Gabriel (Guardian Defenders Book 1)

by Kris Michaels

  Gabriel

  Guardian Defenders - Book One

  Kris Michaels

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Also by Kris Michaels

  About the Author

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  PRESENT DAY:

  David Xavier, reclusive multibillionaire and founder of the elite, paramilitary security firm, Guardian International, ended the telephone conversation and dropped into his desk chair. The whiskey glass he'd filled moments ago no longer held any appeal. He closed his eyes. Why? Why had this happened? He drew a breath and exhaled slowly. Why did some superlative, admirable lives end abruptly, and others who squander and ravage the world meander into old age? Life was set at a finite number of days for each human being. They should be well spent. Medical technology aside, no amount of money or favors would prolong a person's time on this planet.

  The man better known to the world as Gabriel turned his chair and stared out his floor-to-ceiling view of the glory and majesty of the Rocky Mountains. He saw none of it. His mind wandered back to the beginning of it all, back to the years that taught him what really was important in life.

  The beginning: 1980

  Blue strobe lights from the responding vehicles of the Denver Police Department mixed with the red and amber flashing lights of the ambulance. The combination created an eerie, dancing mix of illumination on the darkened brick of the buildings that formed the alley. Uniformed police officers strung yellow tape to keep people out of the crime scene as the medical examiner’s van arrived.

  Gabriel stood at the throat of the alley. He’d missed the son of a bitch by a matter of hours. A uniformed cop ambled over and spoke to him, “You Homicide?”

  Gabriel flipped his credentials and let the cop examine them as he muttered, “Guardian. Out of D.C.”

  “What the hell is Guardian? You a private cop?”

  If being at the beck and call of the President and Congress made him private, then yes. “I’m here at the request of your congressman.”

  The sick, twisted son of a bitch he was hunting had hit the FBI’s scope. Every federal agency was working hard to keep the serial killer out of the news. They’d been successful, so far. Hell, the Zodiac Killer terrorized California for far too long, and it was the fear of a similar monster that had brought the congressional delegation to his Washington D.C. doorstep.

  “O’Hare!”

  The uniform spun on his heel. A tired-looking man in a crumpled wool suit pointed to Gabriel. “Special appointment. Captain says he’s cleared.”

  Gabriel lifted his chin in acknowledgment of the detective’s introduction. Cooperation from local law enforcement was always dicey. Technically, he ran a private security firm. Technically, he didn’t work for the United States government. Technically, he had no police power. Technically. Damn good thing he had the Speaker of the House, the minority whip and the President of the United States on speed dial.

  “Whatcha need, then?” The uniform crossed his arms and stood beside Gabriel. They watched the coroner’s crew work.

  “Give me what you have.”

  “Two victims. One, who by some grace of God survived, is being loaded onto the bus. The woman’s barely alive. I’ve had years of experience on these streets, sir. I don’t give her much chance of pulling through. Her injuries… well, let’s just say the perp is one sick mother.”

  The officer gave him a lady’s wallet. Gabriel unfolded it and memorized the ID. His eyes shifted from the picture on the Colorado driver’s license to the beaten, bloody woman on the stretcher. “Jacqueline Brenner.”

  “Yeah, damn it, the only thing remotely identifiable is her blond hair.”

  Gabriel nodded, barely listening to the patrolman. He mentally worked the similarity of this case to the previous killings. Damn this bastard was slick, and yeah, he was a sick mother.

  “The perp messed her up. Two young ladies brutally attacked, probably raped, and one murdered after she’d been beaten and choked. Never would've expected this monstrous of a crime in this area. I mean, the city has its share of crime, but this type of shit is rare.”

  Gabriel agreed. He gave the ID back to the patrolman and moved forward, careful not to touch anything so the detectives could work the scene. He took his time, working around the coroner’s crew. The bastard had made his signature kill, but this murder was a departure from his usual MO. How did he manage to lure two women into this alley? He crouched down beside the draped form of the deceased woman.

  A flash from the crime scene photographer's camera illuminated the alley in blinding brilliance for a second. Pieces of garbage littered the ground next to the woman. Old chewing gum wrappers, a wet and decaying piece of napkin from a drive-through restaurant, a cheap gold bead that had been broken from a child's necklace or cheap costume jewelry. The bastard killed his victims and left them amongst the refuse, trash, and detritus of society.

  The coroner glanced over at him. “Can I help you?”

  The man obviously meant to be snide, but Gabriel smiled at the guy anyway. “Thank you; have you determined if she has any knife wounds to her neck?”

  The coroner lifted the sheet that draped the woman to preserve some of her dignity from the gawking crowd. “Not the cause of death, but you can see shallow nicks here and here.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Cause of death is blunt force trauma.” He glanced at the coroner. “The skull will be shattered. He uses the knife to subdue them, but he doesn't slice or cut them.”

  “You’ve seen this guy’s work before.” The medical examiner carefully replaced the white cotton sheet.

