Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  Maurice—the shifter, right? Other than his unique characteristics, he’s normal compared to Dalara and Mye. From the way they went on, he’s their front man. Enough details to conduct normal life operations, but they shield him from business activities.

  He glanced at a faded green street sign and remembered Jemina lived in Dundalk, one of the poorest subdivisions of Baltimore County. The neighboring buildings depicted a low-income demographic, or those with modified and subsidized housing. The pitiful townhouse Jemina and Joseph resided in didn’t compute and Travis gazed at it, questioning his colleague’s choice.

  Rodriguez makes more than me blackmailing half the Renegades. So why are they living in Section 8 housing?

  He flipped the earpiece, hoping Peters was there and could answer Travis’ questions. Instead, soft snoring greeted the agent and Travis shook his head, realizing Peters slept with the earpiece in again. His amusement vanished when his Motorola vibrated in his pocket and sighed at the number displayed on the caller ID.

  Goddammit, Sanderson. Not now.

  Travis rubbed his back against the light pole, subduing the itch above his shoulders. His pocket vibrated, but he ignored Sanderson’s call. He focused on a wiry middle-aged woman waving to automobiles on the street, sashaying her body whenever one stopped nearby.

  The phone ceased vibrating—then started again forty seconds later.

  Hazel eyes dulled when the woman seized the bill dangling from the passenger’s window, reminding Travis of Jemina’s antics. Travis shivered, expelling the image when he answered the Motorola. “Travis.”

  “You’re moving too slow,” Sanderson told him. “I expected results—or a report this morning.”

  “Get it from Peters,” Travis snarled. “Mye’s determined to meet death. Bitch leaves on a whim and loves setting off the collar at random times.”

  The roaring laughter made Travis wince while he followed the silver and dark aura through the busy commuters. He almost crashed into a tall woman carrying several expensive shopping bags.

  “Travis, I’m shocked Mye’s running the show.” Sanderson’s voice oozed with scorn. “Usually you reign in your partners—scare the bejesus out of them.”

  “Sir, Mye’s a firecracker.” Travis adjusted the phone to his ear, softening his voice as he trailed Limere’s hasty strides. “She fears stupid shit, not the obvious. Gallivanting through Charm City in broad daylight—”

  “Understand one thing, Travis. She learned young from a fearless, conniving hellcat.” Sanderson’s voice edged on demonic when he stopped at the last word. “I’m certain the hatred Mye carries was passed on from her dear mother. It’s justified enough.”

  Sanderson cares about Mye, and she stated Sanderson needs her. What’s the correlation? I’m missing a crucial piece.

  “Justified, sir?” Travis probed.

  “Travis, there’s something in your email,” Sanderson replied, voice clipped. “Stop pretending to check and answer your damn messages. Peters can’t do everything for you.”

  Blistering heat flushed Travis’ face, and he wiped sweat from his nose before unbuttoning his trench coat. “I just explained Mye leaves on impulse, Sanderson. I’ll answer after settling down. I’m sure Peters already checked my messages.”

  “It’s information Peters cross-referenced in our database after your wonderful encounter yesterday.” A long groan accented Sanderson’s irritation. “Perhaps I’ll keep a tiger in my office, Travis. Good incentive if you piss me off.”

  “I’ll kill them, Sanderson,” Travis promised, rounding the corner to another intersection. “Maybe skin them afterward as a momento.”

  Sanderson chuckled. “Your enthusiasm’s contagious, agent—but you’re with Mye today. Peters worked all night calibrating your equipment, so he’s sleeping.”

  “Peters doesn’t sleep,” Travis objected, clenching his teeth. “He pulls all-nighters in wide stretches, Sanderson.”

  “I used a sedative when I visited,” Sanderson said. “Fucker’s resilient. Almost incapacitated me with a sleeper hold.”

  Travis snickered, eyes lingering on a flamboyant, flashy teenager huddling with a group of women. “Shame. Maybe science doesn’t trump strength, like Peters believes.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t knife Peters, Travis. Fucker bruised my throat.”

  Travis psyched himself by balling a fist and pulling an arm toward him, hastening his steps. He retained a neutral tone, but resisted the urge to applaud Peters. “I see.”

