The Carnival of Curiosities (Matt Drake Book 27) Read online

  It said a lot about her mental state that she’d referred to an axe as a weapon. It told Drake where her head was at. The worst part was knowing Isla had been living with a terrible knowledge for more than a week, a knowledge he hadn’t previously given her time to reveal.

  Don’t blame yourself.

  The blame lay with the perpetrators, but still wedged like something undigested and raw in Drake’s stomach. He looked away and then down, and finally pulled out his cellphone.

  “Can you get me those descriptions?” he asked quietly, waiting for the call to go through.

  Karin answered on the fifth ring. “Drake? What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

  “Good to hear your voice too. How’s NSA Land?”

  “You make it sound like a day at Disney. Believe me, it’s not. What do you need?”

  Drake gave her a quick rundown. “Can I message you the descriptions that Isla gave the cops? Apparently, they’ve hit a dead end.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  Drake chewed on his lower lip and walked over to the front window, mostly so Isla couldn’t hear him. “Truth? I don’t know. But Isla’s in danger. Can you imagine if there’s three more around here like the Jackal?”

  Karin told him to send the information through, which Isla did almost immediately. Drake waited as Karin weaved her magic on the other end of the line.

  “It might take a while, Drake. There’s a lot of data to go through. The facial recognition is the best bet for anything obvious, but—”

  Drake blinked as she paused. “What?”

  “Easy. A quick hit on an ex-con named Noah Boone who has a brother called Axel who meets all the parameters you gave me. He isn’t hiding though. Lives in Colorado. Rough matching height and build, or he was five years ago when he left prison. Brother—Axel Boone. They were petty thieves until Noah left prison and, since then, nothing. To everyone who might check it looks like Noah and Axel rehabilitated.”

  “Only looks that way to the lazy bastards,” Drake said. “And we’ve all had to work with those.”

  “You want the address?”

  “Yeah, let’s have it.”

  Drake wrote down the address and asked Karin to keep searching. It never paid to keep all your eggs in one basket. He also asked her to search for known associates, a comment to which Karin laughed.

  “Don’t insult me, Drake. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yup. And that’s why you’re the go-to gir... oops, I mean woman, for the entire team. Can you send me proper pics of these two rehabilitated brothers?”

  Karin agreed and ended the call. Drake glanced up at Isla who was studying him closely. When Karin’s email came through, he turned the phone around and held a photo up.

  “This one of the arseholes?”

  Recognition wasn’t immediate. Isla frowned and stared hard before nodding. “I think so, yeah. Older, and he had a beard, but the eyes... the eyes I remember.”

  Drake swiped to Axel Boone’s photo. “This guy?”

  Isla flinched. “God, yes. Yeah, I’d bet my life on it. He’s Axe. When I was trussed up on the floor, he made a point of climbing on top of me, getting so close I could smell his dirty breath and feel his repulsive body. He stared... just stared into my eyes as if getting off on the fear. I’d never forget that face.”

  Drake checked the address Karin had sent through. “Well, Noah and Axel don’t live around here. They’re thirty minutes south. That might explain why you only saw them once, I guess. Could have been Jackal and his brother showing off.”

  “Do we go to the cops?” Isla asked.

  Drake’s smile would have chilled a sauna. “No,” he said. “I have a better idea.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The house was squat, ugly, and disheveled. It sat halfway down a shabby street in a frazzled old town called Cuba Springs. Surrounding it was a confusing mix of crumbling wall and jagged hedge, intertwined and thorny. Drake sat at the curb outside in the car he’d rented, but moved on before anyone became suspicious. He cruised the street. Men, women and children were in evidence, either tending their gardens, walking along the sidewalk, or sitting on small decks. To Drake, the scene was normal suburbia, as regular as it came. Nothing he saw screamed a warning.

  It was a perfect locale for serial killers to hide.

