by Elle Gray
Copyright © 2021 by Elle Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Note From Elle Gray
Also by Elle Gray
Prologue
Cascadia Crest Condominium Community; Belltown District, Seattle
Brian rummaged through his cabinets looking for something to munch on, dismayed at only finding a half-eaten bag of stale Doritos and some Twizzlers that were hard as a rock. There was a little bit of food in the refrigerator, but he couldn’t be bothered. Brian didn’t want to spend the time needed to make something to eat—he wanted something quick and convenient. He glanced at his watch; it was just after ten. Too late for delivery from his normal spots.
With a sigh, Brian walked back into his bedroom and put on some shoes. After that, he slipped on his hoodie and walked out to the living room. He stopped by his workstation and looked down at his computer. Brian hit a few keys to keep the program running while he was gone, hoping it would find a weakness in the security of the site he was trying to crack while he was out. He grabbed his wallet and keys, then went to the door and paused with his hand on the knob.
Brian drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten as he steeled himself. His social anxiety and nearly crippling sense of paranoia made going outside difficult. Almost impossible. He hated going outside. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he had whatever he needed delivered. But he’d been working with a therapist—remotely, of course—and had made some progress on that front. Going outside was still a chore, but it didn’t feel as impossible as scaling Everest anymore.
He pulled his hood up walked out and locked the door behind him, then headed for his car. The night was dark. A thick blanket of clouds obscured the moon and a cool wind blew. Scraps of paper and leaves skittered along the ground, making a dry, scratchy sound that sent a chill along Brian’s spine. He quickened his pace and got to his car, throwing himself in and locking the doors as quickly as he could.
Closing his eyes and giving himself a five-count to settle his nerves, Brian started the car and pulled out of his space. He put the car in gear and drove out of the complex’s parking lot, pausing only to wait for the gate to open. He headed toward a part of Belltown he knew to be less crowded at that time of night. Baby steps. If he could ever get himself comfortable being around a smaller crowd of people, he could perhaps work his way up to larger groups.
Brian wasn’t sure that would actually happen in his lifetime, but he was willing to give it a shot. For years, he’d lived inside the four walls of his apartment, only connected to the outside world through the Internet. Everything he did—work, shopping, communicating with others—was all done through his computer. Everything Brian needed, he could have delivered. Or hire somebody to get it for him. He made good money doing what he did, so he could afford it. And for a long time, he liked it that way. For years, he’d been fine with never seeing another human face in his life.
Truthfully, Brian didn’t know how he’d gotten that way. There wasn’t some traumatic inciting event that made him withdraw from the world. He just pulled back and as he did, he found he needed genuine human connection less and less. But then his paranoia started to grow. It was like black mold in the walls of a house: it started off with one small patch, innocuous enough, and in the blink of an eye it grew relentlessly outward, taking over everything and rotting it from the inside before he even realized it was there.
Brian became convinced he was the target of global conspiracies. He was positive the local police, as well as the Feds, were watching his every move. He swept his apartment for bugs at least once a day and had rigged his condo with surveillance cameras. His therapist had shown him how unnecessary it was, though. Dr. Milburne had simply pointed to the fact that Brian was home all the time, and there was no possible way anybody could have broken in and planted bugs or cameras.
That was the first real breakthrough for Brian. It seemed so silly and like such a small thing, but getting him to accept even that small of a piece of reality had a cascading effect on him. A year ago, he never would have ventured beyond his front door—not even for late-night snacks. But there he was, pulling to a stop along a street that was busier than he’d expected, but one he hoped he’d be able to navigate with minimal fuss. Hoped being the key word.
Brian knew he might not even be to the point where he’d even be taking these baby steps if not for Veronica Arrington. It wasn’t until she came into his life that he’d even considered wanting something more. She just had a light about her that chased away the shadows inside of him. She’d found him and hired him to do a job, and they’d spent a great many hours talking to one another—over the computer first, of course. But then she began coming over to his place and they would talk even more.
Like Dr. Milburne, Veronica had a common-sense way of making him see things. She never judged or made him feel strange in any way. She simply talked to him like a human being. He appreciated all she’d done for him, and it still hurt him deeply to know that she was dead. She was a good friend. Probably the best friend he’d ever had. It hurt him even more to know there was nothing he could do about it. He just hoped her husband didn’t give up and was able to do what he couldn’t—find the killers and deal with them. Harshly. Brian wanted them to pay for what they’d done. Veronica deserved justice.
