Edge of Retribution

by Jacob Chance

  “Damn it, can we clean it up?” I ask Martin as we continue to struggle in getting a solid image of Parker’s contact, Nicholas.

  “It’s not the image quality, it’s the angle. There’s nothing to clean up.” He diligently works the problem on our end.

  “Did you tell them about last week’s shipment?” Nicholas asks.

  “What? No, no. I didn’t say anything about any of the shipments,” Parker reassures him.

  “But if you were, as you say, injected with some substance and then you wake up, hours later in your own bed, with this cut on your arm.” Nicholas grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in close. “Did you tell them about the last shipment?”

  “I don’t understand.” Parker begins to whimper. “Why would they care about some friend of yours hitching a ride in with a boatload of anonymous girls?”

  “What did he just say?” Martin asks.

  “Shh.” I strain to hear so I don’t miss anything.

  “I thought nobody cares about these people.” Parker sounds desperate. “I don’t understand.”

  “Did you tell them?” Nicholas shouts.

  “About Popov?” Parker blurts out a name I haven’t heard in years. I’m still trying to process what was said when all hell breaks loose.

  “Why would you say his name?” Nicholas’ voice turns sinister.

  The muffled sounds of a brief struggle come over the comms. In the video we see Parker go limp and drop straight down where he’s been standing. Nicholas releases his grip allowing him to fall in a crumpled heap at his feet. He turns in the opposite direction and walks away without revealing his face.

  It’s chaos as one of the civilians notices the growing pool of blood on the ground and the gaping neck wound under Parker’s chin.

  Georgia and the support agents move in, struggling through the mass of terrified, fleeing tourists, but it’s too late. James Parker is dead. The Chechen Nicholas and his men are gone. And if what we just heard is true, Marius Popov is back in the country.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nash

  “I need you to be straight with me Nash.” Karyn sits across from me. We’re in a small, dimly lit conference room at the Boston Field Office in Chelsea, a few miles north of the city. “Did this really just fall into your lap, or is this something more?”

  “Something more?”

  “You’ve got a lot of freedom on your squad,” she suggests without asking.

  “I’ve earned it.”

  “You have, but.” She pushes.

  “Relax Karyn. I put all of that away a long time ago.”

  “So, you’ll be fine if I give this to the task force then, right?” she calls my bluff, so I call hers right back.

  “I said I put it away, but if you prefer the task force.” I push back my chair and begin to rise.

  “Sit down, I’m just making sure,” she insists.

  Now that we’ve both had our turns posturing, it’s time to get to work. “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Karyn leans across the table and speaks quietly. “Because I need you on this and we’ve got to move fast.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You were right to withhold this, for now.” She hands me back the small audio drive I kept for her ears only. “Once we ring that bell there’s no taking it back. If we even mention the possibility of Marius Popov back within our borders.” Karyn shakes her head in disgust. “It becomes a goddamn three ring circus, complete with nationwide alerts and a serious influx of rear echelon, D.C. know it all assholes flying up here and shitting in my backyard.” She pauses and looks me dead in the eyes. “I don’t like anyone shitting in my yard.”

  “Where are we with facial recognition?” I ask wondering if they’ve found anything.

  “Nothing. Like you said the angles are no good. Nash, you need to find this Chechen quick. We need to know if Popov is back and why?” Karyn gets up and walks toward the door.

  “How long do I have?” I ask.

  “Not long at all.”

  “Quick and dirty it is.” I stand and head for the door as well. “What about Zoe? Are you going to tell her?”

  Karyn stops before walking out of the room and turns to me. “At some point soon, I will need to ring that bell.” She ignores my question.

  “Wait. Where are we going?” Martin speaks up from the back seat of the SUV. I’ve been bringing him and Georgia up to speed on where things stand since we left headquarters in Chelsea. They’ve been too busy listening to have noticed where we’re heading, until now.

  “We’re going to see Belfast.” There’s no point in lying. I’m surprised we got this close before either of them realized or said anything.

  “Are you shitting me?” Martin’s not shy about his displeasure.

  “Why?” Georgia gets more to the point. “We don’t need Belfast.”

  “Because we don’t have much time and Belfast can help.”

  “Fucking Belfast.” Martin checks his firearm and places it on his lap. “I hate Belfast.”

  Brennan Collins was born in the 1979 war zone known as Northern Ireland. He was raised on a steady diet of bullets, bombs and blood, by a father who was notorious for several high-profile car bomb assassinations, including a relative of the Royal Family.

  Despite learning at the feet of the old guard, Brennan easily adapted to the ever-changing criminal landscape now dominant within the IRA.

  We met a few years ago when I was loaned out to the ATF on a gun running operation. Brennan was too smart and saw the ATF coming long before any of his competitors. Looking back, I’m fairly certain he had a source within the agency who tipped him off and then he just sat back and calmly watched us pick them off, one by one. In the end, he was the last outlaw standing and made the most of it. He used the skills he learned growing up in Northern Ireland during the most violent time in the history of the IRA, as well as his connections back home on the Emerald Isle to become an extremely dangerous man here in America.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Martin blurts out as we pull along the curb and park. “Belfast is here? Is this his place?”

