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

by Craig Halloran

  Smoke rammed his fist into another deader’s jaw. Its fist remained fastened to his clothes. He grabbed its thumb and twisted back until it snapped and then yanked his arm free.

  “There they are! Blast them!” said one of the men in hoods who had just emerged out of the aisle.

  The man behind him said, “What about the assets?”

  “Screw ’em, they’re dead already!” The first man pumped his shotgun and took aim.

  “Get behind me, Sid!”

  Sid dove behind Smoke.

  He grabbed the deader by its protective vest and used its writhing body as a shield just as the men started blasting away.

  Ka-Blam! Ka-Blam!

  Chunks of clothes and deader flesh blasted through the room.

  Smoke let out a roar and charged at the men, still holding the deader up in front of him. He slammed into both men, knocking them through the cubicle.

  The hooded men fought back, punching, kicking, and screaming.

  Smoke throat punched one.

  “Gak!” the thug exclaimed.

  Smoke forced the deader out of the way with a hard shove to the floor. He caught the second thug by the collar and started to wail on him, one hard punch after the other. Gunshots went off behind him, and he turned. Sid had filled another deader’s head with lead.

  “I’m empty,” she said.

  Smoke snatched up one of the hooded men’s shotguns and tossed it to her. “Let’s get.”

  Moving faster than the oncoming deaders, they rushed back out the front door.

  A lone deader stood in their path and got to kiss Sid’s shotgun blast.

  Ka-Blam!

  In stride, they raced for their car. Sid slid over the hood and jumped into the driver’s side.

  The surviving deaders were coming back out of the building’s doors. A helicopter soared overhead and then hovered near the building.

  Smoke couldn’t see a soul in the midnight-blue chopper, but it was armed. Rocket missiles fired out of the chopper’s guns. White smoke streaked through the sky. The entire building exploded.

  “Quit gawking and get in!” Sid yelled.

  Eyes on the flames, Smoke did as he was told.

  Sid laid into the gas, spinning the wheels, and they raced out of the business park like bats out of hell. Checking her mirrors, she said, “Is the chopper coming after us?”

  The helicopter became a speck in the sky going the other way. “No,” Smoke said. “How’s your hand?”

  “It feels like a hungry deader tried to eat it.”

  Smoke reached for her hand.

  Sid jerked away.

  “Just let me see it.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Smoke gave her a disappointed look.

  “What?” she said, trying to hide her grimace. “I’m driving.”

  “Just let me take a peek and make sure nothing’s broken. Besides, you don’t want to get rabies.”

  “Rabies? Deaders have rabies?”

  “I don’t know. Let me take a look at it.”

  Reluctantly she gave him her hand. “Fine. Smoke, what the hell was that all about? Who were those guys with masks on?”

  With the ginger fingers of a surgeon, Smoke lightly explored her hand. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Does that?”

  “No.”

  “Does—”

  “Ow!” Sid pulled her hand away and gave it a little shake. “Morning glory! Is it broken?”

  “Hairline fractured maybe.” Showing a look of concern, he added, “It’s those bite marks that I’m more worried about. We need to get someone to look at that.”

  “Why? You don’t think I’m going to turn into a deader, do you?”

  “I hope not.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “She’s fine. No rabies,” Asia said. The little Asian woman was dressed like a geisha, and her face was painted like a doll’s. “Can you move your hand?”

  Sid looked at the dark bruise on her swelling hand and said, “Yeah, it’s just stiff.”

  “I’ll wrap it up,” Asia said, pulling out an Ace bandage from a modern leather medical bag.

  “No, don’t bother, I’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” Asia neatly tucked her supplies back into her medical case, snapped it up, walked over to the sofa facing the television, and sat down. She picked up the remote, mumbling to herself, “Monsters with rabies. Stupid.”

  “Are you going to be able to shoot with that hand?” Smoke said to her.

  Slowly and forcefully clutching her fingers in and out, she said, “I’ll just have to make it work.”

  Mal Carlson was in the kitchenette of Smoke’s garage apartment, fixing coffee. The scholarly olive-skinned man was wearing kimono robes, white and reds and inlaid with dragons. He took a sip of coffee and winced. “Ew, that’s hot.”