Brian gave himself a couple of minutes to relax and ready himself before getting out of the car. But when he did, he pulled his hood down lower and stuffed his hands in the front pouch. He walked along the sidewalk, giving everybody he passed a wide berth. Brian kept his head down, not daring to make eye contact with anybody. He wasn’t ready for that kind of step just yet.
“Small steps,” he mumbled to himself, so low that he couldn’t even hear the words. “Small steps.”
Brian slipped into the small corner store he usually went to when he worked up the nerve to leave his condo. Still keeping his head down, he grabbed a small hand basket and walked through the aisle briskly and with a purpose. He’d already made a mental list of what he wanted on the way to minimize time spent away from home and just grabbed them as he went. A bag of ranch Doritos, a bag of Cheetos, half a dozen bags of Reese’s Pieces, two six-packs of Diet Pepsi, and then he went to the hot counter and pulled out five pizza roll-ups and put them into his basket.
Brian knew he shouldn’t be stuffing his face like t
hat, but he was stressed out. And when he was stressed out, he stuffed his face. It was a vicious cycle, one he hadn’t come close to breaking. Maybe once he mastered leaving home, he’d work on that with Dr. Milburne. Brian took his purchases to the counter and paid for them without ever looking the cashier in the eye. He tried but couldn’t quite manage it. Next time.
He grabbed his bag and headed back down the sidewalk toward his car. As he did though, he noticed a man dressed from head to toe in black leaning against his passenger’s side door. When the man noticed Brian, he stood up. Brian drew a sharp breath. His heart started to race and a cold, clammy feeling washed over his body. The man’s eyes were locked on his. Brian felt like a butterfly pinned to a board.
The man in black was big, but moved gracefully; he was obviously athletic in a way Brian had never been. He had short, cropped hair, a square jaw, and a hardness in his eyes that told Brian the man was a trained killer and was probably there to kill him. Brian swallowed hard and managed to turn around and get moving again. But if he could get back to the store, back to where it was light and there were people, he thought he’d be safe. But the moment he turned around, he saw another man step into his field of vision.
Another tall, muscular man in black, with that same steely hardness in his eyes.
Brian gasped. He knew he was right. Dr. Milburne had almost convinced him it was all in his head. That he really wasn’t the target of some conspiracy. But the fact that a kill squad had come for him proved to Brian that he’d been right all along. He knew it. But he wasn’t going to stand there and gloat. Not when two trained killers were bearing down on him. Brian dropped his bag of snacks and darted between a pair of cars and out into the street.
A car swerved and locked up its brakes, the tires squealing as it tried to avoid him. Brian ran on heedlessly, desperate to get away from the men looking to kill him. He bolted into a park across the street from where he parked and cut down a dark path. His heart hammering a staccato rhythm in his chest, Brian ducked behind a large tree and peeked around the thick trunk. The two men in black were gone. Vanished. Like they’d never been there.
He scanned the area around him but saw nothing and he wondered if he’d imagined it all. If Dr. Milburne was right after all and his imagination was getting the best of him. He thought back to something she’d said about his mind working overtime in times of great stress. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a hallucination. He hadn’t had one in a long time. Not since he started working with her. He’d learned to get the worst of his issues under control. More or less.
The tension in his shoulders had just started to ease when he heard the snap of a twig and the soft footstep in the dirt behind him. Brian’s eyes widened. His heart felt like it was about to stop dead in his chest.
A hand slipped around him from behind and clamped down hard over his mouth.
One
Wilson Brothers Roadhouse; Fremont District, Downtown Seattle
“It sucks. I hate that she’s gone,” Blake says.
I take a sip of my beer and nod. “I know you do. And I hate it for you.”
Blake shakes her head, clearly fighting back her emotions. She takes a drink of her iced tea and the glass trembles in her hand. She called yesterday and wanted to get together for lunch, and we decided on burgers and fries. She’s just told me about everything that happened with her last case: her sister coming back from the dead, and her dismantling of the shadowy group known as the Thirteen—a group responsible for the murders of three sitting Supreme Court Justices, among many others.
The Thirteen’s goal was to manipulate politics and business to pull in more money into their personal coffers. It was little more than good, old-fashioned greed. To achieve the maximum value they sought, they placed Congressmen, Senators, and Supreme Court Justices who were beholden to them in positions of power and influence. Their lackeys would then draft and pass legislation that benefitted the members of their little secret society, and the SCOTUS would be there to backstop any attempts to nullify the bills. With the three Justices the Thirteen placed, it gave them an ironclad majority.
