The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series

by Craig Halloran

  Adjacent to him, she squinted her eyes toward the monitors. There were four in all. The biggest displayed security camera feeds from outside. Smoke’s broad back blocked the front screen from her view. This is awkward. She pulled out a picture of Rod Brown, AV’s goon.

  “Maybe we should check up on Rod Brown.”

  Smoke stopped typing and swiveled around in his chair to face her.

  “I already did.”

  “What? When?”

  “Yesterday, right after they took the leash off.” He cocked his head. “You look angry. Are you angry?”

  Sidney’s nails dug into her palms. She’d been put on ice, but Smoke had been given free range? Ted’s going to get it. “What did you find?”

  “Rod’s dead.”

  She leaned forward. “Dead how? I didn’t see anything in the news about it.”

  “FBI covered it up after I called them. Just like the other one.”

  Sidney’s pulse quickened. Her jaw muscles clenched.

  Smoke rose out of his chair and gestured at it. “Have a seat. I’ll show you what I discovered.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see your big discovery, but I’m fine where I am. Just tell me what you did.”

  “I went to Rod’s apartment, picked the lock, and went inside. His blood was everywhere, just like we saw at Benson. The only difference was Rod’s head was … missing.” He turned and plucked away at the keyboard. “I took a few pictures of the scene before I called. Can you stomach it?”

  She eased her way over and gazed at the monitor. Blood soaked the carpet and was splattered on the walls. Rod’s corpse lay headless on the floor. A queasy feeling sank into her stomach and weakened her knees.

  “It takes time to get used to it,” Smoke said, easing back. “But it’s best you don’t.”

  “Did anyone report a disturbance? Screams? Someone must have heard something.”

  “Growls,” he said, taking hold of the mouse.

  “I don’t think werewolves lock doors.”

  “Maybe someone else did. Besides”—he clicked on another file—“the residents did report seeing something tall and hairy sprinting through the streets.”

  “There are such things as bearded runners, you know.”

  He opened up a video file. “True. But here’s a little local footage I hacked into, from the condos.”

  “You hacked into?”

  “Sort of.” He pointed at the screen. “Just watch.”

  The video clip showed a view of the condominium complex’s parking lot. It was nighttime, and most of the spaces were filled. The lamp posts illuminated much but not all. A tall figure— distant from the camera angle—glided along the perimeter wall.

  Sidney’s spine tingled.

  The image was unclear, but its shoulders were hulking, and a snout looked to be protruding from its face. It jumped, grasping the high wall’s ledge and pulling itself over with ease. Then it vanished. It all happened in a few seconds.

  “Go back,” she said, “frame by frame.”

  Smoke toggled the keyboard. The video wound back frame by frame.

  “There’s something in its hand.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Smoke said, zooming in. It looked like a dripping skull was clutched in a big paw. “I’m pretty sure that’s Rod’s head.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The human brain is a powerful organ. It can detect the difference between reality and the finest computer-generated images. What Sidney saw wasn’t a hoax, but that wasn’t the problem. What she saw wasn’t human. The limbs were too long. The movements impossibly fluid.

  “Maybe a seven-foot-tall ape escaped from the zoo,” Smoke said, powering down the monitors. “Or maybe there is a Sasquatch, even though I always figured him to be bigger.”

  Sidney rubbed her head.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” Smoke said. “I have some aspirin.”

  “No.” She made her way back over to the sofa. “Just give me a moment.”

  Smoke turned on a TV that hung on the wall. The local news was on.

  “You know, it always amazes me how deft the FBI are at covering things up. The sad thing is, I don’t think there’s enough news time to air all the stories they cover up. And if there were, people would be overwhelmed by the reality of the horrible world we really live in.” He sat down on the other end of the sofa and kicked his boots off onto the table. “And in the last few days, I’ve learned the world is even worse than I thought it was.”

