The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  Maybe he should slam Stone into large metal objects more often.

  Chapter 14

  Even though he knew about it ahead of time, seeing his own living room on Blade’s screen was disconcerting.

  Ozzy sat on the slightly worn couch, watching Blade tap keys and click things. When they’d pulled up to the house, his first impression had been “shithole.” From the outside, the place looked half a step away from being condemned. But the inside was a different story. The furnishings might have been second-hand, but everything was neat and well-kept. A little cramped, but tidy.

  And then there was the equipment.

  He didn’t know a lot about computers, but it looked like Blade had spared no expense. At the back of the living room was a huge, L-shaped desk with three big flat-panel monitors, two wall-mounted screens, and a cluster of four small security monitors. A tray under the far end held a laptop, and beneath the desk were three towers. One was almost twice the size of the other two. He was pretty sure that was a server.

  “Okay,” Blade finally said without looking away from the monitors. “What time did you leave your house?”

  “Around seven.”

  “So, we’ll start eight hours back—”

  “Seven in the morning.” Ozzy sighed. “Do we have to sit here and watch twenty hours of my living room?”

  “Hell no.” Blade keyed in something, and the wall-mounted screens flashed to life. One showed Ozzy’s kitchen, and the other his upstairs hallway. “This should take fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”

  “How many cameras did you plant in my house?”

  “Just three.”

  Ozzy frowned and stared at the kitchen screen. He couldn’t see it too clearly from here, but there was a growing collection of empty bottles next to the sink. It took up a lot more room than he remembered. Had he really been drinking that much since he got back?

  Blade typed rapidly, and a bunch of windows flashed on and off on the center monitor. When he finished, jagged white lines obscured the views of Ozzy’s house. “I’m running a script I wrote,” he said. “It’ll go through and flag any motion the cameras picked up, and then we can skip through and watch them. If Shep was in there, this will find him.”

  “Right.” Ozzy shifted and sat up straighter, fighting a fresh wave of exhaustion. Part of it was shock. He still wasn’t sure how to deal with all this, but over the course of the last few hours, things had definitely changed. He’d been stunned enough when Blade believed him about Fischer. On top of that, hearing what his ex-cellmate had gone through because of him—when all this time he’d been angry over a lousy couple of months in solitary—had driven a fresh nail into his conscience.

  As if he didn’t have enough to feel guilty about already.

  He looked around the room, trying to keep his mind active enough to stay awake. There was a digital picture frame on an end table next to the couch, and for a few minutes he watched it cycle through various shots of Blade with girls. A lot of happy, friendly-looking girls. He noticed a few faces he’d seen earlier that night, including Teryn.

  One of them was Kat with an arm around Blade, kissing him full-on. They were both dressed in formal clothes, sitting behind a table at what looked like a wedding.

  “I see you found my girlfriends.”

  Blade’s voice shook him from a light haze. “Did I?” he said. “I thought you were…uh…”

  “Gay?” With a wry half-smile, Blade reached over and pushed a button in front of the block of security monitors, turning them on. “I’m complicated,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. Kat and I are just friends.”

  “I wasn’t interested.”

  “Come on, man. Everybody’s interested in Kat.” Blade turned back to the monitors with a distant expression. “You’d have to be dead not to be attracted to that woman,” he muttered.

  Ozzy had to agree—just not out loud. In the interests of changing the subject, he said, “Are you from around here? Tomasburg, I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means no.”

  “Well, where are you from?”

  Blade sighed. “Around. Why do you want to know?”

  “I don’t.” Ozzy wasn’t sure why he bothered trying. He couldn’t even hold a conversation with a normal person, and Blade was far from normal. Besides, the man hated him—with good reason, it turned out.

  “Look, I…” Blade turned in the chair and leaned forward a little, clasping his hands together. “I was an Army brat,” he said. “We lived at Fort Lee for a while, so that’s why I said I’m not really from here. I’m from…around, that’s all.”

  “All right.”

  Blade raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for something more. “All right, then,” he finally said. “This should be about done. Let’s check it out.”

  “Sure.”

  He watched as Blade opened a video player with an image of his living room. There were a few red triangles scattered on the timeline bar at the bottom. Blade clicked a button, and the progress bar skipped to the first triangle. The only movement on the video was a bird flying across the big picture window.

  “Well, that wasn’t him.” Blade moved to the next marker. Another bird. The next was trees blowing in a gust of wind. Every triangle on the video marked motion outside the house.

  The video from the kitchen was the same thing. A few birds passing by the window over the sink. There was nothing flagged in the upstairs hallway.

  “Huh.” Blade pushed away from the desk with a frown. “What the hell was he doing there? He must’ve gone in. Maybe I should run the script again—it has to be here somewhere.”

  “Maybe he didn’t go in,” Ozzy said. “Maybe he was never there.”

  Blade shot him a glare. “I saw him.”

  “You thought you did.” At this point, he no longer cared if the brawler was waiting for him with a wired brick of C4 and a machine gun to ignite it. He was sore, exhausted, and more than a little pissed about the invasion of privacy. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can handle—”

  “Shep.”