  Back to the house... the front door looked sturdy and new, the only part of the entire home that appeared in good shape. The windows were cracked in places, covered by years of accumulated dirt. Garbage and garden detritus had built up along the step leading up to the front door. Drake followed a left-hand turn to take a drive around the rear of the house and found the view hidden by the ever-present wall and high hedge. It might look like a tired and dilapidated barrier, but it was a good one.

  Drake found a diner, parked up, and waited. He grabbed coffee and take-out, preferring to stay in the car to figure out his next move. The day waned, the skies turning crimson and then gray before succumbing to an encroaching darkness. Drake sipped his coffee. He couldn’t rush the op.

  And this was definitely an op. Anything that led him into enemy territory, straight at danger, was a mission worth planning down to the last detail. Full dark came around 8:00 p.m., when he left the car and walked back toward the Boone house. He carried a backpack filled with surveillance gear and weapons left over from the New Orleans madness. It was a poor mishmash, but better than nothing. Drake evaluated the people and homes he passed, most of which now had drapes closed on brightly-lit front rooms.

  Earlier, he’d noticed a blind spot in the hedge-wall, a place around the back that no other houses overlooked. Drake found that place again and inserted himself between the hedge and the wall, after first carefully checking the area. The space was severely limited and infiltrated by the hard, sharp twigs and thorny stems that made up the hedge.

  Drake forced his way through, kneeling in the cold, damp earth and keeping his head down. The hedge was thicker and wider than it looked and, twice, Drake had to stop and change direction. The stalks and branches were effective weapons, attacking his arms and legs with impunity, and when he knelt on a prickly mass the pain made his head spin.

  A while later, Drake found himself close to the inner side of the hedge. He paused and peered through the bristly mass into a square-shaped back garden lit by twin porch lights. Bugs flew around the lights as if they’d found holy grails. The garden was mostly lawn and a meandering path of paving flags. On the porch stood a heater, currently glowing a dull orange, which gave Drake a smidgen of hope.

  They wouldn’t leave the heater on unless they planned to make use of it.

  *

  Three hours later, Drake came to the unhappy conclusion that he was wrong. They would leave the porch heater burning all night simply because they could. A stiffness had risen steadily from his knees along his spine and through his shoulders during the course of the night. In the early hours he gave up, realizing he was stewing in his own stupidity. He hadn’t come fully prepared, and was fooling himself if he thought he’d strike the motherlode on the first night.

  Carefully, he backed out of the hedge, ensuring he made extra room for the next incursion. A pair of hedge cutters might come in handy. Drake made his way back to the car and returned to the diner, which was a twenty-four-hour palace of burgers, waffles, coffee and maple syrup. This place was called Daisy’s and, whilst not quite up to par with Verity’s, made satisfying fare for the hungry operator. Drake left in the early hours and then, despite the early hour and knowing Isla would be awake anyway, put a call in to make sure all was okay. Twenty minutes later, he found a motel.

  The next morning, he reviewed the tattered, beat-up old room he’d rented. He hadn’t expected much and had fallen asleep without examination, but the next day revealed patched-up drapes with holes in them, a threadbare carpet and pitted walls. Still, it was as clean as the maids could make it—exhibiting not even the slightest layer of dust—so Drake accepted what he ha
d. When the morning sun slanted through the drapes and stung his eyes, he turned over to catch a bit more sleep, knowing he’d be back out again that night.

  The day passed slowly. Drake contacted Karin, but she’d discovered nothing more. The cop in charge of Isla’s case—a man named Courtney—was no stand-out member of the establishment, but he didn’t have a reputation for being inconsistent either. That line of inquiry was unfortunately an empty one.

  Drake asked Isla to contact him every hour, giving her a five-minute leeway. He needed to know she was staying safe. That afternoon he saw Axel Boone leaving Daisy’s Diner with an armful of food, and carefully followed the man to ensure he lived at the address Drake was staking out.