  “We need to learn what we can about the Drake.” She stared at the big screen. “I spent my time poking around the last two days, and I picked up a few things. It’s owned by a real estate investor. Aside from the hotel and restaurants, I found almost nothing. There isn’t even a website about the barge island on the river.”

  “Sure, follow the money. I’m sure the IRS has something.”

  “I made some calls to some friends, and they’re pretty tight-lipped right now.” She spread some of the file pictures out on the table. “But I did learn the Drake Corporation operates a lot of subsidiary companies. They own most of these locations that Adam Vaughn frequents.”

  “I think he’ll show up.”

  “Where? Here?” She shook her head. “He’s hiding somewhere.”

  “He’s cocky. He’ll be out and about.”

  “We can’t stake all of those places out, and they’ll be looking for us.”

  “True, but that’s why I have Fat Sam and Guppy on it.”

  She rolled her eyes and got up. Damn, I’m still in my gym clothes. “I’m going. If you can control yourself, stay put and I’ll swing by and get you tomorrow.” She looked around. “Say, do you have a phone?”

  “I have a burner.”

  “Let me have it.” She pulled her phone from her bag. “Here’s mine.”

  They each put themselves in the other’s phone as a contact.

  “Wow, you just gave me your number and I didn’t even ask for it. I’m flattered.”

  “I’m not.”

  Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from him. There was a text from her mother.

  It read: Allison’s gone.

  ***

  Racing down the road, Sidney pounded on the steering wheel. “I don’t need this right now.” Her phone rang. “What’s going on, Mom?”

  “It’s been seven hours, Sidney, and we can’t find her anywhere.” Her mother sobbed. “I’m worried.”

  “This isn’t the first time it’s happened,” Sid said, accelerating up the highway ramp. “Aren’t you used to it?”

  “Never, but Megan,” Sally’s voiced cracked, “it’s not fair to Megan. It breaks my heart and makes me so angry. And sad!”

  “Did she steal a car? How did she get out of there? You’re five miles from anywhere.”

  There was a silence.

  “Mom, you are five miles from anywhere, aren’t you? The camp, not the house?”

  “We thought the house would be a nice change.”

  Sidney squeezed her phone. Her parents used to be tough as nails, but over the past few years they’d gotten softer. Almost feeble in many ways.

  God, don’t let that happen to me.

  “Your father and Joe are out looking for her now. I’m sure they’ll find her.”

  No, they won’t.

  “Mom,” Sidney softened her voice, “Allison’s going to have to figure this out on her own. You’ve given her all the love you can. There’s nothing more you can do.”

  Sobbing, her mother said, “You’re a good girl, Sid. You know how to say the right things.”

  “I’m just repeating what you told me.”

  “Oh!” her mother said, perking up. “I hear the garage door opening.” There was a pause. Suddenly, she screamed in the phone. “It’s Allison! He’s got Allison! She looks okay!” Click!

  Sidney looked at her phone and said to it, “Are you frickin’ kidding me?”

  ***

  Buzz … Buzz … Buzz …

  Sidney stretch
ed her arms through her bedsheets, fingers searching for her phone. Bright morning light peeked in through the apartment’s blinds. She found her phone. 8:00 a.m. “Ugh. Already.” She’d been in bed by 2:00 am, but it felt like five minutes ago. Screw it. She set the snooze and sank back into her bed.

  Buzz … Buzz … Buzz …

  She forced her heavy eyelids open. Her phone was still clutched in her hand. 8:08 a.m. A crack of sunlight gleamed in her eye. Sidney’s bare feet crossed the cold floor to the window, where she pulled the curtains closed. That’s better. She set the snooze again and crawled back under the sheets. A few things raced through her mind. Smoke. Allison. Megan. Smoke. She drifted off to sleep. She dreamed. Smoke. Fire. Satin sheets.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  She lurched up in bed. A thin film of sweat coated her body. Her phone read 8:13 a.m. That’s odd, she thought, panting a little. It shouldn’t have gone off yet. Sounded like a knock. Yawning, she stretched her arms out wide. Normally she was on the move by six, except on the weekends. I’m not even sure what day it is.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Her eyes widened. She grabbed her Glock and headed toward the front door in nothing but a black T-shirt and panties.

