Sidney removed her jeans, took up the suit, and started slipping it on. It was snug but energizing, a warm second skin that made her body feel alive.
Her stomach groaned.
Sam stuck her head into the bedroom. “Was that you?”
“The suit does that.”
Sam eyed her up and down. “It does look good on you. Hmmm … Maybe I will try one of those things.”
Moving to her closet, Sid slipped on some new jeans and a shirt over the suit. She grabbed her boots—light but durable hiking ones—and laced them up. After she cracked her neck from side to side, she strapped on a pair of shoulder holsters and adjusted them in front of the mirror.
“Not bad,” Sam said. “You look like the Punisher.”
“Ha ha.” Sid gathered her gear, and out the door they both went.
Agent Calhoun was leaning on the trunk of the Hellcat. He was a little bigger and thicker than Smoke, heavy shouldered with a dangerous and lazy look in his eyes. His hair was really short, bald in places, and his voice was a warning thunder when he spoke. “I see you upgraded to a better set of wheels. Nice.”
“What do you want, Calhoun?”
“Oh, just the same thing every officer of the law in DC does: John Smoke.” He pushed off the car and rose to his full height. Looking down on Sidney like a drill sergeant, he added, “Dead or alive.”
Leroy Sullivan had told Sid that the FBI dogs wouldn’t be a problem. Yet, here Calhoun was. It put a crimp on things. “I don’t like your chances,” Sid said. “You can’t even keep up with me. What makes you think you can keep up with him?”
“A quarter of a million dollars,” he said. “That’s the bounty on his head.”
“You can’t collect that. You’re an agent.”
“Was. You see, I’m on an extended leave of absence.” He flashed a broad smile. “Family problems.” He opened up his long coat, revealing a pair of guns and a long knife hitched in his belt. He took out a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow. “It’s gonna be a hot few days, Sid.” His eyes gave her and Sam the once-over as he walked away. “Real hot.”
“That’s one shady bastard, isn’t it,” Sam said, getting into the Dodge.
“To put it mildly.” She pulled the car out and stopped in front of Calhoun. He was hunched over the wheel inside his black Suburban. She loaded some blue-tipped bullets into her Glock’s clip, charged the weapon, took aim on Calhoun’s engine block, and squeezed off a few rounds.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
The armor-piercing bullets ripped through the SUV’s metal, and the engine started to smoke. Agent Calhoun’s face darkened, and his eyes narrowed on Sid.
“Let’s go eat,” Sid said as she drove away with Sam’s laughter filling her ears.
The long lunch that went into evening was good. The return back to Sid’s apartment was bad. The front door was busted open, and two police officers were inside. Her entire apartment had been ransacked.
CHAPTER 19
“Is this your place?” the one officer said. He wasn’t very tall and had a friendless demeanor. A real sourpuss. The other cop, much younger and taller, had a cocky smile.
“It’s mine,” Sid said, forcing her way inside. The cabinets were empty. Glass was broken. Her bed was overturned, along with many other things. The padding on the sofa and chairs was cut open and the stuffing pulled out. “What happened?”
“Anything missing?” the older cop said, writing on a small notepad.
She held up a picture of Megan that sat on the end table. The glass and frame were broken. Sighing, she said, “Let me look around and see.”
“Do you have a boyfriend or husband, miss? Maybe a fallout?” asked the younger cop.
“No.”
“Er, what’s your name, Miss?” asked the older cop.
“Who called this in?” Sidney fired back.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Who called this in?”
“Er, it was a 911, I guess. Look, I’m asking the questions here. Name?”
She pulled out her badge and held it in his face. “Sidney Shaw.”
He leaned in and tilted the cap back on his head. “FBI Liaison. What’s that mean? You some kind of consultant or something?”
“Maybe you should call them and find out,” she said.
“Hey, we’re just doing our jobs,” the older cop said. “You just need to cooperate, Miss FBI Liaison. I can still haul you in for obstruction, you know.”
