Turbulence: Book One in The Renegades Saga

by E. M. Whittaker

  The silver collar and ruffled tie seemed to tighten around Travis’ neck. “Ah—”

  “I overheard the recording.” Aviere’s iPhone waggled in Joe’s meaty hand. “Other than justified anger, you didn’t stop Vi. You complimented her. Course, you didn’t realize she fought against shock, but I understand her position. Self-defense.”

  Travis held out his palm. “I need Mye’s phone for evidence, Randolph.”

  “You see yourself in Aviere, don’t you?”

  The unbridled feelings nagged the back of Travis’ mind. “Maybe. But hand me the goddamn phone.”

  “She’s an agent, Travis. Her doctor handed it over to charge her cell.” Joe dropped Aviere’s phone in Travis’ waiting hand. “But meet with the doctor before meeting Louis Armandi. They’re eager to meet you.”

  “Jesus. I prefer some distance, Randolph. Getting close to Mye—it’s dangerous.”

  A loud belch escaped Joe’s lips, and he leaned close to Travis. The agent backed away, but Joe invaded his personal space. “Yeah, I know. We assumed the same thing. Jem hated Aviere for years. Vi hated Gunther the first two years he tried courting her.”

  “And you?” Travis asked, creeping toward the hallway.

  “I took Vi joyriding in her mom’s Saleen 6 until Myra reported the car stolen.”

  Travis paused, breath snagged in his throat as a croak escaped his lips. “What?”

  “Oh yeah.” A generous grin plastered the mechanic’s face. “Four hours of driving—two spent avoiding the cops. I couldn’t get Vi to talk until she cheered—after I zoomed through I-695 at 120 miles an hour. Once we hit it off, she bailed me out of jail. But it was worth the experience. Best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “You people are crazy.”

  “That’s why you fit together, Travis. But if you hated Vi, you’d be home, not waiting outside Vi’s hospital room.”

  For the second time in a week, Travis broke the button off the collared shirt. “Ten mile radius, Randolph. It’s beeped twice and I’m fond of my head.”

  “Fair enough. But there’s another problem.” Sienna eyes squinted as Joe straightened his stance. “There’s some jackass in sunglasses trying to break into Vi’s room, ranting about how she’s the reason he’s on house arrest from Sanderson.”

  Peters, what the hell are you doing!? You claimed you just left your house!

  Travis held his breath and withdrew into a pleasurable fantasy, soothed by an imaginary touch from Lyssa’s tanned hand. Lavender and flowery perfume heightened his senses until he took steady breaths, scowling at Joe. He willed the killer persona to stay dormant, admonishing himself for targeting Peters as a criminal.

  Lyssa, I know Peters is scared and desperate, but I’m strangling him if he tries assassinating Mye. Goddamn idiot. I can’t save him from all Mye’s supporters.

  The Desert Eagle nestled like a glove in Travis’ hand and he followed Joe down the corridor. Travis cleared his parched throat as he considered the best approach to control his passionate, furious partner, restraining against instinct to plant a bullet between Peters’ eyes. Shooting Peters wouldn’t solve Travis’ troubles, but the killer inside cackled and his blood warmed.

  Travis stomped one foot on the linoleum floor and hazel eyes brightened, concentrating on magical residues to track Peters’ aura.

  Three floors later, Travis gawked at the fifteen people loitering outside Aviere’s hospital door when the elevator opened.

  The agent gripped his handgun while the other fiddled with the knot in his tie. As the navy cloth loosened, Travis yanked it free and jammed the tie inside his jacket. He inspected every new face until spotting Aviere’s opened door, nudged open by half an inch.

  Jesus, Mye’s benefactors. I’m losing count and I don’t see Peters. Where—

  The closing elevator doors distracted Travis’ thought, and he rushed through the entrance, striving to find the familiar buzzcut agent. He saw Evelyn Rodriguez arguing with Jemina, but blocked their conversation. Two men dressed in fedoras and suits lurked further down the passageway, chatting with the blond surfer boy Travis had spotted at Joe’s automobile shop. Behind the long-haired surfer boy stood several guys, all wearing matching greasy jeans, but sported different color cotton shirts.

  Hazel eyes clashed with one of them, a dark earthy male sporting a black do-rag and rounded spectacles on his massive frame. Instead of resentment, Travis scanned the gray aura and blinked when it simmered.