It was a neat plan that apparently had worked for years, if not decades. But Blake found them and took them apart. The revelation sent shockwaves across the entire country. Sitting Congressmen and Senators were arrested. All three Justices were impeached and removed from the Court. And to top it off, she even nabbed one of the world’s most dangerous and wanted assassins in the bargain. All in all, it was a massive win for her. And she’d be celebrating it like she should be—if not for her baby sister, Kit.
“I just got her back into my life and now she’s gone again,” she says softly. “Gone to who knows where to do who knows what.”
“But at least you know she’s out there,” I point out. “And that she’s going to be looking in on you from time to time. That has to be some sort of comfort.”
“I know it should be, but it’s really not,” she said. “For most of my life, I’ve believed my sister was dead. Or was being forced to work in some horrible sex trafficking ring.”
“Instead, she was forced to work as a spy and assassin.”
Blake gives me a wry grin. “I know how horrible it sounds, but is it wrong that I think that’s somehow better?”
I chuckle softly. “I think being a badass who can take care of herself as opposed to being a victim of something unspeakable is definitely better,” I offer. “But she left to protect you. You crippled the Thirteen but they’re still out there, and because she betrayed them, they’ll be looking for her. She doesn’t want you caught up in it. You know that.”
She blows out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.”
“At least your newfound notoriety buffers you somewhat.”
She smirks at me. “Somewhat. I suppose. But if they really want to nail me, they will.”
I pop a fry into my mouth and chew thoughtfully. I don’t like thinking about the danger Blake is in. She’s shielded somewhat by the fame that comes with breaking a case of the magnitude she did. The Thirteen, or rather what’s left of it, would never dare move on her while the shockwaves of the case she broke open are still reverberating through the entire system. But once the smoke clears and the world and the media move on to the next big thing, that shield will be gone. It’s a thought that worries me to no end.
I’m not sure what I can do to protect her though. Not that she would accept my help anyway. Blake is a proud, stubborn woman. I guess we’re a lot alike that way. It’s probably one of the reasons we’re such good friends. We originally bonded over tragedy, but have grown into something that transcends friendship over the years since then. I’m glad that Blake’s pile of tragedy got a little bit lighter with her kid sister coming back after so many years, but I can still see that same shadow of loss and pain in her eyes I know is in mine.
Katherine, otherwise known as Kit, was abducted the same day their parents were murdered. For almost two full decades, there hadn’t been a peep from her. Knowing Blake as I do, I know she searched relentlessly. She scoured every corner of the Earth she could to find her kid sister. But it all came to nothing. At least until Kit showed up on their aunt’s doorstep out of the blue one night. That touched off the series of events that helped Blake finally take down the Thirteen—with Kit playing no small part in the matter.
“When this settles down, she’s going to come back,” I tell her. “You two are going to grow old and fat together, telling each other war stories from everything you’ve both done in your lives. I promise you that.”
A wan smile touches Blake’s lips. “You can’t promise that. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, let alone a year from now. For all I know, Kit’s going to turn up dead somewhere. The Thirteen might actually get her.”
“You can’t think like that. It’s only going to lead you back to that dark place. And you’ve spent more than enough time there as it is,” I reply. “Kit managed to survive for eighteen
years on her own out there. She’s going to be all right.”
“I really hope you’re right,” she admits with a wavering smile.
“Of course I am. When have I ever not been right?”
Blake laughs and arches an eyebrow at me and some of the tension in the air dissipates. I know she’s worried about Kit. In her place, I would be too. But if even half of what she’s told me her sister has become over the last two decades is true, I would put all my money on her to get through this just fine. I mean, she sounds like a real-life La Femme Nikita. Definitely not somebody I would want to square up with.
As a private investigator of some renown, I’ve been in a few pretty hairy situations myself. I’ve had to rely on the MMA and martial arts training I’ve taken, in addition to my weapons training from my years in the Seattle Police Department, just to keep my head on my shoulders. I’ve gone toe to toe with some very bad people and have come out the other side relatively unscathed. Despite my own track record, if the stories are true, I still wouldn’t want to run into Kit in a dark alley. I can handle myself in a scrap, but Kit sounds like she’s on a whole different level of toughness and skill.
I reach across the table and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She meets my gaze, and I can see a pain so profound it breaks my heart for her. I honestly can’t even imagine what it would be like to be in her position: to have a sibling she thought dead for so many years turn up alive, then have her disappear again. Knowing what Kit’s become has to be even tougher for Blake, somebody who’s dedicated her life to enforcing the law.