There were plenty of obstinate cops she’d crossed before, but there was something different about this one. His uniform was a bad fit. The buttons were tight, the cuffs on his pants too low. The other cop’s pants were too high, and the grin on his face was a bit abnormal. He leered at both Sid and Sam with a hungry look in his eyes. “What is your badge number?” Sid asked.
“My what?” the older cop asked.
Sid enunciated. “Badge number.”
“It’s, uh—” He looked down at the badge on his chest. “Five. Four. One. Two.”
Sid eased away and took Sam by the wrist and led her toward the front door. “You know, I didn’t notice a police car outside. Did you two walk over from the station?”
Both officers’ nostrils flared. Their eyes narrowed and dimmed. Hands clutching in and out, the taller one said in a throaty voice, “Where’s Smoke, woman!”
Sid went for her guns.
They were halfway out when the old officer collided into her. He clamped his hands over her wrists and wrenched the guns out.
“Run, Sam! Run!”
The gorgeous woman made it down two steps. The tall cop snatched her by the hair and yanked her back. “Hey!” She started to scream, only to have the man’s hand clamped over her mouth.
He dragged her inside and slammed the door shut.
Sid launched a kick into the cop that had her.
He laughed it off.
She twisted away, only to have him pounce on her back.
He pinned her down with inhuman strength.
“Damn. You’re a deader, aren’t you.”
“In the undead flesh,” he said. “It’s the price we pay for being superhuman.”
She drove her head into his chin.
His grip loosened, but he held firm. “Aw, you’re only going to hurt yourself more fooling around like that. Now tell me, where’s Smoke?”
“That seems to be the question everyone is asking, but I don’t know.”
The deader cop forced her onto her back and slapped her in the face. “I don’t like your tone.”
Grimacing, Sid managed to snake a knife out of the back of her pants. She sliced his throat. “I don’t like yours either.”
The man staggered back, holding his throat but not bleeding.
Sid scrambled for her gun and got the drop on the first deader cop. “One hole through the chest will end you!”
The first cop froze. The second cop had his arm wrapped around Sam’s throat. “Yeah, but one hard squeeze and her trachea will cave in. Who’s going to save her then? Now tell us where Smoke is!”
Blam!
A bullet ripped through the tall deader’s forehead. He staggered back with a face full of alarm.
Blam!
Sid’s second shot tore clear through the dead man’s heart. He dropped to the floor.
The other deader cop rushed out the door.
Sid couldn’t get a clean shot at him.
“That was crazy!” Sam said, catching her breath and rubbing her neck. She kicked the deader cop lying on the floor. “He’s not even bleeding, but he was so real.” She glanced up at Sid. “I thought deaders were slow and stupid.”
Tucking her weapons back inside her holsters, Sid said, “They were, but they’re getting better. More real.” She kneeled down by the dead man on the floor and pulled down his collar. There was a Drake tattoo of a black rising sun on his neck.
“Spooky, huh,” Sam said, trembling.
“You okay?”
“I’
m just getting the chills.” Sam pulled out her phone and started texting. “Let me get the word out to Guppy. He gets worried if I don’t check in.”
“Tell him we need some cleanup. Cops, real ones, will be all over this place. Not sure we have a good explanation for this man down here.” She gave her apartment a long, sad look. “I think I’m going to need a new place to live.”
Looking at her phone, Sam said, “We need to get out of here. Guppy and Mal will handle the cleanup.”
Sidney got a sinking feeling she might not ever see her apartment again. All she had left that hadn’t been destroyed fit in her two suitcases. And then she picked up the picture frame, removed Megan’s picture, and tucked it inside her shirt. Taking one more quick glance around, she said, “Let’s go.”
Driving her new car, she made her way out of the apartment complex. It being midday, there weren’t too many people standing around. A couple of old ladies stood on the sidewalk, wearing colorful robes. A maintenance crew in a golf cart passed them by.