  “Yo, agent man.”

  A scrawny hand flapped in Travis’ peripheral vision and he faced Limere, noting his haggard expression. Lines played under icy blue eyes while the wiry man jammed his hands inside his pockets. As Limere slouched, Travis glanced around the hallway, noting the different faces, tones, and demeanors of all Aviere’s guests.

  When Limere darted into another room, Travis followed. After he entered, the door locked behind him.

  “Nice to see you survived,” Limere said, relaxing on a clean twin-sized bed. “Maybe you can explain to the doc about Sis’ bullet wound.”

  “I’m trying to find someone else.”

  “The human’s contained for now,” Limere reassured him. “This comes first. I’m curious, myself. But I’m doing Reese’s job since he’s on bedrest till Monday.”

  “Well, I hope this is solved by Monday, Dalara. We’re bordering on forty-six hours left, and that is too close for comfort.”

  A black, cushioned chair grabbed Travis’ attention, and he sat, staring at two men guarding the door. One brushed his black goatee and used calculative indigo eyes to assess Travis’ disposition, straightening the dark suit identical to Travis’ uniform. The other shook dark brown hair off his shoulders and lowered his spectacles, glimpsing the chart resting under one arm.

  The doctor’s obvious, but the towering guy’s my priority. Travis raised his hat and considered the man again, noting the straightened demeanor and cologne wafting through the air. Cologne? Smells like Maurice’s, and he’s a polished man. I wonder…

  “Who’s the guy standing with the doctor?” Travis demanded, gaze drifting to the hulking man. “Another one of Mye’s colleagues?”

  The dark-haired man chuckled and rubbed his chin. “You must be the rogue Sanderson attached Mye to. Cheeky fellow, aren’t you?”

  Travis’ dry hand reached for his weapon. “I’ve passed my quota of Mye’s associates threatening me. Four in one week’s ridiculous.”

  “I can respect that. At ease, agent. My subordinates have the halls protected and Mye’s comfortable enough.”

  Travis’ eyes dimmed before glaring at Limere. “Tall, dark and brooding’s confident, isn’t he?”

  “Louis Armandi’s a powerful name, agent man. But stop complaining and start talking. The Underboss didn’t have to visit Sis, you know.”

  So, this man is Louis Armandi, Travis mused, thumbing his chin. Didn’t imagine him as Native American mixed with the bloody Hulk. No wonder he’s famous—I’m sure women fawn over him.

  The agent shifted in the chair and caressed his neck, eyes fastened at the figures standing by the door. “I assumed the Underground avoided the authorities.”

  Armandi nodded. “Yes, but you’re an exception. In fact, you intrigue me. You allowed a high-profile poisoner to conduct a killing without Sanderson’s authorization. Usually, orders pass through the chain of command. But then, I don’t need to reiterate military terms, do I?”

  “Same as the precinct,” Travis agreed. “But Aravice shot Mye. Not sure how everything occurred, but Rutherford’s brain wasn’t intact when I ran inside.” Tired hazel eyes fluttered to ward away fatigue. “She said you’d be upset, but wanted to tell you in person. I expect after the threats of rape, she decided his death sentence.”

  Beside Travis, Limere tensed and gripped the blanket. “Yeah, that’d do it. Not fond of those people, myself.”

  “I’m assuming personal history, but I don’t ask those questions,” Travis continued. “But a killer displ
ays a certain look and turns off emotions, hindering the process. It’s hard to explain, but Mye possessed the face of a woman who’d suffered enough. After deadened eyes surface, it’s best not to intervene. They’ll come back after the situation ends.”

  “While I’m grateful Aviere eliminated Aravice, she should’ve—”

  “Armandi, Mye already feels like she’s a burden. Why solidify her fears by interfering?” Travis crossed his arms and resisted ignoring the businessman, eyebrows furrowed together as he subdued the nausea and exhaustion. “She’s coddled enough by everyone else. Hell, I can’t understand Sanderson’s fascination with her. A calculative, cold-blooded agent who sends agents to war is concerned over Mye’s well-being.”