  “Delightful surprise, though.” Sanderson paused and papers rustled on the other line. “I’m considering adding Peters as a permanent agent, except Mr. Personality’s pissed off every individual he’s paired with. I’m sure you understand the dilemma, Travis.”

  “He hates shifters,” Travis declared. “I doubt Peters would succeed in our organization. He’s fixated on a promotion in the FBI.”

  “One he’s overdue for, but won’t receive. Partnering with you ended Peters’ hope of advancement, according to the director. He’s proposing to switch Peters.”

  Oh man, Peters. You’re screwed, buddy.

  As he rounded another corner, Travis perused the messages on his Blackberry and opened the email attachment from Sanderson. At first, the agent skimmed—until he associated the name on the PDF attachment. Quickly, Travis opened it, grinning at the material offered about Aviere’s brother.

  “Didn’t you listen, Travis?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hazel eyes skimmed more information, groaning when he noticed eight more pages in the PDF file. The Blackberry slipped back in Travis’ pocket once he quit the email application. “But Peters isn’t interested.”

  “He’s being transferred today, Travis. I’m considering assigning him to your cell—establishing our first three man operation. I’m excited to see how Peters will do, considering you’ve shaped up since Mye’s arrival.”

  Sanderson’s news choked Travis, almost suffocating him. The agent rubbed his throat, and backed off when Limere stopped in a miniature park and shielded his face from the sun. Travis swallowed twice before closing the phone against his face in the middle of Sanderson’s explanation, shuddering not from cold, but dismay at Sanderson’s announcement.

  Sanderson, the day I escape your organization, I’ll lodge a bullet in your skull. I don’t know which sentence is worse—working with Mye alone, or being stuck with Peters and Mye fighting all the time.

  He imagined Mye’s sarcastic voice regarding Peters as Agent Neuro and buried his face in his hands, resting on a wooden park bench near Limere. Travis scowled at the discolored newspaper lying next to him and inhaled hazelnut creamer from the spilled coffee.

  The agent withheld expletives when he expanded the newspaper and examined the drab articles, fending off murmured whispers imploring him to feed his caffeine addiction.

  Jesus Christ, it’s been seventy-two hours since I’ve assassinated someone and I’m getting antsy.

  Travis flipped his wrist and checked his watch for the fifth time in forty-five minutes, eyes glazing at the sports section of his borrowed newspaper. After sneaking glances around him, the agent folded the newspaper and set it beside him, cloaking his presence before being noticed again.

  He pitched forward, propping his pointy chin against his palms to examine the crowd perusing the park. A youthful mother and two toddlers entertained the agent for some time, playing soccer with the giggling woman. Travis knew she allowed the children their victory, and they sat on a blanket, savoring the picnic lunch their mother unpacked for them.

  I wonder how old—hmm.

  Hazel eyes strayed to a wafty, alluring redhead with milk chocolate skin strolling through the park, using a frilly pink parasol to block the harsh sunlight. She twisted her head and paused, leaning forward before ending her call. A French manicured finger raised and her voice lifted before pinching her bottom lip.

  Travis reached in his pocket and retrieved the Blackberry, snapping a picture of the peculiar woman
as she slid next to Limere on the bench. Flipping between staring at the two figures and his phone, Travis emailed Peters and included the picture attachment.

  Sanderson, I’d prefer a kill order over investigating shit. Maybe I’ve become soft since I quit the homicide unit, but it’s satisfying to watch criminals fall. It’d be smoother if Mye cooperated with me, but Dalara’s questionable behavior isn’t her fault.

  He trailed his hand along the splintery wood to snatch the wrinkled newspaper again, but shoved it away, grimacing at the notion of another boring article. A low voice spoke next to the figures and Travis surmised it as Limere, explaining his plight to the woman. As she leaned against the bench, Travis noticed her black, bushy eyebrows, contrasting with the curly, cherry, and golden-blonde highlights. Cracking his back, the agent frowned and swore Jemina met Limere at the park.

  They bear similar features, Lyssa, but unless she’s important, my focus is solving this case. I can’t afford to let Sanderson kill Peters. God help me, Lyssa—when did I become reliant on a hellcat and your neurotic brother, sweetheart?

