Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  It’d be nice to run into Mona, but I don’t think she’s in this jurisdiction anymore. Darnell and Mona were the only ones I could stand.

  “Travis?”

  The agent sighed in trepidation. “What, Shawn?”

  “Once our assignment ends, I’m gone.”

  “It’s out of my hands,” Travis told him, summoning power to his command. “You don’t leave if Sanderson takes you. Otherwise, I’d be working for the precinct, not the FBI.”

  Grumbling followed, but Travis blocked out Peters’ reservations, projecting his power. The spell completed, but Travis jumped in place as panicked thoughts invaded his head.

  Screaming, crying, and yelling assaulted his senses. Red tinted his vision. Breath caught in his throat, strangling his ability to breathe. The large coffee dropped on the pavement, precious caffeine pooling around the overwhelmed agent’s leather boots.

  Travis retracted his magic before his migraine returned, hazel eyes blazing as he scratched his neck and pressed a finger against his temple. “Fuck, I lost my coffee!”

  “Get to the damn hotel, Travis. Feds are already at the scene, but they’re not our men. I thought this was our case!”

  Great, just my luck. Other Renegades crawling out of the shadows to screw with me because of Mye.

  “One or two of them lurk around to fuck with me on occasion,” Travis answered, adjusting his cowboy hat. “Mye knows some contacts inside the Renegades. I expected someone, sooner or later.”

  “Don’t kill anyone,” Peters said, emphasizing the last word with a clipped tone.

  Travis stomped on cracked creases of sidewalk, breathing out through his nostrils. “Yeah, okay.”

  “I mean it, Travis. Federal agents can’t just kill people on a whim. You’ll make us look bad.”

  Just nod and say okay, Keith. Peters wants to pick a fight because he lost control of the situation.

  “You better not be wearing the damn hat and trench coat. I’m tired of—”

  “Shawn, pass the physical endurance test and work in the field,” Travis snapped. “Once you pass and stop failing, then you can tell me how to conduct a goddamn field investigation.”

  The agent glowered at innocent commuters crossing his path before sprinting to the hotel, grateful his leather hat blocked the harsh morning sunlight creeping through large, gray thunderclouds.

  Loud sirens guided Travis to the hotel. He arrived fifteen minutes later, clear headed and refreshed from the morning run. Blinking lights from the patrol cars shined like beacons against the darkened sky. The cool breeze blowing behind him brought some relief to the thick humidity, but the air remained tainted from Baltimore City’s smoggy air. Travis frowned when tiny raindrops dried in seconds against the sidewalk, but pressed forward, hoping to avoid the potential downpour.

  Yeah, time to get a car. It’d help keep me dry, and I can’t keep phasing everywhere, especially if Mye’s with me.

  A commuter yelled behind Travis before shoving him aside. Travis moved closer, spotting six BCPD patrol cars barricading both sides of the road. The agent gazed at two static officers consoling a sobbing woman and walked past them, wishing he’d left his hat at home.

  Travis tensed when one of the officers stiffened, then became animated when a hysterical woman tugged on his arm, bawling into his shoulder.

  The officer clearly decided to ignore Travis, continuing to comfort the sobbing woman as he headed toward the hotel entrance, stopping only when a brash female’s voice called his name.

  “Agent Travis, I'm not authorized to let you inside the building.”

  Jesus, it had to be Tessa. God, why today?

  Hand over his long face, Travis turned to the tiny Asian woman, focusing on her tight-lipped scowl and large forehead. Jet black hair rested in a messy bun coiled tight behind her head, hidden underneath the navy officer’s cap.

  I swear, life always throws me Gretchen Tessa when I'm having a bad day. It never fails.

  Instead of wallowing in self-pity, Travis forced a pleasant smile, hoping it matched his eyes. “Officer Tessa. Agent Peters sent me to investigate the incident. Irving’s death correlates with the case the director assigned us. I assumed Peters or the director spoke with the Baltimore City Police Department about sharing jurisdiction.”

  “There’s already men from the FBI inside, agent.” Tessa folded her arms across her flat chest. “Besides, every time you show up, something happens. I want to leave on time without filing additional incident reports and captain’s already in a foul mood this morning.”