  Ozzy looked at the screens. “Where?”

  “Not there.” Blade pointed to the small security monitors. The lower right one showed his front porch, and beyond it, a familiar car stopping at the curb. “Here.”

  Chapter 15

  Stone stood from the couch with bloodlust in his eyes. “I’ll take care of him,” he growled.

  “Whoa there, soldier.” Roman was slower to get up, but he’d locked the door so he wasn’t worried. Yet. “Listen. It’s better if he doesn’t know you’re here,” he said. “He still thinks I’m working for him. If I talk to him alone, I can find out what he was doing at your place.” He had a feeling Shep wanted to do more than talk—but he could handle that, too.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ve got a spare bedroom right there,” he said, pointing to the little hallway at the far end of the living room. “Just go in there and close the door. I’ll tell you when he’s gone.”

  Stone’s jaw firmed. “I don’t like hiding,” he said. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Damn it, now is not the time to whip out the testosterone cannon.” Roman glanced at the monitor and saw Shep staggering out of his car. Drunk, fried, or both—the stupid bastard didn’t stand a chance. “I can find out if your place is safe, and no one has to get hurt,” he said. “I’ve got this. Please go.”

  Stone stared at him for a few seconds. Then he turned and headed for the hallway without another word.

  “Thanks,” Roman muttered. When he heard the bedroom door open and close, he reached under the desk and pulled his handgun from the clamp holding it there. He got to the front door just as Shep hit the doorbell—five times, in rapid succession.

  Roman leaned on the door. “I know it’s you, Shep,” he called. “I told you never to come here again. Remember?”

  “Open the fuck up, freak,” Shep bellowed.<
br />
  “Once again, you’re wasted.”

  “So’re you, if you don’t open the goddamned door!”

  Shaking his head, Roman stepped back and aimed the gun with one hand, then opened the door with the other. “Keep it down,” he said calmly. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  The sneer on Shep’s face deepened when his darting gaze settled on the gun. “You ain’t got the balls to fire that thing,” he said.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “What the fuck ever, freak.” The disdain stayed in place, but Shep made no move to come inside. “You fucking lied to me,” he said. “About Stone.”

  “The hell are you talking about?”

  “You said you didn’t know him, but you shared a goddamn cell with him.”

  Roman kept his expression neutral, despite the shock running through him. No way Shep should’ve been able to find that out—at least not on his own. This was not a good development. “I never said I didn’t know Stone,” he said carefully.

  “No. You just conveniently left it out.” A cold smile spread on Shep’s face. “I bet you were fuck-buddies in there,” he said. “Did you suck his cock, you faggot freak? Did you bend over and let him—”

  “Enough,” Roman snarled. “I hate the bastard more than you.”

  “Maybe you do. But I can’t trust you now, because you lied to me.” Faster than a blink, Shep drew back and rammed a fist into the side of the house. Shingles cracked under the blow. “Where the hell is he?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “I been waitin’ for him.” The mad light in Shep’s eyes was a look Roman had seen in the mirror countless times. Burning revenge. “He rides that big ol’ hog. They ain’t so safe, motorcycles. One hit and he goes down in flames.”

  So that was his plan. “You’ll get caught.”

  “No I won’t.” Shep took a step forward.

  Roman spun the gun and smashed the butt end across the man’s jaw.

  Shep staggered back and fell on his ass. For a few seconds he sat there with his head bowed—then he raised it slowly, wearing a bloody grin. “Best shoot me now, freak,” he said. “You don’t, and you’re dead. All the guns in the world won’t save you.”

  Roman leveled the muzzle at his head. “Get the fuck away from my house.”

  “Sure. For now.” Shep grabbed the porch railing and hauled himself up, then spat blood on the floorboards. “Knew you were too weak to pull the trigger,” he said. “By the way, you’re fired—but don’t worry about my money. I’ll have a grand ol’ time making you tell me where it is before I kill you.”

  Roman stood his ground as Shep headed down the steps and got in his car. The engine roared, and the Jag howled away from the curb with a shriek of rubber. Only then did he lower his arm and step out for a minute, looking for lights going on in the surrounding houses. The last thing he needed was a visit from the cops on a disturbance report.

  Everything seemed quiet—until he heard an approaching engine.

  It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t the Jaguar. He stepped back into the doorway, the gun behind his back, and watched an ambulance van roll by slowly in the direction Shep had gone. Unfortunately, the lights weren’t flashing. Too bad Shep hadn’t done the world a favor by wrapping himself around a tree.

  Roman closed and locked the door. He tucked the gun in his waistband, deciding to hold onto it for a while in case Shep came back, then went to the spare bedroom and knocked briefly. “All right, he’s gone,” he said. “I know what he’s planning. Told you it’d work.”

  No sound came from the room.

  “Stone?” He knocked again, paused, and opened the door.

  The big man was sprawled on the bed, fast asleep.

