The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 1 thru 5 (Smoke Special Edition)

by Craig Halloran

  An uncanny chill raced down Sidney’s spine. She glanced at Smoke. One of his brows was cocked over his eye. He mouthed some words to her. “What do you make of that?”

  She shrugged.

  He held a finger up, reached into his pocket and handed her a smartphone. He nodded to Rod.

  Sidney turned it on. It needed a passcode. Great. She thought about it as Smoke went back to work.

  “When’s your next meeting with AV?”

  “Two days.”

  “Oh, that was pretty quick. I think you’re lying, Baltimore Rod.” Smoke lightly touched his fingers on Rod’s leg.

  “Eek! What was that?”

  “A spider. Well, a tarantula to be exact.” He tickled Rod’s leg again.

  Rod screamed. “Get it off me! Please! Get it off me!”

  “What’s the matter, Rod? Are you scared of a little, er, well, a big bug with eight hairy legs?” He barely touched the hair on Rod’s leg again.

  “Ah!” The big man bucked and twitched. “Stop it! I meet him tomorrow. Late afternoon! Stop it!”

  “Where?”

  Rod fell silent.

  “My spider is a biter, Rod.”

  “Please, man, please. You don’t want to do this. If I tell you, AV will figure it out. AV knows everything. No one can get close to him, no matter how hard they try. Trust me, man. Trust me!” He sobbed. “It’s a death wish.”

  Sidney had seen plenty of men under duress before, but she hadn’t expected this. Given enough pressure, loyal foot soldiers rolled on their bosses all the time. This was different. Rod had fear. Real, earnest fear.

  Hmmm…She decided to try a passcode on Rod’s phone. Let’s see how dumb you are. She typed in his building and room number. 1211. She got access. Yes! She showed Smoke. His brows lifted. She began sifting through Rod’s emails, contacts, texts, and interesting applications. It was sparse. Great. A burner.

  “Where are you meeting tomorrow?” Smoke said.

  “Aw geez, don’t make me, please.”

  “I’m going to leave you in here with Mister Tarantula. Leave him on your face. How does that sound, Rod?” Smoke tickled his leg.

  “Ah! No! No!”

  “Ah, yes, yes,” Smoke said.

  “It’s Drake. A club called Drake. He meets us there. Oh man. Oh man, I can’t believe I told you.” He balled up and started to rock. “I’m a dead man. You’re a dead man. All loose ends must go.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Smoke put Rod in a sleeper hold and silenced the man’s hysteria. “Sorry,” he said, “that was getting old.”

  “Agreed.” Sidney tossed the phone back to Smoke. “So what’s the plan now? Are you going to tuck him back in bed?”

  “We could drug him.”

  “I don’t have any drugs. Do you?”

  “I was thinking we could buy some.”

  “Dumb idea. I guess you didn’t think things through.” Sidney fastened her belt and put the car in drive. In two minutes they were back on the highway.

  This is a mess. A total mess.

  “You did good,” Smoke said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You did good. You have good instincts. Going after Baltimore Rod was a good call. He is stupid, and he was easy to break.”

  “I think some luck should be factored in there, seeing as he was home. What if he hadn’t been?”

  “Well, he was though, wasn’t he?”

  Sidney fought off a yawn.

  “Tired?”

  She ignored him. Exhausted was more like it. It had been an unexpectedly emotional day, and she hadn’t handled it well. I need to get better at this.

  “I think we should follow your suggestion and tuck Baltimore Rod back in bed.”

  Sidney caught Smoke’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Why is that?”

  “Why do you think? You suggested it.”

  “You first.”

  “Aw, can you just be forthcoming for once and let me be the devil’s advocate for a change?”

  “All right, Mister Smoke, let me share my thoughts. You’re an idiot! All you had to do was verify that Rod was in there. We could have tailed him. Bugged him. Done something vastly more subtle.”

  “That might have taken days. Maybe weeks.”

  “And after a few days we could have improvised,” she said.

  “I improvised early. Now we know where AV will be.”