  Smoke glanced at Sid and said, “Should I ask, or do you want to?”

  “Go ahead,” she said to him.

  “So Mal, what’s going on with your outfit?”

  Without taking her eyes away from the television, Asia replied, “The pervert is role playing. He’s the shogun and I’m his geisha.” She started taking the pins out of her hair and letting it down. “I’m supposed to be part of his harem.”

  “Now now, that’s not the case. This was your idea as much as mine,” Mal objected. Showing a little embarrassment, he said to Smoke, “You said to get right over here. I was worried.”

  “It took you long enough to get here,” Sid said. “Did Asia pull you over here on a rickshaw?”

  Frowning at Sid, Asia said, “No! Smart-aleck American.”

  “It’s not like you aren’t American too, Asia. She was born in Kentucky, you know. Went to public school.”

  “Not true, not true!”

  Mal shrugged and said, “It is. Anyway, danger averted for now, but I’m glad you called. I had a special visitor while you were gone. Asia, will you go to the van and get the silver cases?”

  Shaking her head, she answered with a long, “No.”

  Clanking his coffee mug down on the table, Mal said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Sid took a seat at the computer desk and started tapping on the keys. Images popped up on all six monitors. “So what do you think, Smoke? Were they after us or not? I just don’t think the Drake is out to kill us. Maybe it was Guermo. I thought one of those black-hooded thugs had a sliver of accent when he spoke.”

  “I noticed that too. I guess there must have been something in that building that they didn’t want us to find. Or maybe one of them didn’t want the other to find it.” He walked over to the refrigerator, opened it up, and grabbed a can of Coke. He cracked it open.

  Asia’s head popped up from in front of the sofa, and she said, “Soda is bad for you. What do you have, a death wish?”

  Ignoring Asia, Smoke resumed his place standing behind Sid. “What are your thoughts on Cyrus?”

  “I believed him.”

  Smoke nodded. They had called the section chief on their way back to Smoke’s place. Cyrus had been oblivious to the danger they’d just been in, just his usual adamant and nasty self, telling them again, “Get me some answers by Friday!”

  “I suppose we’re still on the same side with him,” Smoke said. “Funny how people can change.”

  “So do you think the Drake were following us?” Sid said.

  “I just assume they always have eyes on us. We’re going to have to get better at disappearing. Then again, maybe it was just bad timing. Perhaps they thought we were somebody else. In a way I felt like we were caught in the middle of a turf war.”

  “Maybe so.”

  Mal came back in through the front door. He had two briefcases, one in each hand. He walked over to the kitchen island and set them down on it.

  Getting up from her chair, Sid said, “Wedding presents for us?”

  “I guess you could call it that, but they aren’t from me.” Mal was smiling. “Go ahead,
open them up.”

  “Are they the same?” Smoke said.

  “Uh, no,” Mal said, patting the one on his right. “This one is Sid’s.”

  “So who are they from?” Smoke asked.

  “Leroy Sullivan.”

  “You saw him?” Sid replied.

  “I got a call. Just open them up.”

  Smoke popped his case open at the same time as Sid popped hers. Inside was another sweetheart suit, matte black mixed with dark-grey trim. It still had the look of twinkling metal in it. He lifted it up. “Nice. Feels lighter.”

  “It is,” Mal said, “and it’s improved since the last one. We noticed that sword from Kane’s place could cut them. Well, somebody knew that, so we made some improvements.”

  “We?” Sid said, eyeballing Mal while at the same time admiring her suit.

  “I’ve still been acting in an advisory capacity.”

  “To who?” Smoke asked.

  “Leroy.”

  Smoke put the suit aside. It seemed Mal had always known more than he’d let on, but so far he’d been trustworthy. Smoke lifted a flap to reveal the bottom compartment of the case. There were magazine clips loaded with blue-, green-, and red-tipped bullets. Lots of them. There was a clear yellow vial with bright-yellow pills, too. Blue goggles with a thick black strap were staring right back at him.