  “Oh, perfect.” He walked into the room reluctantly, knowing from experience that military people tended to wake up swinging. “Hey, Stone,” he said—not very loudly. “The coast is clear. Rise and shine, man.”

  Stone snorted and rolled toward the wall.

  Roman sighed. The best thing was probably to let the man sleep. He knew all about adrenaline crashes, and Stone had been running on fumes for hours since the accident. Maybe he’d be furious when he woke up, but he’d just have to get over it.

  He went to the closet and got one of the blankets out. He couldn’t bring himself to cover Stone with it—that was just too weird—but he laid it on the bed next to him and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Damn it. So much for sleeping tonight.

  Chapter 16

  When Ozzy woke up, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move. Every part of him that didn’t ache felt like it was on fire.

  The pain subsided gradually into all-over soreness. He rolled over carefully and realized he was still in Blade’s spare bedroom. He must’ve fallen asleep.

  And the light behind the curtains at the window said he’d stayed asleep too long.

  That got him moving. He jumped out of bed, ignoring the renewed protests of his muscles, and strode for the door. The last thing he knew, Shep had been here—and Blade wanted to talk to the lunatic. How the hell had he managed to fall asleep waiting for that? Blade could be out there dead right now.

  In the living room, he found Blade face-down on the couch with one hand stuffed under the pillow he was using. Asleep, not dead. He relaxed a little and slowed his pace. Now that the panic was leaving, he could be angry that Blade hadn’t woken him.

  He was five steps from the couch when the hand shot out from under the pillow. There was a gun in it.

  Blade turned his head and opened one eye. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Ozzy stayed put. “You going to shoot me?”

  “No. This was in case Shep came back.”

  “So why didn’t you shoot him?”

  Blade snorted. “Having the damned thing’s risky enough,” he said. “If I killed someone, they’d put me away for life.” He lowered his arm and looked down at the gun. “The only one I’d actually shoot would be me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not going to prison again. Ever.” He sat up fast, wincing a little. “You look tense,” he said. “Don’t worry. Shep’s long gone—if he was coming back, he would’ve by now.”

  Ozzy frowned. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” he said. “I thought that was a spare bedroom.”

  “It is. Mine’s upstairs, but I don’t really sleep.”

  “You’re a night person, right?”

  “I’m a person who doesn’t sleep.” Blade stood and crossed to his desk, where he stowed the gun somewhere underneath. “Well, you probably want to know what happened,” he said. “Short version, Shep was planning to ram your bike. That’s why he didn’t go in the house.”

  “And the long version?”

  Blade hesitated. “Listen, you crashed pretty hard last night,” he said. “You’ve got to be sore this morning. A hot shower and some Motrin will do you a world of good, and then we’ll talk.”

  “I’d rather talk now.”

  “Trust me. Shower and Motrin.” He pointed back toward the little hallway. “Stairs are down there, across from the spare room. Bathroom’s the door at the top. Motrin’s in the medicine cabinet.”

  Ozzy shook his head. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking out for me.”

  Blade stopped in the middle of bending for something under the desk. “Because I don’t think anybody else is,” he said. “And…I guess maybe I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I do,” he said quietly, straightening to look directly at him. “You tried to help me when I couldn’t help myself, in your own tough-guy way. Now you can’t help yourself, and no one else is trying. So I’m going to.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are? Could’ve fooled me.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. As if saying it would make it true.

  “Where’s your bike right now, Stone?” Blade folded hi
s arms. “The crash might’ve sobered you up, but it didn’t keep you from telling me you’ve practically lived in a bar since you got out. And those bottles by your sink? I don’t think they emptied themselves.”

  “I can handle—”

  “You can’t handle this. You’re not handling it,” Blade said. “I know what it’s like. How you feel.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, really.” Blade took a step forward with blazing eyes. “You get out of there, and the whole world’s broken. There’s nothing in it you recognize, nothing good left. You don’t want to die…but you don’t have anything to live for. It’s all gone. So you find something that makes you stop thinking, and you do that thing over and over and over. For me it was weight training.” He gave a slow shrug. “But for you, it’s booze. And that’s going to kill you if you don’t stop.”

  Every word was a knife that went straight to his gut. It was exactly how he felt, exactly why he drank. To erase everything. And Roman Blade was the last person he’d expect to understand…when he should’ve been the first.

  “Thank you,” he finally said.

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard the long version.” Blade smirked. “Go grab a shower,” he said. “Then I’ll drive you home, and we can talk on the way.”

  Ozzy nodded and headed for the stairs. Maybe this situation would work out after all.

  Chapter 17

  Roman insisted on stopping for coffee before pretty much anything. He might not have slept, and caffeine didn’t do jack shit for him anymore, but he still needed the psychological effects of a morning dose of tar. The stuff at the gas station three blocks from his place wasn’t bad if you got there before ten. He pulled in and found out Stone took his coffee black, same as him, then headed inside to grab two cups.

  When he came back out, his truck was gone.

  Fury warred with panic for a few seconds, until he spotted the truck at one of the gas pumps. Stone was filling the tank. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but it kind of made him want to punch the man.