  Travis pressed two fingers to his ear and grunted when Peters moaned. He shifted positions and played with the Motorola, praying for signal to browse through a news site while eavesdropping on Limere and his guest. The visitor’s snotty tone amused the agent, and he imagined Limere’s frustration when the older male rose from the bench.

  “Look, Evelyn—I explained everything on the phone. Mye’s not listening to anyone and working for Lowell Sanderson, for Christ’s sake.”

  Moron. Why mention him in broad daylight, Dalara?!

  The progress bar of Travis’ browser moved at a snail’s pace, bringing up letters and a picture a minute later. From the corner of his eye, Travis caught Evelyn’s lip twitch before puckering her garnet-colored lips.

  Silence grew between the figures, but she pointed her closed parasol at Limere, rubbing against the lacy fabric at the end of the cloth.

  “Enough, Limere. Don’t raise your voice or demand orders. I don’t have to save your dear sister, considering the sentence against her.”

  Oh lord, she even sounds like Rodriguez, Travis thought, flexing his wrists. Jesus, she’s a relative, isn’t she?

  The pusher jammed his hands down his pockets, squinting hard at Evelyn. “You know I wouldn’t meet you if someone else could assist me. But Mye’s dealing with felony charges she didn’t commit. We lost our backing—”

  “Lil’ Vinny’s being dealt with, Limere.” Evelyn picked under her fingernails and Travis sensed the human’s boredom. “Jem and I collaborated on safeguarding your sister, despite my reservations. I seldom listen to Jem’s advice, except for two things: information and investing my money. She’s brilliant at both.”

  “Evelyn, I hate asking for favors,” Limere said, sliding an enormous envelope out of his back pocket. “But I’ll pay you for Sis to meet Louis Armandi. Our family isn’t icing the hierarchy and someone’s ordered a contract on my sister.”

  Lyssa, where’s Dalara getting all the cash?

  Travis tsked when Evelyn removed the money, flipping through the bundle of cash. Dark eyes brightened when she held a one hundred dollar bill against the sunlight, convinced of its authenticity.

  Jesus, Dalara’s companion’s inspecting the cash like a woman eying a sexy stripper.

  “Limere, desperation’s an ugly cologne. However, I’m surprised you’re not relying on other sources.” The bribe disappeared inside the woman’s shiny latex purse, matching her knee-length dress. “The Black Widow’s better for this arrangement. My cousin loves money—equal to her relationship, of course.”

  The news article stopped being significant at Evelyn's announcement. Travis pressed a button and placed the Motorola in sleep mode, gawking at the fluctuating darkness in Limere’s silver aura. The energy correlated with the mage’s movements—shuffling feet and muttered responses.

  I knew it, Lyssa—she’s related to Rodriguez. Dalara’s meeting the Vulture.

  “But enough excuses. Go see Black Widow for your arrangement.”

  “I’ve been on Jem’s shit list for years,” Limere admitted. “I tried negotiating this morning, but Jem threw china across the hallway. Then she busted the leather couch throwing it down the stairs as I fled for dear life.”

  Travis coughed into his hand while Evelyn Rodriguez sniggered, covering her mouth. “I understand, but she’d be cross to know you’re buying her friend’s protection. I denied assisting so Mye could cleanse her tarnished family name on her own.”

  Mye’s precious Underground’s playing with her, Lyssa. These allies Mye relies on do nothing and cast her aside, like cannon fodder.

  “Then return my money,” Limere demanded. “If you won’t help—”

  “I’m thinking.” The finality to Evelyn’s tone stopped Limere’s protests as she raised a finger. “I’m not thrilled about going behind Mye’s back after discussing the situation with her friends. Joe and Jem agreed they enabled your sister’s behavior for too long. While effective, she’s hidden behind everyone else, including you and your brother.”

  “My brother’s not involved,” Limere objected. “He—”

  “Maurice will,” Evelyn said, drawling out her last word. “Eventually.”

  “Evelyn, I’m proposing a meeting with Louis Armandi, not to perform Mye’s job.”

  Travis straightened when Limere’s aura increased and darkened, silver dissolving in seconds. The mages’ eyes remained their vibrant icy shade, but he noticed Evelyn’s confident smirk fading at Limere’s shifting attitude.

