Phoenix: A Hunter Novel

by J. V. Speyer

  “Exactly. And considering how the fallout from all that is still ongoing, it’s possible that some other cop decided to act on his own.” Kevin shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if this was a law enforcement job actually. They knew where he’d be, for one thing.”

  Donovan fought down another wave of nausea. “Just what this town needs. Another law enforcement scandal.”

  “Right?” Kevin snorted. “We’ve got people scouring that golf course, but it looks like she transferred him to another vehicle. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any security footage at the golf course, so we’re out of luck in terms of the make or model. We do know it has to be big enough to fit the gurney because it’s missing from the ambulance.”

  “The lawyer said he looked drunk. Do you think he was drugged?”

  “I think he’d have to have been.” Kevin swallowed hard. “I don’t . . . I spoke with him—oh, it must have been right before the abduction. He told me he was feeling woozy. We both chalked it up to the all-nighter. He’s in great shape, but he’s in his midthirties now, you know?”

  “I was just thinking about that before you guys came into the room.” Donovan ran his hand through his short hair. “I just . . . I don’t even know. I can’t process this.” He sat up straighter. He had to process it. Luis was out there somewhere, drugged, depending on him. “Okay. So we’ve got possible law enforcement involvement, possible suspects from prior cases, what else have we got?”

  “The case he’s working now involves a child porn ring.” Alex cleared his throat. “They’re not generally known for going after adults, so we can probably write that off.”

  “They don’t usually go for adults, but they do kidnap people.” Kevin glanced at the rearview mirror. “Gelens was making a lot of money with his ring. It’s possible someone’s mad enough about the loss of income to try to do something about it. It’s not our most likely motive, but it’s not one we should throw out just yet.

  “First thing we need to do though? Both of you need to get some sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep. Luis is in danger. You can’t expect me to just curl up and snooze while he’s going through God knows what.” Donovan gaped at Kevin in outrage.

  “You’re no good to him if you pass out, Donovan. Get a couple of hours in and we’ll regroup.”

  Donovan wanted to fight, but he knew his friend was right.

  Chapter Four

  Everything hurt. Even Luis’ hair hurt, and he’d have sworn that was physically impossible before this moment. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was in trouble either. He lay on some kind of stone or cement floor, bits of debris pressing into him. Grit smeared into his skin. The stink of dust mingled with vomit, puke that had to be a few hours old. After a second, he realized the stink was coming from him.

  He wondered if he could force himself back into oblivion. The pain in his head was just about enough to do the job, and he wouldn’t have to face whatever had sent him here. Then again, hiding from his problems hadn’t ever gotten him anywhere good. His own self-preservation instincts wouldn’t let him try to hide from whatever made him land face-first in a puddle of puke.

  Neither would the voice making his headache worse.

  “Aye, I know ye’re awake. Ye’re in a heap o’ trouble now, lad, and I know that rank floor isn’t anyplace ye want to be sleeping.”

  Luis groaned, but he sat up. His stomach lurched, and he had just enough time to bend over. The bile he brought up splashed onto the grimy, dusty floor, and not onto Luis himself.

  It was a small mercy. His suit showed the evidence of prior sickness. No amount of dry cleaning would save it. And I liked this suit too.

  He wasn’t the only one who liked it. He’d chosen it that morning, or whenever he’d last been home, because it was Donovan’s favorite. He’d wanted to give Donovan something pleasant to see when he got back from a day that could only be terrible.

  He forced himself to look around. The suit was only fabric. He could cook Donovan a nice dinner or something after he’d showered.

  He’d been left in a large room in a basement. Thick iron bars stood in front of windows leading to what looked like a wooded area. Some kind of wire mesh further protected the windows, but a passerby might never see inside. The light suggested it was maybe five o’clock—not yet dark, but it would be soon.

  And sitting in front of Luis, further illuminating the room with the sickly glow of death, was Captain Lightfoot.

  “Why does it make me feel better that you’re here?” Luis cringed from his own fetid breath.

  Lightfoot passed him his bottle of gin, the bottle Luis had given him in thanks for his help when they’d met. “Don’t be swallowing this. Just swish it around in yer mouth, to clean it out. Ye’ve got nothing in ye, and if ye were to drink this, ye’d probably get to spewing again.”