  “You like?” Sid said, staring at Smoke. She had her own set of goggles on.

  “Actually, they don’t look half bad. Much better than the ones Uncle Earl’s men had on. How does everything look?”

  “Great. I feel like they’re adjusting my sight. Kind of a rush.” She took the goggles off. “So what’s going on, Mal? All of this stuff. It looks like we’re going to war.”

  Mal nodded and said, “You aren’t going to war, you’re already in it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Smoke had his elbow out the window and the wind running through his hair. He and Sid were back on the road. Titus Tolliver was the mark they needed to track down. They had half a dozen locations that they needed to look into. It would take a couple of days at least, but he felt kinda good about being on the hunt again.

  “Enjoying the ride?” Sid said.

  “Maybe a bit too much. This suit feels great. Now, I always feel great, but this? It’s like I’m in a different body, charged with new energy.”

  “I know how you feel. I’m feeling pretty energetic myself.” She glanced him over with her eyes. “In a distracting kind of way.”

  “You can say that again. These close quarters aren’t helping things.”

  Swallowing, Sid replied, “Let’s try to change the subject over the next few miles. We’ve got a war going on between the Drake and maybe Guermo. Doing our job, we’re caught in the middle. Maybe we just need to help them take each other out.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. If we can get our mitts on this Tolliver guy, maybe we can get a new perspective.” Smoke drew out his semi-automatic pistol and popped out the clip. The bullet tips were blue. He had fifteen rounds loaded up top and two red tips at the bottom. He pulled a green-tipped one out of his pocket. “I forget. What do the green tips do?”

  Sid gave a little shrug. “Maybe it’s a tracer? Load it in the top and we’ll see what happens to the next lucky bastard that crosses us.”

  “I like the way you think. It’s sexy.”

  “Sexy is as sexy does,” she replied.

  Wind in his face, Smoke enjoyed the ride, but his thoughts were heavy. There were too many variables now. The Drake and Guermo were competitors. Kane Lancaster was still out poisoning DC, if not the entire country. Uncle Earl was dead, his men slaughtered. There weren’t any clear-cut answers. It was chaos and madness. Smoke wanted answers. He wanted revenge. Deep inside, he felt he had let Uncle Earl down, and it was eating at him. Was there some calling inside him that he was ignoring?

  Sid put her hand on his thigh. “You okay?”

  Shifting in his seat, he said, “Yeah, sure, why?

  “You just look a little distant.”

  “Well, I was thinking about your sister and niece. Ultimately, we have to get them plucked out of that nest,” he said, placing his hand on hers.

  “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing. I don’t know if it will change Allison back, but at least we can save Megan. It’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true.” She shook her head. “Megan looked and sounded okay at the wedding, but I know she’s not. I don’t want her to turn out like her mother.”

  “Let’s just take it a day at a time. I’m sure they’ll approach us soon enough, with all the trouble we cause.” He patted her hand. “You know they can’t stay away from us.”

  “True.”

  Sid took the car off the interstate and down a long stretch of highway, where they came to a smaller suburban area called District Heights. She pulled into Garland Funeral Parlor, an old, big, red-brick house with alabaster columns adorning a huge front porch with green ivy taking over. She pulled around to the back of the building. A pair of black Cadillac hearses was parked underneath the overhang. She parked in the side parking lot and shut down the engine. “Did you see those hearses?”

  Popping the door open, Smoke swung his legs out. “Yeah, pretty sweet 1958 Caddies. Just like the one from Only the Lonely, starring John Candy. I was thinking something big like that would be a nice replacement for the Camaro.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, shutting her door.

  “Of course not. I’ll be fixing up the Camaro anyway.”

  “I’d scrap it.”

  Smoke headed up the stairs and onto the front porch. The plaster was cracked on the columns, and the hinges squeaked when he opened the front door. A little bit of debris floated onto his hair and into his eyes. Dusting himself off, he said, “I’m not so sure they’re staying very busy these days.” He pulled the door wide open and stepped aside. “After you.”