  “Mye’s capable of apprehending Vinny McSeeten and I’ve put faith in my younger sister. True, we enabled her, but Sis knows her place.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Evelyn responded, nibbling a fingernail in thought. “Perhaps this arrangement is necessary. You established a compelling reason.”

  “Exactly. Now, when can Sis meet Louis Armandi?”

  “Tonight,” she said, drawling out the single word. “The Tethered Mistress. Don’t be late—Armandi frowns upon tardiness.”

  Lyssa, it’s almost like a crime movie, Travis thought, reaching for the Blackberry. We’re part of a bigger conspiracy—something we’re incapable of escaping. But Mye’s baggage isn’t ours. However, to get anywhere, I need to understand how Mye’s precious Underground functions.

  Frantic, the agent typed the names, listening as their tones lowered in conversation. Travis made notations about the exchange for their report and speculated on Mye’s innocence. He wanted to believe Mye’s convincing words—hoped she wouldn’t play on his sympathetic nature—but Travis suspected Sanderson played her like Peters and himself.

  I can’t blame Dalara and Maurice for defending their sister, Lyssa. Charm City’s mentality leaves no room for failure. Kill, or be killed. Mye’s accepted this grueling reality long before me.

  “Evelyn, one sec,” Limere said, pressing a red LG Touch to his ear. Darkness radiated from the lanky mage and silver ebbed as Limere stepped back, letting out a resigned sigh. “Sis, calm down, for god’s sake! Stop panicking and drive!”

  Mye, you attract trouble by breathing, I swear.

  The conversation ebbed and the agent’s left eye twitched as he slammed his coarse fingers against the large buttons on the Motorola, breath caught in his throat at the vibration. The Blackberry dropped in Travis’ pocket and he jogged away, murmuring when Aviere answered on the third ring.

  Before she spoke, gunshots rang on the other line.

  Travis glanced behind him and found Limere had disappeared. Evelyn gaped and growled, pointing her parasol at Travis. “You’re Mye’s rogue agent, aren’t you? Do something and stop following Limere. Sanderson didn’t hire you for show.”

  Another gunshot echoed through the phone and Travis ended the call, storming away from Evelyn Rodriguez’s patronizing stare. He shuffled his feet and huffed, blowing warm air from his flaring nostrils. “Peters… if you’re awake, answer me damn it!”<
br />
  A groggy groan answered before a deep yawn, punctuating Peters’ drowsiness. “Ugh—think so. Kinda—”

  “Find Mye. Gunfire echoed through her cell phone.”

  “I swear, that woman’s trouble,” Peters slurred. “But gimme a sec.”

  Loud thumping and rustling noises sounded through the earpiece and Travis weaved through children, kicking a soccer ball away from his shuffling feet. A young boy cried as the ball landed in a puddle and Travis cupped a hand to his ear. “Peters, hurry…”

  “Travis, you need sleep. Mye’s at Rodriguez’s townhouse.”

  He stopped, almost crashing into a wide, fat tree. “What?”

  “Mye’s at Rodriguez’s townhouse,” Peters repeated, stressing each word. “How did gunfire—”

  “Thank god.”

  Travis clasped the collar around his neck, willing his pounding heartbeat to regulate. Eyes darted to various pedestrians staring at him, then narrowed when a young blonde girl pointed at him.

  When the girl scampered away, Travis resumed walking toward the street, remembering the reason he summoned Peters.

  “Peters, investigate a place called the Tethered Mistress. Dalara met with the Vulture and scheduled a meeting this evening.”

  “Give me a few,” Peters grumbled.

  “I know about the tranquilizer dart. Sanderson mentioned when he called, demanding a report on his desk ASAP.”

  “I worked on it, but the asshole—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Travis said, sharper than intended. “Also, I need to know about someone—Louis Armandi.”

  “Stop demanding shit and hold on, Keith!”

  Travis blinked, but paused and listened to Peters shuffling around his area. A chair squeaked in the background before something deflated.

  “You said Tethered Mistress, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. I finished my half of Sanderson’s report and retrieved the information you needed. It’ll be attached when I email. The director's already received his.”