  That night, he returned to the hedge, this time armed with a pair of trimmers and thicker clothing, knee pads and gloves. He also brought food and water along in his backpack. The night was cold, a chill breeze cutting through the twisted branches that both hindered and screened him. Hours passed, long, miserable hours in which Drake got a good look at both Noah and Axel Boone and heard them conversing quietly with each other. The good news was that he could hear them clearly. The bad news was that they revealed nothing. Was he grasping at straws?

  But Isla had identified these two as being at the cabin with the Jackal. And whilst they were here, they could do her no harm. Of course, that still left the unknown third man, but Drake couldn’t get bogged down with that. He was on the front line, doing the best he could. He wondered briefly how Alicia, Dahl and the others were getting on—had they been dragged straight into another problem or had they managed some quiet time? He hoped Alicia would maintain a low profile—and that Dahl would remind her to do so—but held out only a modicum of hope. As for Mai—for all he knew she could be on the other side of the world right now, fighting for Bryant’s company.

  It was an odd scenario. Who could have imagined that, not so long ago when he’d been chasing the Blood King through the streets of New York, the death of President Coburn would lead to this? Clear issues remained with the new president and his disbanding of the Strike Force teams, the callous abandonment of those in the field, and what motives might be behind all that. Drake wasn’t expecting an answer anytime soon.

  A second night passed without learning anything fruitful. Drake passed the next day in much the same way before crawling once more into the hedge after sunset. He was aware that the more often he did this, the chances increased that he’d be spotted, but he had little choice.

  On the fourth night, Drake’s uncomfortable surveillance paid off. Both Noah and Axel Boone came out onto the rear porch, beers in hand. They lit the heater, settled back into chairs, and started drinking. Drake could hear every word they said.

  An hour passed, the conversation ranging from social media to news, celebrities and neighbors. Drake learned a lot about Cuba Springs and its inhabitants in a surprisingly short time. Noah and Axel drained bottle after bottle, smacking their lips around the rims and belching into the night. A little after 11:00 p.m., Noah lowered his voice.

  “That woman, that woman... you know? She’s making waves.”

  Drake, cold and shivering until now, felt a rush of heat.

  “Yeah, Kirk really messed that up.” Axel shook his head. “Thought he was better than that.”

  “He did okay.” Noah nodded. “But we do better.”

  There was a respectful silence. Drake knew that the man he called the Jackal’s real name was Randall Kirk. These two men had known all about him. Also, how did they know that Isla was making waves? She’d kept a profile lower than a rattlesnake. There was only one way...

  “But whilst the heat’s all over her—” Noah began with a smirk.

  “The rest are easy meat.” Axel grinned. “Game on.”

  Drake bunched his fists, ready to fly into action. The problem was... he couldn’t act. Not yet. He had no proof that the cop was dirty, no proof that Noah and Axel were killers. And, as before, nobody local he could trust. More importantly, he had no idea who the third man was. And you could guarantee that if he nabbed these two right now—and somehow convinced the authorities they were guilty—the third killer would melt away. Frustrated, Drake held himself back.

  Maybe Karin had some information.

  *

  Later, he returned to the motel having learned nothing more. Karin had left a detailed message on his cell, explaining again that Courtney appeared to be clean even after she’d done a deep dive into his life. Basically then, he had nothing.

  Drake slept for a few hours, rose and headed to breakfast. Cuba Springs was a small town, off the beaten track, and already he was recognizing faces. He seated himself at a plush booth, leaned back and started on that morning’s coffee, eyes slightly glazed. He knew that he was a long way from chasing down treasure or weapons of the gods or taking apart some shadow organization with more money than China, but this, right here, was where it all began. This was the grass root foundation of everything he fought for. The people. Their safety and freedom. The team would be back together soon, he was sure, but you couldn’t ignore the challenges that came your way. Challenge made the best of you, molding you into a worthier version of yourself.

  The television above the counter grabbed his attention when an alert flashed up. The waitress increased the volume and watched, eyes wide in horror. Drake saw the banner: 2 Women Abducted Last Night, listened to the story for half a minute and felt his heart drop through the floorboards.