  Travis tipped his hat, humming thoughtfully at Tessa’s reluctance. “Perhaps I’ll call Captain Fraser and clear up the misunderstanding, Tessa. I might mention my concerns about you—like what you really are, for example.”

  “Goddammit, I’d love nothing more than to kill you, agent.” An arm gestured toward the hotel entrance, accompanied by a frosty glare from emerald-colored eyes. “Working with Peters suits you. Two pricks in a pod.”

  Travis rested a clammy hand against his gun. “Believe me, we share your sentiment, Tessa.”

  Tessa sneered and Travis caught her eyes resting on his gun. Then she lowered her voice, rasping in disgust. “You think a gun will save you from us, mage? We’ll kill you as soon as the boss lifts your protection order.”

  “I suggest against obstructing justice unless you’re ready to pay the consequences in blood,” Travis said, matching her vile tone. “But I’m tired of the Renegades’ threats. Stop suggesting and try already.”

  “Oh, I’m itching,” Tessa said, licking her lips. “And I’m not the only one, mage.”

  “I’m sure.” Travis narrowed his eyes, the jovial smile on his lips conflicting with the anger in his eyes. “I’ll be sure to give Agent Peters your regards, Officer Tessa. Until next time.”

  “I hope Q and Rodriguez break every bone in your body,” Tessa whispered as Travis brushed past her. “Sanderson can’t discipline us for that.”

  Lyssa, God’s giving me all sorts of fun this morning.

  A shrill scream sounded behind Travis and he patted Tessa’s shoulder. “You should control the chaos before a riot breaks out, Officer Tessa.”

  The vile sneer and twin emeralds of hatred lightened Travis’ mood as he moved past her again. Three paces in, he chuckled, watching an armed teenager with a bowie knife attack Tessa from behind her. The officer spun gracefully, spinning away to grab her assailant’s arm. The knife clattered to the ground, followed by a low growl when it landed.

  “Nice maneuver, Tessa,” Travis said, clapping.

  “Go before I change my—oww, you little shit!!”

  The ratty teenager stomped on her foot and Travis snickered when the dark boy shoved Tessa to the ground, disarming the officer. Frantically, the boy tried taking the safety off the weapon before Tessa recovered.

  I should save Tessa, considering she’s one of our own.

  Travis sighed, pulled out the Desert Eagle and fired at the boy, pleased when the gun dropped from his bleeding hand.

  Pandemonium broke loose after the single shot. People scattered in hysteria, some sobbing while others screamed about a riot in the city streets. The assailant bellowed and cursed, holding his injured hand.

  “This is what I mean, Travis,” Tessa said, voice testy, as she retrieved her handcuffs. “Now I have to do an incident report because you lost your shit and shot someone—again.”

  “To be fair, I saved your life, Tessa. He almost shot you. Not that I expect gratitude from a shifter.”

  Tessa dragged the kneeling boy to his feet and glared emerald daggers at Travis, signaling a single finger salute before reciting her attacker his rights.

  Fine, Tessa. See if I ever help another Renegade of my own free will.

  The agent pocketed his gun and stretched his arms before continuing inside, relieved the collar hadn’t beeped during the attack. Travis hoped Aviere continued to stay within range, at least long enough for him to collect the evidence he
needed.

  Mye, stay close. I need something to go right this morning.

  Travis pushed the glass door to the hotel, vowing to cure the Poisoner’s wanderlust the next time they met.

  The hotel lobby lacked life, but the ornate chandeliers and pristine appearance dazzled the agent when he stepped inside the building. Florescent lights beamed from the ceiling, reflecting off the mirrored tile floor. A large counter sported two immaculate uniformed men in suits, distracted with answering a male officer’s questions. Various workers scrambled across the large lobby, some with their heads down to avoid any confrontation from loitering officers. Others pulled gold luggage trolleys, directing patrons to their rooms while calming excited children, whispering about the cool police officers.

  Travis walked toward the elevator atrium. An officer stationed in the lobby lifted a finger to object, but Travis flashed his badge, matching the officer’s skepticism with a frosty glare.

  Nice to know the guys at the precinct shun me. But I’m not here for them.