  Luis cringed at the bottle, but the sour taste in his mouth was only increasing his nausea. He accepted the bottle, followed his ghostly friend’s instructions, and spat the gin out into the dust.

  At first, his entire being rebelled at the thought of even admitting the liquor into his mouth. Not only had he made a conscious choice not to consume alcohol because of his father’s addiction, but Lightfoot had been swigging straight from the bottle for a year and a half. The liquid had to be at least half ghostly backwash by now.

  After a second though, he had to admit he felt better. Not great, but better. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth again. “I don’t suppose you know where we are?”

  “Not specifically.” Lightfoot shrugged. “I got pulled to you, when ye were choking on your own sick. It looks like we’re in one of those madhouses they built and then abandoned, but that doesn’t tell me much. They’ve got such places all over the state, for all the good it does them.”

  Luis blinked at him. “How would I have gotten here?” He scratched at his head. “Why would I come here? Was it for a case?”

  Lightfoot tilted his head. “Ye dinna remember?” He tapped Luis in the forehead.

  Pain surged as memories flooded back. “I was testifying. We broke for lunch, and I got sick.” He frowned. “I was feeling fine before lunch. Was it—” He made the connection. “The water. I didn’t order it. It must have been drugged.”

  “Aye. Slipped ye a mickey and ye were too wrapped up in everything going on to notice.” Lightfoot shook his head. “After that, it would have been short work to get you out of there.”

  “The ambulance.” Luis closed his eyes again. “It was right there, waiting.”

  “Ah. Must be it, then.” Lightfoot rose to his feet and held out a hand to Luis.

  Luis took it, despite the risk of frostbite. He couldn’t afford to sit around and wait for rescue, even if every cell in his body screamed in agony.

  It was only pain, after all.

  He let Lightfoot help him to his feet and waited for the world to stop spinning. “I’m dehydrated.”

  “She left ye a bottle of water, but it’s been opened.” Lightfoot raised an eyebrow. “Fool me once, shame on ye. Fool me twice . . .”

  “Yeah.” Luis surveyed the room. There was, indeed, a bottle of water in the center of the room. He ignored it. Unfortunately, everything else had been cleared from the space. He could see footprints in the dust, showing where someone with small feet had done the work to remove whatever had been stored in here.

  “This was premeditated.” He looked over at the door. “Think it’s locked?”

  “Sure as you’re born.” Lightfoot snorted. “Ye’re in no shape to be crawling around in the basement of an ancient madhouse anyway. There’s stairs over yon.” He nodded toward another door. “Likely locked, but since when has that been a problem for a man like me?”

  Luis managed to laugh, even though his abdomen ached. “Valid. Your lack of boundaries has never been more helpful.”

  “Got that right.” Lightfoot grinned, a hideous rictus of bone and decay, and disappeared.

  He reappeared seconds
later. “The stairs are steep, lad. Work on regaining your strength. We don’t know who or what we’ll find at the top.”

  Luis nodded. He shuffled over to the wall, intending to sit down. When he saw the trail of rodent feces along the floor, up against the wall, he moved away.

  Despair washed over him. He’d been stupid enough to get kidnapped by someone with an unknown agenda, and now, he was locked in the basement of an abandoned mental hospital. These old places were full of ghosts. They were known for it. The fact that Luis hadn’t found any but Lightfoot yet was sheer luck, and while Luis had generally met with good and helpful spirits, these old hospitals were mired in trauma and pain. Darker spirits would almost have to be in residence.

  And he was too sick to do anything about it.

  He wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon without water. He could chance the water his abductor—identified by Lightfoot as a woman—had left for him, but he’d just be knocked out again. The familiar weight of his gun was gone from its holster. His phone had been removed from his pocket. He had no way to defend himself, unless bile could be considered an offensive weapon.

  He had Lightfoot.

  “You said you were drawn to me.” He caught the ghost’s eyes, or his eye sockets anyway. “Why?”