  “Might be. And that’s assuming Rod isn’t lying.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Why, because you pretended to put a spider on his leg?”

  “You have to admit, it was pretty effective, one of my better ones.” He leaned forward. “It’s called entomophobia. People that are raised in the city are twice as likely to get big heebie-jeebies as folks in the country. It pays off for me most times.”

  “Luck.”

  “Fate,” he said.

  “Well, I think the mentioning of AV shook him,” she said, hitting the car’s blinker and switching lanes. “And to your point, I think that gives us an advantage. He won’t tell AV. That would be bad for him too. You can just put him back in his apartment. He’s so scared of AV that I’m betting he’d rather hide his secret than go on the run. It at least gives him a pleading chance.”

  Smoke eased into his seat. “My thoughts exactly, Agent Shaw. Well done.”

  “Shut up.”

  ***

  It was 12:42 am when they got back to the FBI house. Baltimore Rod was back in his condo asleep—with the help of some Sominex Smoke had forced down his throat.

  “He’ll sleep like a baby,” Smoke said. “He might even forget the whole thing.”

  I’d like to forget this whole thing.

  Sidney sat on the basement couch while Smoke started up the gas fireplace in the corner. The warm light was soothing. Too soothing. She yawned again.

  “If you’re going to stay over,” Smoke said, taking a place on the recliner, “you might as well catch some z’s.”

  Sidney sat up and toggled through her phone. She’d downloaded all of Baltimore Rod’s information from his burner before she returned it. There were a few nuggets that were useful. Times. Locations. A month’s worth of data. It was a stroke of luck that he hadn’t pitched it by now. She covered her mouth and yawned.

  I need sleep. I need to be sharp tomorrow.

  She was heading into a twenty-four-hour day, and it had been a while. At least a year. She’d gotten used to six hours of sleep during the week—eight on the weekends. In the Air Force, when she was law enforcement, there had been days that lasted forty-eight to seventy-two hours. There were long stake-outs with the FBI, but they weren’t so bad.

  I’ve gotten soft.

  She rubbed her blurry eyes and took a glance at Smoke. He sat rubbing the grizzle on his chin, with the fire’s flame reflecting in his dark eyes.

  Well, look at Mister Bright-eyed and Bushy-tailed.

  “This reminds me of my grandmother’s place,” he said. “She had a basement I’d stay in whenever Mom and Dad took trips out of town.” He started to rock a little in the recliner. “It was so easy to start a fire with a gas line built in. I’d play with the flames all night. Huddle in front of the TV and play Nintendo. And Nanny, she fed us hot chocolate with ice cream.”

  Sidney rose up off the sofa. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You’re leaving? Why?”

  “Because you’re ruining my image of the Navy SEALs.”

  “Because I like Nintendo?”

  “No, because I don’t want to know what your favorite ice cream is.”

  “It’s—”

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, heading up the steps.

  “What time?”

  “Morning time.” She stopped at the upper stoop. “And don’t you go anywhere until I return.”

  She made it outside through the rain and into her car, thinking about the long drive home. If the house had a few beds, she probably would have stayed. FBI idiots. The
y could have rented a furnished house at least. She backed out of the drive and roared down the street. The good-looking image of Smoke sitting in the recliner was branded in her mind. Hot chocolate and ice cream. She shook her head in self-defense. Don’t warm up to him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  Sidney pushed her face out of her pillow and checked the clock on the nightstand. 5:34 a.m. Not even four hours’ sleep. With a groan, she sat up. Her eyelids were heavy. She rubbed her neck, stretched out her arms, and yawned.

  If that’s you, Jack, I’m going to kill you.

  Rubbing her eyes, she checked her text messages. There weren’t any.

  “Great. Phantom buzzing in my sleep now.”

  She toggled through her features. There was a red update on the tracking app. “What’s this?”

  She opened it up. Smoke’s beacon had moved. It was no longer sitting safely at Benson Park Estates. It was on the move. Miles away. Sidney jumped to her feet.