  She’d been in this apartment a year, but only one time had this door been knocked on—by a couple of college guys who lived a few doors over. It had been an invitation to one of their parties. They never looked her way again after she shoved her badge and an earful of her legal authority in their faces.

  Sidney checked the peephole. Smoke stood on the other side, holding a tray of coffee and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

  How does he know where I live!

  CHAPTER 30

  “What are you doing here?” she said through the door.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring some coffee over.”

  A playful thought entered Sidney’s mind. She swung the door open.

  Smoke’s jaw hung in the air.

  She plucked a cup of coffee out of the carrier, said “Thank you,” and shut the door in his face. From the other side of the door she heard him say, “I thought I’d come over and we could get a jump on things.”

  “Really, and what kind of things did you want to jump on?” She set down the coffee, headed to her room, grabbed a pair of jeans and a maroon sweater, and slipped them on. She could hear his reply through the door.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  There was a pause. “Well, it’s kinda like that, but not the way you think. I have a lead.”

  She buttoned her jeans. “Hold on.” Inside the bathroom she brushed her teeth and clipped her hair up. No. Back in the bedroom, she found an FBI-issued ball cap, put it on, and laced up some rubber-soled boots.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Smoke said.

  And break my last seven months of chastity?

  She checked herself in the mirror again and strapped her weapon on. She saw her bed reflecting in the mirror.

  Just let him in. Long enough is long enough.

  “Hello?” she heard him say. “The biscuits are getting cold.”

  The biscuits are getting cold? The fires inside her dimmed. Cheap thrill killed. She pulled her hat down, grabbed her coffee and bag, and opened the door.

  “Don’t ever do this again,” she said, locking the door behind her, “and you can explain how you found me later.” Her stomach growled. “Where’s my biscuit?”

  “Oh,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I was joking about that. I ate on the way over.”

  She glared at him.

  “Nice hat,” he said, eyeing the three big letters. “Not exactly discreet considering where we’re headed.”

  “And where might that be?” She scanned the parking lot. “And how did you get here?”

  “Automobile.” He pointed at the parking lot as they made their way down the stairs. “I can drive too, you know.”

  “Well, we won’t be finding out about that anytime soon.” There was an old VW bus, red with a white top, she hadn’t seen before. “Please tell me you aren’t driving that.”

  He looked at the bus. “That? No.” He pointed to the space on the other side, where there was a primer-gray Camaro. A mid-eighties IROC version. “Those are my wheels.”

  “We’ll take the Interceptor.”

  “It’s too slow.”

  “I didn’t think we were in a hurry.” She headed for her car. The windows were frosted over. The trunk groaned when she opened it up and grabbed the ice scraper. She handed it to Smoke. “Get to work.”

  “My car’s warm and ready. The bucket seats are cozy.”

  “Please stop.” She grabbed her jacket from the back seat and then started up her car. “Hurry up, and then get in.”

  Scraping, Smoke said, “I have all my gear in my car.”

  “And I have all my gear in mine.” She closed the door and took a sip of coffee. Flipped on the defroster. The fan rattled. Her neck tightened. Smoke’s suggestion seemed more promising.

  Nah, let him scrape.

  Finishing up, Smoke rapped on the window with his knuckle and said with icy breath, “Why don’t we take both cars?”

  Her nostrils flared. Screw it. She shut off the engine, got out of the car, and locked it.

  Smoke tossed the scraper in the trunk and started to close it.

  “Hold on.” She took out a black duffle bag that clattered with metal and swung it over her shoulder. “All right.”

  Smoke clamped the lid down, headed for his car, and opened up the passenger side door.

