loyalty. Teamwork.
In a lot of ways, I looked up to him. Wanted to have the same kind of integrity he did. But there was a danger in caring for people and caring about those around you. Death and loss. In his case, he had lost half his troop and one of his legs.
The last few weeks I had been obsessing about loss. Because now I had a team too. Raven, who was fast becoming a sister from a different mister. Bentley, the smart-aleck brother from another mother. And Jace, who called up too many yet-to-be-named feelings for me to ever feel safe around him.
“Sunglasses,” Clem repeated. “Are you deaf?”
“You got your head down,” I said. “No way you know if I’m wearing sunglasses or not.” I spun left and walked to where he stood by one of the food counters. I waited for the next line in our routine.
As usual, he kept his gaze on the clipboard in his hands. “I got a sixth sense.”
I pushed the sunglasses onto my head. My phone buzzed, but I ignored it. I knew who was on the line. Raven. She’d been riding me about registering at her school. I appreciated her mama-hen routine, but until I found Amanda, I didn’t have time for anything else.
Clem looked up, took in the fading bruises from my run-in with Meena and the Vëllazëri street gang a few weeks back. He stood and stretched his beefy neck. “Better-looking every time I see you.”
“You’re a laugh a minute.”
“You’re alive.” Silence. “Good—I had fifty bucks riding on whether you’d survive whatever stupid scheme you’d hatched. Now I can take myself to The Keg for dinner.”
“Of course I survived. I know better than to come between you and a steak dinner.”
Clem slapped me on the back with his clipboard. I winced.
“You know I’m still healing, right?”
“Next time, duck,” he said.
“You giving boxing advice or telling me your dinner plans for next week?” I asked.
He almost smiled. “You here to work or just exercise your jawbone?”
“Unlike you, I can do two things at once.”
“Then stock the shelves,” he said. “We got a donation from one of the bakeries on Granville. Move the soups and cans and make some room for the bread.”
“Consider it done. Hey, have you seen Amanda lately?”
“She’s gone, kid. Let it go.”
My gut dropped. There was too much truth in his words. But I had to fight. “She wouldn’t bail—”
Clem’s mouth twisted. “Because she’s been such a model of stability?”
“Okay, so she’s had some issues—”
He snorted. “That girl never met a chemical she didn’t like.”
If I had lived her life, I would probably have been BFFS with every drug out there too. “Yeah, but things are different now—”
“Because she decided to clean up her life?” asked Clem. “Get a job, get an education? And all thanks to some mysterious friend.”
“Uh…” I mumbled. There are a lot of rules when you call the streets home. One of the big rules is don’t trust everyone. In fact, barely trust anyone. And when you find someone you trust, don’t ever talk about their business. It wasn’t my place to talk about the guy she had met and why she had kept him a secret. And even though I was dying to ask, no way was I going to question Clem on how he knew about all of that.
He pointed to his chest. “Soldier. Decorated veteran. Ran all kinds of missions for the military.” He pointed at me. “Rookie.”
“I’m the Man,” Clem continued, giving me a long pointed look. “I know and see everything.” He set the clipboard on the counter and folded his arms. Then gave me a stare that had probably made the opposing armies toss down their guns in surrender. “So how much longer you gonna run around pretending you wear Speedos and not bikinis?”
I was too surprised to blink.
His tone became serious. “You still in the kind of trouble where you got to pretend you’re a boy?”
My blush warmed my cheeks, and I was glad my African-Chinese heritage hid it. “Not really. It’s just habit, and besides, I figured I’d give you a heart attack if I suddenly showed up as a girl.”
“Gotta have a heart for that, kid. Besides, I knew you were a girl the first time I saw you two years ago.”
&nb
sp; “Please.”
“I see you, kid.” He gave me a gentle push in the direction of the soup shelves. “I’ve always seen you. Amanda too. Trust me—she’s gone.”
His words made my shoulders go stiff. She’d been a friend when I thought I would be alone and lonely forever. It wasn’t like her to disappear without a goodbye. I headed to the shelves, happy for the distraction to collect my emotions.