Eyes forward, she pulled out onto the main highway and let out a breath. “You know, I don’t really understand why they want John so bad. Why him and not me?” she said to Sam.
“You’re easier to control, I guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about it. You have more family than he does. Or at least you don’t think yours are expendable.”
“Does he really think that way?” Sid asked. “That you’re expendable?”
Checking her makeup in the vanity mirror, Sam replied, “Eh, we’re covered. Besides, Smoke’s a ‘kill them all, let God sort them out’ kinda guy.”
“I think he’s more compassionate than that.”
Sam shifted toward Sid. “Let me tell you something, sister. Where we come from, we don’t compromise with evil.”
CHAPTER 20
Sid lay low the next couple of days. She slept at Sam and Guppy’s place, a tiny apartment on the other side of town, much like the one Sid had to abandon. It was morning, and coffee was brewing. Sam had some eggs and bacon on a griddle. Sitting on the sofa with the television on, Sid rubbed her bleary eyes.
Every day, on every channel, they talked about the manhunt. They never mentioned John’s name or anything about his past. They just called him the unknown man and showed a slightly blurred picture. The experts were popping up on every outlet too. They had all kinds of theories about who Smoke was. Prior military. An ex-con. A deranged madman. A jilted employee.
Sid smiled.
They don’t know how close they are.
Sam set a steaming mug of coffee on the table.
“Thanks,” Sid said. The hot brew stung her lip. “Say, Sam, you didn’t see Wilhelm in the hospital, did you?”
“No, everything was chaos when we went in there. I only got a glimpse into the room, but it was cleared out.”
“Nothing odd?”
“No, nothing’s come to mind since the last time you asked. Or the time before that.” Sam fixed up a couple of plates of food and sat down beside Sid. “You aren’t doing all right, are you.”
Sid nibbled on her bacon and shook her head. “I am. I just have a feeling someone got to him before we did.”
“It’s not hard to hide in a city like this. It’s pretty big, and Smoke knows it pretty well. I’m sure he’s blending in with a stack of hot cakes somewhere right now.” Sam stabbed the scrambled eggs with her fork and ate. Swallowing it down with some coffee, she said, “Don’t worry, something will surface.”
Digging into her meal, Sid fished through the news channels. She needed to find something, anything that would be a good starting point. Everything had happened so fast two days ago that she was just now getting a chance to sort things out. She flipped from channel to channel, and then there it was. An eyewitness. And not just any eyewitness, but the same slob that Russ Davenport from Nightfall DC had pointed out. Elbows on her knees, Sid leaned forward.
“What is it?” Sam said, squinting her eyes at the screen.
Sid paused the TV. “If this guy is indeed an actor like Russ says, then maybe he can provide a few answers.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “he really has been making his rounds, hasn’t he? I’ll get right on it.”
Sid finished up her breakfast, slipped some clothes on over the sweetheart suit, and loaded up her gear.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked.
“Out to catch the bad guys.”
“What? I thought we were gonna hang out and watch the Bewitched marathon.” Sam leaned over the back of the sofa. “Say, which Darren did you like better?”
“Dick York, of course.” Sid slung her pack over her shoulder and nodded at the TV. “Let me know what you find out about that witness, I mean that camera-hogging bearded tub of lard. I’m on my way.”
“I’m on it like Larry Tate on ad money.”
Sid departed with a chuckle. The Hellcat’s engine roared, and before long she was cruising down the highway. With the radio off, she had some time to think, but she liked Sam’s company.
Sometimes you need time to yourself.
Thirty minutes into the drive, she got her first text from Sam. It was the location of a small television station just outside the northwest rim of DC.
Man, she’s good.
She pulled into the parking lot of the station ten minutes later. She backed the car in with a good view of the front door. It was a one-story white building made from long channels of concrete. The groundskeeping had seen better days. Two people were smoking inside a nearby gazebo. There was one parked news van. Everything was quiet.
She texted Sam. “Are you certain he’s here?”