  No way... it can’t be...

  He was up and out of the diner in seconds, back behind the wheel of his car in less than a minute. He gunned it toward the Boones’ house, having to physically restrain himself from jumping red lights. He hovered at the speed limit, fully focused, screeching up the Boones’ road, then bringing the car to an abrupt halt. Without much thought, he marched right up to the front door and knocked loudly. If they answered he’d wing it.

  But he didn’t expect them to answer.

  Because, somehow, last night... after he’d left their house, Noah and Axel Boone had followed their hours-long drinking bout by executing some insane plan to abduct two more women.

  Drake was sure of it.

  “The rest are easy meat,” Axel had said. “Game on.”

  Drake had been right there, watching, and he’d messed it up. He’d left them to do their thing. If only he’d stayed...

  Cursing, he headed back to the car. Not only did he now have to protect Isla, but there were two more women to find. There was Noah and Axel and the mystery third man to find. How the hell did he get himself into these things?

  Drake started the car and headed back into town.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hayden and Kinimaka flew to Los Angeles to find Aaron Trent and his two colleagues waiting for them inside the busy airport arrivals’ hall.

  Radford, always the comedian, was holding up a white card that read: Zombie Parking Only, and flashing his boyish smile at every woman that passed by. The gesture was returned more often than not. Silk nodded a greeting and Trent had that serious, always-working expression on his face.

  “Where’s the ballbuster?” were Hayden’s first words.

  Trent fell in with her. “Collins is working. Big case over in Topanga apparently. She sends her regards.”

  “I’m surprised to see you back after what happened last time,” Silk said.

  “Team figured we needed a few more weeks,” Hayden said, “before getting back together and figuring out a way forward. Our experiences with that gunrunner, Schiller, that tracked you down showed that we’re vulnerable in our own backyard.”

  “Must be hard on the team,” Trent said with perception.

  “Sure is,” Kinimaka said, almost tripping over a wheeled suitcase being dragged erratically by a middle-aged man. “It’s hard on everyone. But it is only temporary. We’ll be back to our globetrotting, ass-kicking ways very soon. Back as a team.”

  Hayden smiled at him, knowing it was true. Alicia had left a mess
age to say Drake was headed to Clearwater and that they were back in the game, as a team. The bigger problem now, was that they would have to investigate the new president, Lacey, first. This latest presidential regime came with warnings of grave and increasing danger.

  “Team over individual any day of the week,” Trent said.

  “Agreed.” Hayden nodded as they exited the terminal and found Trent’s car, a boxy SUV with blacked-out windows. “So,” she said as they settled in and Trent started the car. “You’ve been looking into Madame Davic?”

  “Since she tried to kill us,” Silk said. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

  Trent pulled out into traffic. “You may remember we last saw her just sailing away. Well, she didn’t go far. She doubled back, according to our sources, and she’s still in LA.”

  Hayden was surprised. “Still here? For you guys?”

  “Nah. Kidnapping Trent was just a bit of fun on the side,” Silk told them. “Their overbearing arrogance allowed them to think it would be an easy task. She’s here for a different reason.”

  Hayden sighed and reclined in the leather seat. After they’d debriefed following Marinette’s demise, she and Kinimaka had a decision to make. They’d believed, along with Drake, that it was too early to get the team back together. Another month or so, and even then they’d have to be ultra-careful. President Lacey still wasn’t doing them any favors, and Karin was investigating as quickly and quietly as she could, using the contacts she, Hayden and the others had made through years of service.

  “And we thought taking a break meant winding down,” Kinimaka said. “Lying back in a hammock on a sandy beach, staring through palm trees at the sun.”

  “So that’s your interpretation?” Hayden asked. “For me, it’s a movie, a pizza and a beer. Doesn’t matter where I am in the world.”

  She knew her preferences came from a life of traveling. Hayden didn’t call anywhere home, but she could make a temporary home wherever she happened to find herself.