  Lightfoot chuckled. “Lad, if I knew that I’d be able to solve so much more than I can now. I find I’m pulled to ye when ye’re in danger. Maybe it’s me penance for all the evil I did in my life. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of giving ye a wee bit of help. I don’t know, and it doesn’t bother me. Ye get into the most interesting scrapes as it is.”

  Luis smiled ruefully at that. “Got that right. As far as I know I’m the only federal agent to get kidnapped from the front of a federal courthouse in broad daylight. At least I’m unique!”

  “Ye’re the only lawman I’ve met who’s a medium as well. Gives ye an unfair advantage, I say. But life isn’t fair, I suppose, and neither is death.” Lightfoot swigged from his gin.

  Luis watched carefully for backwash. As always, the bottle stayed perfectly full.

  “So here’s the question. You’re not always with me. We know that.”

  “Do ye though?” A worm dropped from beneath Lightfoot’s battered hat. “Ye’re right though. I do have my own life to lead, such as it is. There’s a delightful wee bar downtown that mixes the most delicious cocktails. They’d be wasted on ye, of course, but I do love sneaking in and stealing them from the barmaid’s station.”

  “Of course you do.” Luis couldn’t even be mad about it. “Hey—would they be open now?”

  “Are ye craving yer first drink? Because I don’t think a goblet full of gin and absinthe is a smart idea in yer condition, but ye’re an adult.”

  Luis stared at his friend. “Er, no. But a bar is going to have water, right?”

  Lightfoot laughed in delight, a dry rattling sound. “Ye’re a smart one.” He winked out of existence, returning moments later with three glasses of water. “Drink slow. Can’t have ye getting sicker.”

  Luis hugged Lightfoot. “This is twice in one day you’ve saved my life. Thank you.”

  Lightfoot seemed to gain a little more flesh, enough to look astonished at least. “Think nothing of it. I’m your friend.”

  Luis took small sips of the cooling water. He could feel it caressing his throat all the way down, soothing his tortured esophagus and steadying the room. It wasn’t a trick they were going to be able to use often—or was it?

  “How much does it take out of you to do that?” Luis ignored the skittering he heard around the edges of the room. He’d been in worse situations. It was just rats.

  “Well, I’m not about to steal you a steak dinner, that’s not sane, man.” Lightfoot looked at him askance. “Someone’s bound to notice a steak dinner floating through the air, yeah?”

  Luis snickered. “I wouldn’t dream of it. And I couldn’t keep it down anyway. What are the chances you could, say, leave a note for Donovan and tell him I’m alive?”

  “Oh, aye. He’s probably turning his poor stomach into knots, isn’t he?” Lightfoot tapped his jaw. “What else can I tell him? I’ve no clue where we are, so I can’t tell him that. He can’t see me, so it has to be something I can write in a quick note where he can see it.”

  Luis considered. “You saw the woman who nabbed me, right?”

  “Aye. She was an odd one. Face looked like a mask, like it were frozen.”

  Luis almost dropped his glass. “Hyena Lady? She’s the one who did it?”

  “Aye, that’s exactly what she looked like.”

  “Perfect. Tell him the kidnapper was at the trial, watching. It’s a good clue.”

  “Aye, if you say so. I’ll return.” Lightfoot disappeared again.

  Luis was alone once more. Outside, the light had essentially disappeared from the sky. Now Luis was alone, in the dark, with the rats.

  He hoped Donovan got the message quickly.

  Donovan hadn’t thought he would be able to sleep when he lay down in his bed, but exhaustion had such a hold on him he went under right away. He didn’t even dream, so no time at all seemed to pass for him between closing his eyes and reopening them to Kevin’s shouted, “What the flying fuck?” from the guest bathroom.

  He jumped to his feet, gun at the ready, and raced toward his friend’s voice.

  The first thing he noticed about the bathroom was the stench. He’d smelled this foul odor before. It was the stink of the grave, of corpses left out in the midday sun.

  The second thing Donovan noticed was the bottle of high-end gin, sitting on the granite counter.

  The third was the message, scrawled on the mirror in what looked like lipstick.

  LUIS IS ALIVE.

  Kevin had just finished a shower. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist and covered his mouth. What little color he had had drained from his face as he stared at the mirror.