  “Sonuvabitch!”

  She stubbed her toe on her bed post.

  “Dammit!”

  She limped to her closet, grabbed a pair of jeans and a pullover shirt, and slipped them on. She holstered up and tied on her shoes. Inside of two minutes she was squealing out of her parking spot and then back on the road.

  She tied her hair back in a ponytail, then rubbed her puffy eyes. It wasn’t raining, but the window was frosted up. She rubbed it with her hand and turned up the heater.

  “Piece of crap car.”

  She shivered and checked the beacon. Smoke was moving. West. Toward Annapolis. She laid on the gas.

  I’ll intercept him in the Interceptor. She laughed. It was a long-standing joke that cops and agents made about the old cars. Then I’ll kill him.

  Hankering for coffee and listening to the moan in her stomach, she plowed down the road. She was angry. Jack. Cyrus. Smoke. They all made her mad. Each was unreliable. Unpredictable. She didn’t like it. But she didn’t mind the excitement that came with it.

  I’ll show ‘em.

  She eased back in her seat and turned on some talk radio. The aggravating conversations were certain to keep her alert. Awake. Promises and failures. A chronic rinse-and-repeat cycle of wasted taxpayer dollars.

  Clear your mind, Sid. Focus.

  There were a lot of things to take in. Change was one of them. She didn’t like change. She liked routine. She liked a plan.

  “Some things you just can’t plan for,” her father often said. “Always assume everything is out of your control, aside from yourself.”

  She hated it when he said that, right along with the smile that came with it. It made her feel like she was doing something wrong. She did things right. She saw to it others did things right as well.

  Cruising down the road, she regained her focus. She’d been off her game.

  Too much time behind the desk.

  She had yelled and cussed. It showed a lack of self-control.

  No more of that. You’re a pro, Sid. Be a pro. No surprises. No letdowns.

  She unholstered her Glock, ran her fingers over the barrel, and stuffed it back in the holster.

  I need to get to the range.

  She felt jumpy. Edgy.

  I don’t like feeling this way.

  The frost on the windows cleared, revealing the moon’s bright glow. An eerie haze hung in the sky, concealing parts of it. Up ahead, a pack of animals darted across the highway. She squinted.

  “What the heck?”

  The dogs were big dark silhouettes padding across the concrete and vanishing over the guard rail and into the woods. A chill went through her.

  Those were wolves.

  She shook her head. Maybe coyotes. No, coyotes aren’t that big. She slowed the car down and eased onto the berm. No. Get after Smoke, Sid. No time to fool around. She laid the gas back on and zoomed up the road. Those were wolves, though. I know it. Ted’s words came to mind. Extraordinary caution.

  Cruising at ninety, she closed in on Smoke’s beacon, which had come to a stop off somewhere south of the John Hanson Highway. She took the machine up to ninety-five before slowing for the next exit, then followed the beacon down the greenway beyond the condos and plaza to a lonely stretch of road miles from the nearest highway.

  What on earth is he doing out here?

  That’s when another thought crossed her mind. What if it wasn’t him at all? What if one of his crew was leading her on a wild goose chase? It had been at least twenty minutes since his beacon stopped moving.

  Erase your doubt. Follow your leads.

  The beacon led her down a grave stretch of road that ended in a grove of tall trees. A gravel parking lot greeted her, accompanied by a lone warehouse lit up with neon signs. One sign read Chester’s in bright orange and green flames. There were a few motorcycles and muscle cars on the scene. Beer cans and broken glass littered the parking lot.

  What is he doing here?

  Sidney checked the beacon. She was on target. She brought the Interceptor to a halt a hundred feet from the front doors. Fog was lifting into the early sunrise. A man in jeans and a leather vest lay face down in the parking lot. Fresh blood from a broken nose dripped on the ground. There was a gentle rise in his chest. She took out her weapon and crept to the doorway.

  What have you gotten into, Smoke?

  Inside the bar she could hear loud hillbilly rock playing.