  Travis drummed a hand against his leg and strode into the carpeted atrium. White knuckles and fingers clenched the Desert Eagle, glaring at the African American man leaning against the metallic golden elevator doors.

  Great, Tessa didn't lie. Why did Sanderson send the bruiser squad to a murder scene? I understand Q, but Rodriguez? Death’s no place for a woman.

  “About time you showed up. Sanderson left instructions.”

  The trench-coated agent slanted his body, pointing the gun at the muscular, seven-foot-tall man. “What the hell are you doing here, Q?”

  “I told you, mage. But I’ll clear things up for you.” The burly man straightened his black bowtie, clearing his throat as he pushed himself off the elevator.

  “I don’t need—”

  “Aviere Mye is dangerous.” Q’s slate gray eyes softened for mere seconds before darkening again. “Word through the grapevine suggests you’re not thrilled with her.”

  This is one of Mye’s contacts, I’m sure. But how does—

  “She’ll outlast you if you're careless, mage.”

  Travis eyed the butler outfit and raised an eyebrow, waving the gun at Q. “I don’t see how. I’m tied to her—a hellion, hell bent on thwarting all attempts at civility.”

  “Oh, I know.” Gleaming white canines presented themselves when Q smiled. “Mye’s different. Always defied the odds, no matter what obstacles come her way. I’m rooting for her, but you’re at a disadvantage. No fun watching you die if you can’t counter the hellcat.” Q pressed a button and the elevator doors opened. “Step in. I’ll take you upstairs to Irving’s massacre.”

  “I don’t need you telling me about the crazy bitch you admire.”

  “Fine, don't listen. I'll cheer when Mye kills you. She's resourceful enough.”

  Travis aimed at Q’s head, curling his upper lip as he blew out a noisy breath. “I told Tessa and I'm warning you—stop the threats and act, already. At least Mye attempted to kill me before voicing her displeasure. Bitch almost succeeded, too.”

  The golden elevator doors started closing and Travis locked his legs in place, skimming the hallway for a stairwell. Seconds after finding his destination, a strong hand locked around his throat and pulled him inside before the doors slammed shut.

  Q’s fingers dug into veins and flesh, tightening against the lump in Travis’ throat. “Maybe I’ll do Mye a favor and kill you before she’s forced to.”

  What’s his deal with Mye and who is Q? Why is he valuable to Sanderson? And how does he know Mye?

  Travis managed to point the gun at Q’s temple, baring a wicked smile. Despite the stranglehold, the mage thrived in conflict. Travis’ peachy face reddened, but he steadied his hand, taking calm, shallow breaths.

  Try not to hyperventilate, Keith. Just get one good shot to Q’s temple.

  Travis croaked when Q’s fingers jammed into his Adam’s apple.

  “Something’s inhuman about you other than your powers. Mye’s not suited for you.”

  Travis studied Q’s frame and gasped. “Says—”

  “I should kill you. Sanderson won’t object since you drew your weapon first.”

  Heat blazed in Travis’ face when he slipped calloused fingers under Q’s meaty fingers, separating the dark hand from his throat enough to breathe. After a few gulps of air, Travis shoved the Eagle’s barrel against the Jamaican’s temple. “I’m willing to bet even a shifter can’t recover from a motherfucking bullet to the head, Q.”

  Thick fingers squished Travis’ throat, using his own hand against him. The agent sputtered before gasping for air again. Body heavy, Travis’ arm lowered against his will, fighting to keep it upright.

  As it lowered, Q snatched Travis’ weapon and crushed the barrel in his hand, dropping the defective weapon to the reflective flooring.

  “Figures, you won’t listen to reason, mage.” Q extended his arm and lifted Travis against the wall, almost without effort. “I’m trying to help you.”

  Travis tried retorting, but gasped for air. He kicked and flailed, panting the harder he fought. Each feeble attempt widened Q’s grin, gray eyes twinkling as the agent struggled.

  “I’d do Mye a favor eliminating you, mage. But you deserve a chance. Show me you’re capable of protecting Mye and yourself, instead of relying on Sanderson’s protection to live.”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors inched open. Travis spotted the sliver of hallway before Q tossed him next to his useless weapon. A hand caressed the Desert Eagle, torn at the thought of a precious gift destroyed in seconds, despite Travis’ valiant struggle. The agent took deep breaths, remembering the secondary gun hidden inside his trench coat.