  Alex ran up behind Donovan, still shirtless from his own forced nap. He gagged at the stink, but otherwise held it together. “Did some ghost seriously just show up to . . . pass on a message?”

  Donovan did a double take. “You knew?” For a second, jealousy reared its ugly head again.

  “Well, I did watch him fry one in the pool during that mess in Boston. It was hard to miss. I think he’d rather not have told me.” Alex pointed at the message on the mirror. “Why don’t the ghost stories we tell ourselves around campfires ever warn us about the stink?”

  The first message disappeared. More words showed up. BECAUSE THE REAL DEAD AREN’T PACKAGED UP ALL SWEET FOR WEE CHILDREN.

  It took Donovan a second to parse out the language. “Captain Lightfoot?”

  AYE.

  It was the first, and only, good news Donovan had received since Alex showed up with the case in Southwick. “You’ve seen Luis, then. How is he?”

  HE’S IN BAD SHAPE. THE KIDNAPPER GAVE HIM SOMETHING TO KNOCK HIM OUT AND HE RESPONDED POORLY TO IT, POOR LAD. HE SAID TO TELL YOU IT WAS SOMEONE IN THE CROWD AT THE TRIAL.

  Donovan almost sobbed with relief. Leave it to Luis to find a way to pass on a message.

  “Er . . .” Kevin gulped. His skin turned a greenish color, indicating he wished he hadn’t. “Where is he?”

  IN A BASEMENT.

  Alex scowled. “That’s less than helpful, Captain.”

  The gin bottle rose and tipped, as if someone was taking a swig from it. Words disappeared and appeared again.

  IT’S NOT AS IF THESE PLACES COME WITH A LOCATION PAINTED ON THE WALLS, YE DAFT BUFFOON. ’TIS WELL YE’VE GOT YER ABS, AS YER BRAINS BE FIT FOR WORMS.

  Donovan grimaced. Luis had mentioned that Lightfoot could be impatient, but he hadn’t been all that specific. “Er. Forgive us. We’re a little new to this whole . . . bathroom séance thing. You don’t see the location, you just go to a person?”

  I UNDERSTAND WHAT HE SEES IN YE. YES. IF I HAPPEN TO KNOW THE PLACE, IT’S WELL AND GOOD. HE SEEMS TO BE IN AN OLD MADHOUSE.

 
Kevin did the math. “The state’s littered with abandoned asylums.”

  AYE.

  Alex swayed a little on his feet. “Could you hear anything in the background that could help us narrow the location down? Trains, cars, cows—I’d take it.”

  NOTHING BUT RATS. I WISH IT WERE DIFFERENT.

  Donovan nodded, heart sinking. It was too much to hope for, he supposed. “Thanks for bringing us the message. Is there anything he needs? Anything you can bring back?”

  I CAN’T BRING ANYTHING LARGE. OR IRON.

  Alex perked up. “Can you bring a phone?”

  Donovan tried to ignore the hope swelling in his chest. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

  AYE.

  Alex staggered back to the guest room. A moment later, he returned with a phone. It didn’t look like his standard-issue phone. Maybe it was his personal phone or some extra item he carried around for fun. Tech geeks were like that sometimes. Alex had that geeky aura about him.

  Kevin gave him a funny look. “How the hell are we going to explain that to a judge?”

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t mind admitting we used to date if that’s what it takes to get him back. Captain? If you can tell him that’s the cover story?”

  “And that I love him?” Donovan added quickly.

  DO I LOOK LIKE A PAGE TO YE? Then, HE LOVES YE TOO.

  The phone disappeared, along with the bottle of gin and all but a lingering hint of the graveyard stench Lightfoot brought with him.

  Alex leaned against the wall. “So that’s what it’s like to be Luis these days. I feel like I need to start going back to church or something.”

  Donovan managed a grin. “At least we’re all wearing clothes this time. Lightfoot’s not always careful about boundaries.”

  Kevin cleared his throat and looked down at his towel. “All of us?”

  “I’ll let you get some pants on. Then maybe we can talk about this?” Donovan blushed. Kevin might have twenty years on him and Luis, but he was still in great shape. Not that Donovan would go there, he was faithful, but he had eyes.