  “Unfortunately.” Gabriel stood and slowly turned, doing a three-sixty of the area. If she survived, he’d be able to follow up with the woman they were loading into the bus. If. Damn it. This motherfucker had to be stopped.

  He backed away from the fluttering crime scene tape, putting distance between himself and the people inside the cordon who were working the scene. With morbid fascination, a crowd had gathered to watch the results of his work. The whispered murmurs skittered from person to person as they huddled as close as they could to death without actually letting its manifestations touch them.

  His eyes widened and he took a deep breath. He'd touched death tonight... and she was exhilarating. He leaned to the side and caught a glimpse of his prey. She'd been exceptionally strong. His hood partially covered his freshly scratched cheek as he watched them load her into the ambulance. His focus locked on her as he strained to make sure they treated her well. He could see, even from where he stood in the growing crowd, that the medics were hurrying.

  He memorized the front license plate of the ambulance. She was his responsi
bility now. According to the code of all hunters, if you injured an animal, you tracked it down and put it out of its misery. It was one of the principal requirements of the sport he'd chosen, and a rule he followed without exception. Power and skill such as his came with heavy responsibilities.

  He'd learned the weight of these obligations at an early age. He'd also discovered no one appreciated the depth of his skill. When he'd killed those small animals, his mother had beaten him and locked him in the backyard shed for weeks. Through the cracks in the walls, he could see her crying and praying as she slipped him sandwiches and cups of water underneath the door. After that, he’d hunted and killed in secret. He cocked his head and sneered. She’d feared him, and the power accompanying that revelation had soaked into his soul. He'd lost interest in tracking and killing animals the year he'd turned sixteen. That year, his mother died.

  A smile spread slowly as he recalled that day. He’d placed a sobbing call to the local sheriff. His dear, sweet mother hadn't been there when he'd come home. It had been the first time he’d manufactured worry and concern for an audience. Now, the public man and the deadly hunter were distinct and separate entities working together for one goal. One, society lauded, and the other, society abhorred. Yin and yang. Responsible public citizen and lethal hunter.

  Anger didn't pump through his veins. That wasn't what any of this was about. True, rage contributed to his mother’s death, but now he killed for... sport. He scoffed at “trophy” hunters who stood proudly over pictures of bears or lions. He hunted the most dangerous prey of all—homo sapiens. He selected his prey, and he hunted. The rules for each hunt changed as the terrain and target changed. With each kill, his skills evolved. On some expeditions, he enticed and cajoled, on others he demanded and threatened. Tonight would have been a milestone. Two kills at one time. Only, that goal had been stolen from him.

  His eyes cut to the witnesses who had forced him to flee. Worthless Good Samaritans. He watched as they stood secluded from each other and away from the growing crowd. He longed to knock the men on their asses for spoiling his kill, all because they’d wanted to use the alley he'd chosen as an outdoor piss hole. Instead, he buried his clenched, swollen hands deep in his pockets and kept them there.

  The ambulance siren chirped and then wailed as the driver put the vehicle into gear and rushed her to Denver Catholic. He’d cataloged that tidbit of information. Information that was shared between first responders on scene. A boon that he'd take and use.

  Drifting back away from the crowd, his thoughts swirled as the women’s reactions hit him again. The first kill was... satisfying. He could still feel her fear. Terror was what got him off. No, that wasn't quite right. When they realized they were going to die, that exact moment when stupefaction lifted and enlightenment dawned, fuck, it made the blood in his veins pound with sheer ecstasy.

  He yearned for the familiar high. The sexual excitement he felt at seeing the recognition of death in a woman's eyes was everything. He would kill her, and she knew it. He fucked them when they were still alive, when they still understood what was happening. He wasn't some deviant. He didn’t fuck dead bodies. No. Unacceptable. He spit on the sidewalk as he moved further away from the crowd.

  He stopped; his head snapped back toward the spot where he'd killed tonight. He imprinted the entire area in his mind with clarity and renewed purpose. Sport hunters planned expeditions. Professionals tracked and trailed the game they hunted. Followed it, learned and stalked the unsuspecting targets. If the woman survived, he'd give her time to heal, then he'd start the hunt again. Killing the injured and weak wasn't enjoyable. There was no skill required. Fuck, yes. The concept was perfect. He'd allow her to grow strong before he'd hunt her again. All in all, he was pleased with tonight’s efforts. His only concern was the man talking to the local officers. His face was familiar. His presence tonight meant someone had started to connect his kills. Were they trying to track him? He wanted to laugh out loud at the futility of such an effort. The men inside the tape couldn't conceive a fraction of his thoughts or understand his hunting skills. He knew there was no physical evidence to connect him to his trophies. He'd throw the law off his trail. When you hunted, you changed grounds when the prey became skittish, or when the law became curious. He laughed quietly as he turned the corner and walked into the lifting darkness.