  Thank God you bought me two, Lyssa. Maybe you knew the trouble I’d get into later…

  When the metallic gold doors parted, Travis replaced his broken weapon and checked the spare for proper ammunition, gripping it until his fingers turned white. “You owe me a gun, Q.”

  “Zip it before I drag you to Irving’s hotel room.”

  “Who are you?” Travis demanded, standing and matching Q’s shuffled pace. “I’d like to know more than just a letter you’re referred to.”

  “The letter’s good enough, mage.”

  Q’s frosty tone ended further discussion and Travis followed, stewing from his weakness. He bent his head and kept his gun close, watching Q’s graceful, muscular form striding toward their destination. The silence unnerved the agent, and he straightened, wishing for muffled voices or footsteps.

  Anything’s better than following a dark seven-foot man with flowing silver hair, dressed like a butler instead of an assassin. Even human, Q can’t deny his shifter traits. I’m surprised he’s still alive.

  The short walk seemed longer. Travis’ stomach churned, but the breeze from the large windows cooled his flushed face. Scarlet carpet in the middle of the corridor muffled their footsteps, but the color reminded Travis of the bathroom walls in Eisen’s home. He shivered, furrowing his eyebrows when Q stopped at one of the hotel rooms.

  304. Why didn’t Tessa tell me Room 304?

  “Rodriguez was working as an escort for Irving when he died,” Q said, worry lines creasing the top of his forehead. “She’s roughed up a little, but watch yourself inside. It’s brutal.”

  Travis nodded, retrieved his gun and headed inside, fighting against the violent churning in his stomach and a primal instinct to flee.

  Painful silence and tormented memories haunted Travis after Q closed the door, crescendoing when he paused inside Hector Irving’s hotel room.

  Blood coated two walls and dead bodies littered the floor. Travis counted five with a quick sweep of his eyes, then lingered at a severed head resting against a propped-up body against the flowery wallpaper. Wide milky eyes masked the headless man’s expression, but the transfixed open mouth showed Travis all he needed to know.

  The killer’s getting sloppy—or he wanted us to find Irving. Why make an example out of him? Was My
e supposed to find Irving’s body?

  The agent crouched and circled around the area, careful to not disturb their evidence. To his right, Travis glimpsed at another unrecognizable victim—a woman with her nose shot through. He tried mustering sympathy at the woman’s plight, but her questionable miniskirt and bare graying breasts invoked revulsion instead.

  The woman reminds me of Rodriguez with that outfit. I swear, only Sanderson would use a prior prostitute as an assassin while letting her break the dress code.

  “Dreadful, isn’t it? Rodriguez puts the whore to shame, mage.”

  Travis lifted his head away from the unnamed prostitute, fighting against a cold chill when Q’s condescending eyes met his. “Rodriguez is frightening. Not much of a looker, either. But the entire massacre—it’s like they wanted us to find Irving. At least Eisen’s place wasn’t so profound.”

  Q leaned against the wall and combed a hand through his long hair. “See, I thought so, too.”

  The crumpled bodies intertwined on the bed seemed interesting, compared to Q’s harsh quips behind him. Travis crept to their bodies, squinting, and noted the broken bones of the Chinese woman on the king-sized bed. Splattered brains and tinted blood dried on the clean cotton linen, but the exposed pink matter made Travis’ heart race.

  Q’s berating comments faded when Travis’ inner demon took hold, crooning to leave and hunt for Lyssa’s killer.

  Muscles twitched. Memories flashed in Travis’ mind. Lyssa’s high-pitched screams echoed in his ears as he straightened his neck. When Travis turned his head to crack his neck, the tight collar rubbed against his throat.

  Mye. God’s sake, I can’t, Lyssa. I have to think of Mye.

  Travis wished for Lyssa’s melodic voice to respond, to stop his murderous thoughts—but she never responded, no matter how hard he tried.

  “A brawl took place after Irving died. Rodriguez saw everyone killing each other after Irving dropped dead. Irving died from a drink he poured—probably something coating the inside of the cup itself.”