“He wouldn’t miss it for the world. Dude has a Twitter account. Blowing up all of his appearances. Loser.”
“Gotcha. Tks.”
Social media might be one of the greatest windfalls to law enforcement of all time. People just can’t keep quiet about their business.
The phone buzzed. A picture of the man she was looking for popped up. Bald and bearded, the heavyset man’s name was Clarence Williams.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sid’s heart jumped. A man was standing by her window.
She trained her gun on him.
“Whoa,” the man said with his fingers spread wide. “Don’t shoot.”
It was Russ Davenport. She lowered her window but kept the gun aimed on his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” he said, scratching his nose, “just following the clues. Heh, I’m impressed. Widened my eyes when I saw you pull up in this big black machine.” He eyed her gun. “Do you mind? I’ve been shot before, if you don’t remember.”
She put the pistol away. “So you’re after Clarence too?”
“Yep.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been here since he went in. He ought to be out any minute. Say, you think I could have a seat? Kinda hot today.”
“Why don’t you take that jacket off?”
He peeled back his coat, revealing an old wheel gun. A stainless steel 357 Magnum by the look of it. “I’m a lot more cautious these days.”
“You know that’s illegal.”
“Every Constitutional right seems illegal in DC these days. I say screw ‘em.”
Sid nodded. “Get in.”
“Thanks.” Inside the car, Russ adjusted the seat back and dabbed the sweat off his face with a handkerchief.
“So, do you have anything else?” Sid asked.
“Like what?”
“Anything on Smoke or anyone else?”
“Nah, it’s been quiet. No one’s talking. And it’s a pretty big city. Lots of ground to cover—and lousy parking.”
Sid shook her head. It didn’t help that Russ smelled like sweat and a submarine sandwich. She sat there for quite a while, hands on the wheel and eyes on the television station door.
A pair of people came out.
“That’s him,” Russ said with a scowl. “Man, I can’t s
tand the look of that guy. He reminds me of a walking gourd or one of those killer space clowns.”
“What? Never mind.” Sid noticed the other person with Clarence. She was a bulldog of a woman. Black jeans and a grey T-shirt, short dark hair and husky arms. “Who’s that?”
“I’ll be damned,” Russ said in awe from the edge of his seat. “It’s Jean.”
CHAPTER 21
‘Who’s Jean?’ was the obvious question, but Sid didn’t have to ask. Russ became a burbling fountain of excitement. Sid put the car in gear and followed Clarence and Jean, who pulled out of the parking lot in a beat-up white painter’s van and then drove through town, light to light, street to street.
“Man, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” Clarence said, sweating again.
“Believe what exactly?”
Russ caught his breath. “That’s Jean Moffat, a legend.”
“What do you mean by a legend?”
He took out an asthma inhaler and took a puff.
Sid cocked a brow. “Asthmatic, huh?”
“Only when I get really excited.” He gasped for breath. “I just didn’t expect this.”
She could relate to the asthma, but not the excitement. “Settle down and spit it out.”
“Well, me and a bunch of my cronies, well, not a bunch really—most of them are dead—but anyway”—he sucked in some more breath—“we studied a bunch of old films. I mean archived stuff from any old tragedies that we could find. The stuff’s not sealed up or anything, but still hard to come by. Finally, on YouTube, a bunch of good stuff showed up.” He wheezed and pounded his chest. “Oh man, this attack’s bad. So as I was saying, like our boy Clarence, who shows up at all of these disaster interviews, so comes out Jean Moffat.” He went into a fit of coughing.
Sid leaned over, still eyeing the road and the van, and thumped his back.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” He tucked the inhaler away in his pocket. “Remember the Hindenburg?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she was there, being interviewed. I swear it’s her. And the Kennedy assassination, Dealy Plaza, the Grassy Knoll. She was an eyewitness. Same woman, same pug face, and same mole on her chin. You would really think she’d get that thing removed.”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 61