  The doctor cleared his throat and tapped a pen against the clipboard. “Sanderson’s responsible for Aviere’s condition—the sole mistake in Sanderson’s career. However, not many know, so it’d look bad if Sanderson allowed Aviere to die. Since Sanderson captured Aviere, he’ll exploit her until her usefulness ends. My only worry is exploiting her condition.” Glossy black Danko shoes clomped on the floor as the doctor strolled to Travis’ seat. “Raymond Lemont.”

  Travis shook the doctor’s outstretched hand. “Finally, someone who doesn’t threaten me when introducing themselves. What’s Mye's condition?”

  “A series of difficulties. I call them complications because it’s an accurate statement.” Papers flipped behind the clipboard as Raymond showed Travis a diagram. “The bullet passed through this muscle here.” The pen circled a professional term inside the diagram. “Splintered some bone inside the leg, which caused hypovolemic shock. While I’m recommending physical therapy and a few days bedrest, Aviere disagreed and ordered my son to acquire an elixir. But she needs time to heal, even with the rejuvenating liquid.”

  “An elixir cures physical wounds,” Travis said. “If Mye—”

  “It won’t restore lost muscle tone or solve her blood condition.”

  “Blood condition.” The phrase rolled off Travis’ tongue, and he scratched his neck until the flesh heated. “Never heard Mye mention it. But I’ve only known her four days.”

  “Oh dear. I was afraid of this.” Raymond scribbled notes across the report in elegant handwriting. “You’d find out soon enough.”

  “Isn’t it a HIPAA violation to discuss a patient’s condition?”

  “All parties already know,” the doctor explained. “Armandi’s a family friend, and Limere’s my son.”

  Travis’ withering gaze returned to Limere. “Your family drama—”

  “Long as Sis takes care of herself, it’s a need-to-know basis.”

  Need to know, my ass. Blood pumped harder against Travis’ temple and neck. Mye’s going to get me killed. Medical conditions are the first things addressed with new partners in the force—least, I tried to, anyway. But Mye’s making things difficult, Lyssa.

  Travis tightened his lips in a thin line before clenching a fist. “Mye’s dangerous enough without ‘need to know’ condition, Dalara. I’ve tolerated quite a bit this week, especially Mye’s racing. And why does Mye need an elixir if shifters regenerate?”

  “Sis can’t. It's why we’re upset about her escapades.”

  Great. I counted on regeneration. In immediate situations, shifters start right away, but Mye—

  “Besides, Sis needed to know whose side you’re on, agent man. If the wrong party hears, Sis could be locked in a lab or dissected. It’s not contagious, but enough to complicate Sis’ life. But then, you witnessed first hand, if I recall.”

  Travis almost disagreed until he relived their confrontation in the interrogation room. “Yeah. Nasty shit, being stabbed with claws. The serum came in handy.”

  “Aviere’s special.” More papers rustled from Raymond’s clipboard. “Just make sure she’s taking her serum daily. Only thing you’ll need to remember. Describing the complexities may cause more resentment.”

  “Omitting vital information—”

  “Aviere will explain when she’s ready, Agent Travis. Don’t demand information. You’re both considering the other’s strengths and weaknesses while establishing trust. But finding out in near-death situations isn’t acceptable, either.” Raymond raised a piece of paper from the clipboard and passed it to Travis. “But now that you’re informed, you’re responsible for reminding Aviere about her appointments. If she can’t see me, another colleague inside the Renegades’ compound is familiar with Aviere’s condition. I’ll go ahead and transfer her records, but inform me if anything changes.”

  “You’d think with a stable support system, Mye wouldn’t be so reckless,” Travis mused. “I mean, Jesus Christ… she’s practically as famous as the Underboss.”

  “Aviere tries too hard,” Armandi replied. “After hubby dearest disappeared, she’s shouldered everything by herself. Rodriguez doesn’t help matters, but it eats away at her. Part of me thinks Aviere’s trying to summon Gunther with negative attention. But like her mother, the strategy falls shy of its mark.”

  For someone I’ve known five minutes, Armandi’s on point.

  Various flashbacks played in Travis’ mind, summoning the diverse facades he’d witnessed. Each scene had its merits, but the most acute memories with Aviere were in Sanderson’s office and inside her shop, where she called him on his behavior. Always, despite scolding and Aviere’s patronizing nature, a sliver of vulnerability surfaced, like cracks inside a mask.