  “This isn’t a date.” She placed her bag in the back seat.

  “No, it’s common courtesy.”

  Sidney took her seat and Smoke closed the door. Seconds later, they were roaring down the road. The Camaro’s acceleration pinned her to her seat. It had a roll cage inside, and the dash rattled and squeaked. Smoke filled up his racing seat. His head almost touched the ceiling.

  “I appreciate you letting me drive,” Smoke said over the hum of the engine. “That’s one thing I hate about prison. I don’t get to drive anywhere.”

  “Don’t get used to it. We have a stop to make.”

  “Stop, why?”

  “Take the next left, a right and then another left.”

  “Sure, where are we going?”

  “Just do it.” Turn about is fair play.

  She took the lid off her coffee and took another drink. Smoke was being extremely cooperative for a man who had problems with authority. He was up to something. His behavior was way outside of his profile. Smoke made the second left.

  “Turn here.”

  They entered a facility full of orange-doored storage garages. He pulled his car to a stop at the key pad. “Uh …”

  “Seven six seven five.”

  He punched it in, and the gate glided open.

  “Straight back and to the right.”

  Smoke cruised toward the back, where cars, boats, and RVs were parked in rows. He pulled into an open slot.

  She picked up her belongings, got out, and said, “Wait here.”

  “Can I at least get out?”

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes later she pulled out in a Dodge Challenger Hellcat: phantom black, with flame-orange stripes on the hood and pinstripes on the side. She pushed on the gas, unleashing a throaty exhaust note.

  Smoke took off his glasses. Brows up and eyes wide, he strolled over.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  “With me, or the car?”

  “Heh … I’ll get my stuff.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Cruising down the highway, Smoke ran his fingers over the dash. “Seven hundred and seven horsepower, the most powerful production engine.” He bobbed his chin. “Now that’s something. I read about these in prison. Pretty new. How’d you come by it?”

  “Police auction,” she said, fingers hugging the heated steering wheel. I’ve missed my baby. “I
outbid a lot of interested people. Pissed off many men.”

  “I bet.”

  “It came down to me and Ted.” She plucked her shades from the console and put them on. “At the end of the day it was my Hellcat, not his.”

  Glasses off, Smoke inspected everything. “He missed out. So why the attraction?”

  “Love cars. Love the name. My dad actually had some comics with a superhero named Hellcat I kind of liked.” Too much information, Sid.

  Smoke smiled. “Ah, very interesting.”

  “Not to mention the rear-wheel drive and all the awesome power. It’s sort of a given.”

  “So, was this a drug runner’s car?”

  “Snagged north of the Arizona border. The auction was in Texas. I drove him all the way home.”

  “I thought cars were hers?”

  “Does he look like a her?”

  He shook his head no.

  “I’m heading south, you know,” she said. “Unless there’s another direction I should be going.”

  “Right, right. No, south is good.” He poked at the GPS. “Do you mind?”

  “It would help to know where I’m going.” She checked the speedometer. It read ninety. The feel of the road, the sound of the engine, she lost herself in it. She eased off the gas and set the cruise control at seventy. “So tell me about this lead. How did you get it?”

  “Fat Sam—”

  “And Guppy. Sheesh, I should have known.” She switched lanes. “I’m wondering if they’re even real.”

  “Oh, they’re real, but it’s important that I keep my resources secret.” He finished tapping on the GPS. “There we go.”

  “What is that?”

  “Mitchell-Bates Hospital. Closed as of 2004. One hundred and seventy-five beds. Three floors and a basement.” He took a drink of coffee. “Two miles from the highway. Once public and now private property.”

  “And who owns it now?”

  “A real estate developer, which is a subsidiary of …”

  “The Drake Corporation.”

  “Actually, Drake Incorporated. We checked at the Secretary of State’s office, which wasn’t easy seeing how three states are in the immediate area.”