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

  She pushed the door open and peeked inside. A gunshot cracked out.

  Blam!

  CHAPTER 17

  Sidney crouched down outside the door.

  Blam! Blam!

  The shots were coming from inside the warehouse, somewhere above her head. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

  Crash!

  Glass rained down into the parking lot from above her head. A man fell onto the hood of an old white Camaro. Groaning, he rolled off the hood and onto the ground.

  Sidney peeked up and around the corner. A figure stood looking out of the oversized window pane. It was Smoke.

  “Freeze!” she said. He vanished. She turned her attention to the other man, who was stumbling away. He hopped onto a motorcycle and started it up. “FBI! Freeze!”

  He revved the engine.

  “Don’t make my day,” she said, pointing her weapon at him. “The first hole goes in your gas tank. The next hole goes in your head.”

  He raised his hands over his head. His sagging face was skinned up, and his chin was bleeding.

  “Sure thing, lady. Sure thing.”

  “Aiiyee!” a man screamed.

  Sidney turned just in time to see another man flying through the window. He crushed the roof of the Camaro.

  Vrooom!

  The biker revved up his engine and started to speed out of the parking lot.

  Blam! Blam!

  Sidney put a bullet in his tank and another in his back tire.

  “Get on the ground now!” she said.

  The man obeyed.

  She bound his legs and wrists with flex-cuffs.

  “You didn’t have to shoot my bike,” he said. “Stupid bi—”

  She shoved his face in the ground and rubbed it in the gravel.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothin’.”

  Smoke landed on the Camaro’s hood, a tall figure in a dark shirt and jeans. He dragged the man who had crunched in the roof to the ground.

  Sidney trotted over. “What are you doing?”

  Smoke had a dangerous look his eye. He punched the man in the face. Whap!

  “Taking care of unfinished business.”

  “Stop!” Sidney said, holding her weapon on him. “Stop now!”

  Smoke let go, and the man sagged to the ground.

  “Who is he?” Sidney watched the man gather himself into a sitting position.

  The man was in his forties, shaven head and black bearded. Dusky skinned. Tattoos covered his naked arms. He w
as thickset. Formidable. Valuable rings dressed his fingers below all of the knuckles except for two of them. His trigger fingers were missing.

  “Ray Cline?”

  “Sting Ray,” Ray interrupted, spitting blood. “You’re going to die, Smoke. Die in a horrible way! Oof!”

  Smoke kicked him in the gut.

  “What was that, Ray? Say, how did that hit that you put on me go down, in prison? Not so well, did it?”

  “Back off,” Sidney stepped between them, keeping her eyes on Ray. She had become familiar with his file when she studied up on Smoke. He was a killer. A drug lord. A career criminal. For some insane reason, the system had let him out. “I’ll handle this.”

  Ray started laughing.

  “You want to handle me, Pretty?” He winked at her. Blood dripped off his chin. “Help yourself then.”

  She handed Smoke another pair of flex cuffs and covered Ray with her weapon.

  “Secure him.”

  Smoke slipped the flex cuffs around Ray’s neck.

  “No, no, no!” Ray said.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Smoke replied.

  “No,” Sidney said. “Just the wrists.”

  “I can make it look like an accident,” Smoke said.

  “The wrists,” Sidney said. “Take care of it while I call this in.”

  “Wait,” Smoke said, cuffing Ray’s wrists behind his back. “Before you do that, let me show you something.”

  “Yeah,” Ray said, “let me show you something too, Pretty.”

  Smoke rabbit-punched Ray’s ribs and hauled him up to his feet.

  “Not another word, fiend,” he said in his ear. “Not another syllable.” He shoved Ray back toward the warehouse bar.

  “Are you coming or not? You need to see this.”

  Sidney followed. The intensity in Smoke’s voice compelled her. He was angry. It stirred her.

  Inside, there was a long bar, a band stage with instruments, high tables scattered about, and a checkered dance floor. Smoke pushed Ray toward a metal stairwell that led up. Two goons were knocked out cold by the threshold.