  Mye’s lack of fear and surefire enthusiasm comes from someone, but who? She fears stupid things… things considered trivial. But the explanation—the condition she has—it makes more sense.

  The last week passed with a blur, but the conversations near Sanderson’s office tugged at Travis. Aviere’s sentences, the way she proclaimed Sanderson used her—how she demanded answers from him—everything surfacing encompassed her life’s dream, one only few people understood.

  Travis rose and slid the chair against the wall. “Armandi, why contact Mye in a hospital ward?”

  “Aviere’s extraordinary.” For the first time since their discussion, Armandi’s eyes softened. “I sponsored Myra, and she was a dear friend. Naturally, I knew her children. But when word circulated about Harrow Aravice and Aviere Mye, I became curious. Aravice was an A-rank assassin, while Aviere’s only a B-rank. She’d rank higher if more prolific, of course.”

  Sanderson played Mye well. I didn’t realize she was capable of taking down A-ranks.

  “Of course, she wasn’t unscathed,” Armandi went on, glancing at a silver smart phone. “But considering Aviere’s psychological state and current circumstances—”

  “Let her recover.” The words spilled out before Travis stopped himself. “I’ll take her to meet you, if nothing else. But meeting Mye after she murdered a man? I’m sure she’s taking it hard.”

  The door creaked, and the doctor stepped out with Limere following behind him. Travis waited they retreated before proceeding.

  “I didn’t expect Mye to deal with Aravice. In fact, I said to pick the lock, not charge inside. She waited until I headed to the bedrooms before moving inside that bloody bathroom. However, there’s a recording on the iPhone of Rutherford’s last words.”

  “And what were they, Agent Travis?”

  “Rutherford ordered Mye to take Aravice out.” Travis retrieved Aviere’s silver-hilted gun and stroked the metal. “I assume Aravice silenced Rutherford, because there’s quite a few bullet shots. His wife and children were slaughtered. Aravice murdered the kids in bed.”

  “I’ll see Rutherford and his family are properly buried,” Armandi promised. “Thank you for supporting Aviere and notifying me of Rutherford’s orders. There’s no need to question her further.”

  Louis Armandi seems reasonable enough, but there’s a catch, Travis thought as Armandi grabbed a business card from his leather wallet. He’s a businessman. They’re cutthroat creatures. Perfect cover for an Underboss.

  “When Aviere recovers and Raymond releases her, b
ring her to this address. It’s for your reference—Aviere’s aware of where the Tethered Mistress is.”

  Travis accepted the card and glanced at the address and phone number. “And how do I know you won’t hire your own assassin?”

  “I could. No one would oppose me. However, I need Aviere, like everyone else.” Armandi adjusted the black bow tie on his neck. “I hate saying that, but I can’t disclose more until I contact Aviere. I’d like her to decide if she’ll accept my sponsorship.”

  “Mye will. She’s bitched about it since Sanderson assigned her our mission. Mentions needing repairs like it’s an everyday thing.” The notion caused Travis’ face to flush and nausea crept in his belly. “She’ll make you good money.”

  “It’s not the entire reason. But again, it’s Aviere’s choice, not mine.”

  “I’ll escort her. But not till Mye’s walking again.”

  “I expect nothing less.”

  Boisterous yelling carried from the hallway and Travis sighed, brushing past Armandi. By the time Travis exited the room, he tuned out the hostile crowd, Rodriguez’s demands, and varied concerned tones. The brightness surrounding Peters’ navy-blue aura distressed Travis and his pulse accelerated when he entered Aviere’s suite.

  What in—Jesus Christ, Shawn’s about to snap!

  As Travis shut Aviere’s door, the safety clicked, and Shawn Peters pointed his pistol at Aviere Mye’s darkened eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I swear to Christ, never a moment’s peace with these two goddamn buffoons, Gunther.

  Aviere rubbed sleep from her eyes and yawned, waiting for blurry vision to sharpen and reveal her visitor. Spicy perfume mingled with soft laundry detergent, but Aviere’s eyes flattened after setting her glasses over her nose. Her right thigh throbbed, despite the sedative administered through the IV.

  From the entrance, the door locked and a gleam of silver caught Aviere’s eye.

  It’s almost like an action film, except I’m always the target. I’ll never take those spy movies for granted again.