  The décor on the inside matched up well with everything on the outside: old and dated. Smoke sniffed. A staleness lingered in the air. He gave Sid a shrug and started making his rounds. The shag carpet was a seafoam green, wallpaper covered the walls top to bottom, and furniture trimmed in dark wood with soft, colorful velvet cushions flourished in every room they could see. There were three funeral parlors, plenty of bathrooms, and water fountains. A small room with a fireplace had been converted into a breakroom with a coffee station and a nice stainless steel refrigerator.

  Smoke moseyed deeper down the hall toward the back. There was an office with a big cherry desk and a green leather office chair behind it. He ventured farther inside and noticed a man peering out the window.

  “Excuse me?” Smoke said.

  The wide-shouldered man in an old, dark-grey suit turned. The oak floorboards creaked under his shifting weight. The man’s dark-brown eyes looked almost as black as coal. It was Titus Tolliver. The thick-necked man in a bowtie looked Smoke up and down and said, “Did you come to bury somebody, or to be buried? I’ve been expecting you, Smoke.”

  All around the house, the hallways echoed with doors slamming shut.

  Titus added, “I’ve been expecting both of you.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Smoke pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Titus’s head. “Expecting us? Care to explain?”

  “Certainly.” Titus lumbered behind the desk and sat down. His face was cold and expressionless. “We all know about you, John Smoke. Sidney too. Now put the gun down and have a seat so that no one gets hurt.”

  Smoke backed up with the pistol still aimed at Titus and checked the door that led back outside. It was locked in place. Solid. He approached Titus, leaned over the desk, and pointed the gun in his face. “I disagree. You’re going to hurt once I put a bullet in you.”

  Leaning forward, Titus said, “Try me.”

  Smoke gave the stone-cold face a hard look. There was something different about Titus. Just like the rest of the shifters, he had an overconfident edge about him. Smoke didn’t know wh
at kind of powers Titus had, or if he had any. The unknown was dangerous. He eased back and holstered his weapon. “What about my partner?”

  “Partner? How quaint. You mean your wife? I’m certain she’s fine.” Titus straightened up some of the paperwork on his desk. “For now.”

  “If you know so much about me, then you know that I don’t play games. If you want to talk, then bring Sid in here, then we can all have a nice polite conversation.”

  Titus cocked a brow and said, “My, you are cocky, aren’t you? Well, Mister Smoke, my funeral home, my rules. And please, don’t give me the whole ‘If anything happens to her’ speech. I’ve heard it a hundred times.”

  “That’s not my style. Besides, she can take care of herself.” Smoke gave the office a closer look. The brass floor lamps were antique, early nineteenth century. Behind Titus was a wall-to-wall bookshelf with many black-and-white framed photos layered in. Everything but the 1970s carpet was old, maybe a century or more, but nothing was dusty. It wouldn’t surprise him if Titus had been working here for a hundred years. “So are you going to bring her in or not? You might want to do that before she comes knocking.”

  “She’s fine just where she is. Safe too, very safe.” Titus slid open a desk drawer and produced a clear jar of about twelve ounces with a pale fluorescent-yellow fluid in it. “Do you know what this is?”

  “A urine sample?”

  “Hah, good one, but no, not a urine sample. No, this is embalming fluid. You know what embalming fluid is, don’t you?”

  “Sure, I watch a show about embalming fluid all the time on the undertaker network. Get on with it before I put a hole in your head.”

  Holding the jar up above his eyes, Titus said, “This embalming fluid is special. You see, this is what we use to make the deaders. In part, that is. It’s like blood, new blood, and it doesn’t take very much. As a matter of fact, it can redirect the living and reanimate the dead. Well, with a little bit of help from our sorcerous ways.” He stared at the jar with admiration. “It’s taken me decades, but I finally have it perfected.”

  Smoke crossed his leg over his knee, pointed at Titus with one finger, and said, “But do you have it patented? Because if you don’t have it patented, well, then anyone could go around and start animating the dead.” He cleared his throat. “What you need are investors, and I’m listening, but I think we should angle for a spot on Shark Tank. Those venture capitalists will eat this up. But let’s work on the package and a nice logo first. What do you say?”