There was a TV by the boxes of food. I left it on the news station. Clem had a thing for staying up-to-date—even though he swore it was all propaganda and lies. I was ten minutes into filling the shelves with soups and canned vegetables when the reporter’s voice caught my attention.
“Meena Sharma was a decorated Vancouver detective.”
I stopped, turning to face the screen.
“She was arrested last month in connection with a house fire two years ago—”
My heart contracted at the emotionless reporting of the end of my family.
“—killed in the blaze—”
Murdered, I silently corrected the perky blond with the helmet hair.
“—were forty-year-old Emma Ling and her children, Danny, six, and Josephine, fourteen.”
Danny, who would never learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Mom, who would never see me graduate from high school. And Emily, a foster kid and friend who was mistaken for me. Even though the reporter was technically wrong about whose body was found that night, she was right on the part that mattered. I had died that night. Burned to ash along with everything I had ever loved in this world.
“Sharma remains in critical condition following a prison stabbing—” The TV clicked off.
I spun around to see Clem right behind me. “Turn it back on! It’s important.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why? What do you care about a corrupt cop?”
My mind scrambled for a plausible answer. “Didn’t you say she came in here a few weeks back, looking for Amanda?”
“I saw her with Amanda.”
“See?” I folded my arms and leaned against the counter. “I could’ve missed an important clue with the news story. Something that would help me find Amanda.”
Clem gave me a look that could shrivel lettuce. But then he shrugged and turned the TV back on. “Watch that heart of yours, kid. It’ll be your downfall.”
I ignored him, my attention on the news story. But the broadcast had already moved on to some dancing-pig video that had gone viral.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” said Clem. “The lack of real information given in news bites or the fact that the woman can jump from talking about a murdered family to waltzing pork without giving herself whiplash.”
“I would know the whole story if you hadn’t shut off the TV.”
“What’s to know? The cop got what was coming to her,” said Clem. “Someone stabbed her in the prison washroom. I doubt she’ll survive.” He strode over to talk to a lanky kid in skinny jeans.
I wished I’d been there when she’d been stabbed. Wished I could’ve been there when she took her last breath.
While Clem directed the kitchen traffic, I texted Raven the news about Meena. Then I waited for a reply. None came, which probably meant she was with Emmett, the two of them in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. I sighed. Love was such a pain. Come to think of it, so was Raven. A sister from a different mister could still be as annoying as a sister from the same mister.
Of course, thinking about her and Emmett made me think of Jace, and he came with a slew of four-letter words, including s-t-a-y and a-w-a-y.
“Hey, kid.”
I raised my gaze to Clem.
Clem was walking toward me, a bean-pole kid at his side. “Show Ian the ropes.”
Living on the streets, you learn to read people fast, and this kid was a screenshot of pain and confusion. When you’re homeless, you also learn to keep your mouth shut. I ignored the cuts and bruises on his body, the too-old clothing, the too-pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes.
“Hi, Ian,” I said, not trying to shake his hand or anything. I had been working hard at staying healthy and fit. Ian looked like he was a human party venue for the flu bug. “So it’s pretty basic. Stock shelves, do what Clem says, and never agree to any of his ideas.”
Ian swallowed, and as soon as Clem was out of earshot, he took a gulp of air like he was getting ready to ask me something big.
While he took another breath, I held mine.
“Listen, I need your help.”
The tone of his voice signaled trouble. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. I had enough problems, and I was in no mood to add more. “Okay, sure, I can help with the stacking. Just watch—”
“No, not this.” He stepped closer, and I got a whiff of an unfortunately familiar smell. “Something else.”
If he was sleeping in the sewers, as his aroma was suggesting, I knew what kind of help he wanted. I wasn’t about to give it. “If you’re looking for drugs—”
“No!” He glanced over at Clem and lowered his voice. “Something else… someone else.”
“We’re all looking for someone or something.” I hoped he would take the hint and stop talking.
“You don’t—”
Man, he looked ready to cry, and I didn’t have it in me to break his heart. I sighed. “Okay. You got my attention, but you got to be more specific.”