  Chapter 2

  “Hi, Anna-banana!”

  Anna spun on her heel and waved at her friend and charge nurse. “Hey! Sorry, I’m late, but I had to stop for donuts. It’s Maxine’s birthday.” Anna held up two, pink, square boxes. “I got the jelly-filled ones you like.”

  “Girl, my hips do not need a jelly donut, and Marcy told me you were going to stop for donuts. I clocked you in.”

  Anna glanced at Kay. The woman was absolutely beautiful with dark caramel color skin and a body that Anna would kill for. Where Kay was curvy and sensuous, she was slender and athletic—more Bionic Woman as compared to Kay’s Wonder Woman, but they were both awesome, independent females. That is what made their friendship work. They'd been hired within weeks of each other, and after a year on the post-surgical floor at Denver Catholic, they’d become great friends. Kay was almost as tall as her five-foot-ten-inches, and they were dubbed the salt and pepper Amazon goddesses. Of course, they spurned the men who called them that. The assholes. Someday women wouldn’t have to put up with that sexist shit.

  “We have an admit coming up.” Kay grabbed the donut boxes and set them in the break room. “Give me a pen.” She waggled her fingers at Anna.

  She slipped her pen out of the new pocket protector the hospital had given them all to wear in their scrubs. It was supposed to save on cleaning bills. According to the memo they’d all been forced to read and sign, the accountants were waging war against ink stains. Kay had refused to use the pocket protector and routinely staged pens in her close-cropped afro. It drove the nursing supervisor crazy and earned her a reprimand. So, Kay was on strike, refusing to carry a pen, period.

  She glanced at the warning Kay wrote on the donut boxes. EAT THIS, AND YOU DIE. “If Carrie sees that she’ll have a cow.”

  “HR can kiss my grits.”

  “Heads up.” Anna fell in beside Kay as the doors to the trauma ward opened.

  “Oh, the poor darlin’,” Kay murmured.

  Holy fuck. She’d never get used to seeing the damage that could be inflicted on the human body. They worked to transfer the woman off of the mobile gurney and into her own bed in the post-surgical suite. They transferred IV’s, reattached all monitors, and did a vitals check as they reviewed the charts.

  “Anna, hun, they didn’t sign off in ICU. I’m going to pop down and grab the supervisor by the short hairs.”

  “Okay. Devon and Maxine are on the floor, right?”

  “Yep. They are doing rounds. You take her and get her settled. The doc should be up soon.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of our girl.”

  “I know you will, or I’d send you down to ICU.”

  “Bull-puckey, you live to be a rebel.”

  “I so do!” Kay laughed and headed out the door.

  Anna checked the patient's armband and matched it against the charts at the foot of her bed.

  “Jacqueline Brenner.” Anna glanced up at the swollen facial features and bruising. She flipped the pages and winced at the injuries listed. Men could be bastards, but some men deserved to be castrated. What had happened to Ms. Jacqueline Brenner should never happen to any woman. Ever.

  “Well, Jacqueline, I bet you're going to be with us for a couple weeks or so.” She glanced up at the unconscious woman. There was no medical reason for her not to be conscious, and according to her charts, the pain meds had been lessened. She touched the woman’s foot and rubbed the top of it through the thin blanket. Damn, she was cold.

  Anna retrieved a blanket from supply and draped it over the woman. “Well, I don’t know about you, Ms. Brenner, but I like to talk. Actually, I’ve been told I talk
too much. But you know that is a bunch of hooey. Doesn’t everyone just want to feel welcome? Did anyone welcome you here?”

  Anna glanced up at the florescent lights and shrugged. “Bet the people down in the Emergency Room didn’t even bother to say, ‘Hi, how are you?’ before they slapped you in the elevator and had you up in surgery. Not that I blame them, honey, the internal bleeding was a concern, but let me tell you, both the Emergency Department and the Surgical Unit have this, ‘I’m the best thing since sliced bread,’ attitude going on. ICU? Those ladies are cool, but girl, they are tense. With a capital T. I have no idea why they can’t relax. Okay, yeah, I get everything is life and death, and that ain’t no joke, but come on, once your patient makes it through the woods, you could pop down and visit while you’re on a break, you know? But nope. They stay in their ivory tower and carry on. Stoic, I think you call it. Down here on this floor, we are here to get you healed up and headed home. We like to visit here.”

  “Hey, Anna. Who’s this?” Devon walked in; her scrubs stretched tight over her very full figure.

  “Devon, meet Jacqueline Brenner.”

  “Jacqueline? I’ve never met a Jacqueline before. How you doing, honey?”

  “She’s still insists on sleeping, but I’ve been filling her in on the local politics.”

  Devon chuckled and pulled the charts, grabbing the doctor’s instructions for medications. Devon’s husband was the pharmacist, so Devon usually had no problem hanging around while the hospital’s pharmacy filled scripts for the floor. “Is she staying on lactated ringers?”