  “Relax.” I lean up and watch for activity inside Brennan’s new business, a marijuana dispensary. “He opened up about a week ago.”

  “Oh, this is just perfect,” Martin begins to ramble. “This is exactly what’s wrong with this goddamn city. How the fuck does this guy get a license to operate a recreational pot shop? It’s not like the entire city isn’t aware of who this guy is, right? It’s fucking ridiculous. For Christ’s sake, doesn’t anybody else see how ridiculous this is?”

  “I do,” Georgia chimes in.

  “Thank you.” Martin pats her on the shoulder.

  “You should start a Twitter campaign,” Georgia continues. “Maybe organize a protest march.”

  “Shut up.” Martin sits back and checks his window for any signs of activity. “So, what’s the plan here? Should we go knock?”

  “Trust me, he knew we were here before we hit the block.”

  It takes a minute before the front door opens and two rough looking men step out onto the street, checking in both directions.

  “Scally cap is packing, right hip, left shoulder,” Martin calls out.

  “Left ankle, right shoulder on his friend,” Georgia adds.

  “Got ‘em. Watch the nest.” I point out the men holding shotguns currently looking down on us from each end of the building’s roof.

  Brennan Collins steps through the front door and into the late morning sun. He walks aggressively and with purpose, circling around the back of the vehicle like a hawk surveying its prey before the kill. He recognizes me and immediately comes over to my door. “Well hello there, Special Agent Garrison.” His tone is a bit too courteous.

  “How’s it going Belfast?”

  “It’s going.” His smile quickly turns to a scowl when he sees who’s sitting in the backseat. “What can I do for you on this lovely morning?” He knocks
on the back window and presses his middle finger against the glass at Martin.

  “Speaking of lovely.” Brennan notices Georgia sitting beside me and makes his way around the front of the vehicle to her side.

  “Save it, crook.” She shuts him down.

  “Oh, I like this one.” He sticks both of his hands together inside the window. “Cuff me up darling.” He winks at Georgia, his native brogue sounding even thicker. “I can promise ya’ I won’t be resisting.”

  “Wouldn’t matter if you did.” She shoots right back.

  “Marry me.” He sighs, and Georgia lets out a small laugh.

  “Are we done here?” Martin asks from the backseat.

  “Take it easy, lass.” Brennan looks back at him. “The grown folks will be done in a minute.”

  “Enough,” I interrupt before Martin responds. “We need to talk.” Exiting the SUV, I walk around to join him on the sidewalk. “In private.”

  We step off to the side, closer to the front of his shop.

  “What’s going on, Nash?” Now that we’re away from the others, Brennan is serious. “Why the fuck are you and your stooges parking that government wagon in front of my shop?” He’s unhappy about the unannounced visit. “It’s gonna give all me teaheads the willies.”

  “I need your help.” There’s no time for small talk, so I get right to the point. “You heard about that mess over on the Harbor Walk yesterday right?”

  “I did hear something.” He’s cautious.

  “It’s my mess, and I need information.”

  “Maybe you don’t see the sign back there above the front door, or maybe you don’t read so well Nash, but I’m not in the business of minding other people’s business.”

  “I need this.” I step closer. “You owe me.”

  Brennan is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head in disgust. “What kind of information?”

  “There’s a Chechen running girls in and out of the area. He’s a ghost. I need a name and I’ll take anything else you can get me - fast.”

  “Sounds important.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Good point. Give me twenty-four hours.”

  We walk back to the SUV and Brennan’s friendly demeanor returns as he steps over to Georgia’s window. “So, after I come through for your boss here, sweetheart, are you gonna take me out on the lash?” He leans in against the door and smiles.

  “It’ll take a lot more than a name to get in these knickers, crook.” She shoots him down again.

  “I was talking about having a wee drink lass, but I’ll remember you said that.” Brennan winks and walks back inside his new business, followed closely by his two armed goons.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zoe

  “I know what you’re making. I recognize that delicious smell. My nose is like a bloodhound’s.” Nash’s arms slip around my waist and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

  I giggle. “Seriously? A bloodhound’s?”

  “Yep, I’m not kidding. If a heightened sense of smell was a superpower, I’d be killing it.”

  “What do you think I’m making?”

  “Empanadas. I could smell them as I came up the front walkway.”

  I peer over my shoulder at him. “That’s impressive, but I’m neither confirming or denying if you’re right. And there’s nothing to see here except some salad. So, if you’re looking for a clue, it’s not happening.” I smile as I tear the lettuce into smaller pieces with my fingers. “Want a bite?” Raising a piece to his lips, he nips my fingers when he takes it from me. “Hey, none of that. I need both hands to get the empanadas out of the oven,” I laugh.

  “I knew it.” His fingertips teasingly dig into my side and I shriek.

  “Sure you did.”

  “Do you doubt me, woman? After all I’ve done for you? What do I have to do to prove my worth?” He spins me around and I rest my hands on his chest. “Tell me. Do I need to give my life for you because I’d gladly do it, if it meant keeping you safe?”