“You lost a friend, right? Me too.”
Bing, bing, bing. Now my radar was on high alert. I had been asking around about Amanda, checking the homeless network and vendors on the street. It was possible he had heard about my search. But the concrete jungle has dangerous animals living in it, and I wasn’t about to admit to anything until I knew if this kid was prey or predator.
“That it?”
Hope brightened his eyes. “Word is, you’re looking for a chick named Amanda.”
Give the homeless network credit. They are better than cell towers and Google combined. “Yeah.”
“I’m trying to find my friend Dwayne. I haven’t seen him in over a month.”
I shrugged. “And I can help…how?”
“They disappeared around the same time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play me. I know you’ve been asking about your friend.”
My eyes narrowed. “And how do you know that?”
“Because we all run in the same circles. Because Dwayne was homeless. Amanda was homeless. You start asking questions about a missing kid, people automatically start to talk about other missing kids.” He looked a bit amazed at my apparent stupidity.
But I wasn’t being stupid. I was double-checking his sources. And seeing if he had anything concrete to offer. Tracking the homeless was a tough job. We were always moving, always looking for a new place to call home. Our need to find that place was what made us such attractive targets for the criminal element. If and when we disappeared, who would know? No one. And who cared when we went missing? Less than no one.
Ian pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers. “I was hoping you had some info on Amanda.”
“Sorry, kid. I got nothing. But tell me about Dwayne. Maybe we can track him.” I glanced over at Clem and saw him giving me major stinkeye.
He came our way, the slight hitch in his stride the only evidence of his prosthetic leg.
“Stack as we talk.” I grabbed some cans, moved the older ones to the front and stuck the newer ones at the back.
Clem paused, then returned to his work.
“Dwayne’s had trouble,” said Ian.
I snorted. “That’s a mandatory requirement for our kind. What made him run in the first place?”
“His dad used him as a punching bag. So Dwayne bailed a couple years back. Got caught up in the usual, looking for love in all the wrong places.” The skin on Ian’s face tightened. “It got worse when the gangs found him.”
So far, Dwayne was sounding a lot like the male version of Amanda.
“But things
changed a few months ago. It was like he found religion or something,” said Ian. “He started going to Narcotics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, the works. Signed up for classes for his GED. It was crazy.”
“Doesn’t sound crazy to me.”
“Yeah?” His question held the challenge. “Even when I tell you all this happened because of some guy he met? Just like how all of it happened for Amanda because of some guy she met?”
“Still doesn’t sound crazy.” Creepy was more like it. Amanda and Dwayne were paper copies of each other—both attracted to the wrong crowd. And if someone was collecting street kids like them, it meant more were in danger of disappearing.
Ian was going to get himself killed if he started asking too many questions. It was up to me to warn him off. “Sounds exactly like what Amanda did too.” I shrugged and hoped it looked casual. “Could be some nonprofit or church guy. You know those religious types. Always trying to feed us and make our lives better. Maybe Amanda and Dwayne went with them.”
“And x’d us out of their lives?”
Another shrug. “Maybe the guy told them we were like a drug addiction—you know, hanging out with other homeless. Break the cycle, find new friends, obey curfew, eat your veggies. That kind of thing.”
“Did she get all secretive on you too? ’Cause Dwayne did, and being secretive isn’t the way the religious types are.”
My stocking of the shelves slowed as I considered his question. “Yeah, she did. She’d take off, go to these…meetings.” I felt bad for icing him out. He had been a stand-up guy when it came to giving out info. I could return the favor, even if it was a nothing bit of info. “She promised she wasn’t meeting any more ‘boyfriends,’ but—”
“Just like Dwayne.” Ian sighed.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“He said he had to go to an appointment, never came back.”
Just like Amanda. “Do you have any idea where he went? General area?”
He shook his head. Clearly, he didn’t have any information that would help me find Amanda. Another dead end. “Sorry, I can’t help you,” I said.
“But…” He came in close, whispering. “I heard about you…and your team.”