  I place a finger over his lips. “Don’t.” He opens his mouth to speak and I press my finger more firmly against his masculine lips and shake my head.

  His expression changes from teasing to serious when he sees the threat of tears in my eyes.

  “Don’t talk about anything happening to you or mention sacrificing yourself for me. I can’t bear to think such thoughts and to do so is to invite tragedy into our lives.”

  He kisses my finger and I lower my hand back to his chest. “Zoe, you know that’s not true, don’t you?” He lowers his head, staring deep into my eyes.

  “I don’t know any such thing. I worried about something happening to my parents all the time and it did. There’s no way to prove my thoughts didn’t influence the universe in some small way and I won’t take the chance with your life. I can’t lose you. I just got you back.”

  “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your parents. That was the actions of a bad man and the blame lies solely on him. And I’m not going anywhere ever again. No fucking way.”

  “Thank you for dinner. It was the best meal I’ve had since the last time you cooked for me.”

  “Am I supposed to feel bad for you? Have you been starving for the past six years?”

  His arm wraps around my shoulder, tugging me closer until I’m half reclining on his chest. “I’ve been starved for your company, your food, your gorgeous face, your sexy body, your stubborn streak…”

  “Hey. I don’t have a stubborn streak,” I interrupt.

  “No, not much. Should I continue with what I missed about you? Or have you heard enough?”

  I smile, shifting from my rear to my knees next to him on the couch cushion. “By all means keep going. This is very informative.”

  “Your sharp mind, your too high kicks…”

  “Hey,” I yell, pouncing on top of him like a playful kitten. “One of these days you’re gonna admit my kicks are awesome.”

  “Never. I can’t do it. One of these days, you’ll listen and lower your kicks.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  Nash rearranges me until I’m sitting sideways across his lap with his arms wrapped around me. I lay my cheek on his chest and the top of my head tucks perfectly beneath his chin. We stay still as I listen to the steady, strong thump of Nash’s heartbeat under my ear. Both of us contentedly enjoying each other’s company.

  “You feel wonderful in my arms. I always wanted to watch TV like this with you, but we couldn’t.”

  “And now we can.” I grin.

  “And now we can,” he repeats. I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I glance up at him. “Do you think we’re jumping into this too fast?” It seems right to me, but I’ve never had intense feelings like this before. Nash has owned my heart for all these years and there wasn’t room for anyone else.

  “Into...what? What are you referring to?” He smirks.

  Bastard. He wants me to say it. Fine. “This relationship. Should we be taking things slower than we are?”

  “We’ve waited six years for this to happen. I think we’ve taken things plenty slow.” He chuckles.

  “When you say it that way it does put our situation into perspective.”

  “I don’t think we should worry about the details. Let’s enjoy being together because every moment we are is a gift. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, but don’t tell anyone.” He crooks his finger for me to lean my ear closer and I do. His breath is warm on my lobe. “I’m planning on spending a lifetime of moments with you. If you don’t think that’s something you’d be interested in then tell me now. Once you’re officially in the Garrison Gang, I’m never letting you go.”

  “What does one have to do to be a member of this gang?”

  “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

  “Is that so? Well how about you show me instead? Then you’re not breaking any of the rules.” I tap my head and wink.

  He flips me to my
back on the cushion next to him and hovers over my lips. “I like the way you think.”

  “Well this is a switch.” I smile as I stop next to Nash. “What do I owe this surprise to?”

  “I figured I’ve never cooked for you, so I should return the favor.” He stirs the scrambled eggs in the frying pan as if he’s made these a thousand times. He’s comfortable in the kitchen, another attractive quality about him. I like that I’m going to get to discover all these facets to Nash I never got to see before. “Not to mention you were out pretty fast last night.”

  “Once we finally got to bed you mean,” I remind him how neither of us got much sleep.

  “Now that we spent the night together you might not get rid of me. I slept better than I ever do. Having you pressed up against me was better than any sleeping pill I could take.”

  Wrapping my arms around his waist from the side, I cuddle into his solid length. “Mhm, I agree. Can we go back to bed now? Do you think anyone will notice if we don’t show up at work?”

  His eyebrows furrow at the reminder of our jobs. “What’s got you looking so grim?”

  He glances over at me as I step away and lean against the counter studying him. He smiles and shakes his head. All traces of the stony expression are gone. Did I imagine it or is he that good at hiding his emotions? He’s been an agent for a long time and concealing reactions is part of our job. It can mean life or death in some situations. I have no doubt he could school his expression as quick as fingers snapping.

  “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” I press for more.

  He shuts the burner off, placing the spatula down on the counter, before turning to face me. “Come here.” He crooks his finger, his golden eyes glinting with humor. Taking the two steps separating us, I stop when our toes almost touch. He tugs me into his chest and wraps his arms around my back, scooping me up. My legs wrap around his hips as he carries me across the kitchen, depositing me on the table. He stays pressed between my legs and the pressure of his hard cock has me craving something besides eggs.