The Disavowed Book 2 - In Harm's Way Read online

  He snapped back as the venom in Silk’s voice defined the moment. Roley stepped back, looking scared, and Trent realized he’d just missed something. “Adam?”

  “Don’t take that the wrong way, Roley.” Silk said evenly. “But I will find and kill this person.”

  “But you don’t think—”

  “If I find out it’s—”

  Trent stepped in. “All we have is a big pile of nothing at the moment,” he said with a stern expression. “Silk, back off. This man is in shock and needs to grieve. And the cops will be here soon.”

  Radford clicked the blinds. “Not yet.”

  Silk spread his hands and backed away. Trent inwardly cursed himself for zoning out. He could have averted that nasty little scenario. Silk was going to get down and dirty on this one, there was no doubt. It might even be the worst time of his life, including the orphanage and gang days that he never really talked about. Trent somehow had to buffer him from the worst of it.

  Otherwise, he thought, we might lose our old friend forever.

  His thoughts flicked back to what Reggie Rosenthal had said. Up close and personal. The boyfriend, relatives and old acquaintances were all suspect. The whole damn lot needed investigating. Trent didn’t have the resources.

  We use the cops. We finesse the rest. A little misdirection in the interests of justice and redemption never hurt.

  “Time to go.” Radford rattled the blinds. “Shit, it’s that Rhino guy. On the plus side the babe’s with him.”

  Silk, ninety nine times out of a hundred would have grunted or rolled his eyes at Radford’s expected comment, but today he rounded hard on his friend. “Show just a touch of fucking respect. She’s trying to help.”

  Radford looked away and Trent caught Roley’s attention. “Back door? Do you have a back gate?”

  “Yeah. Through the kitchen.”

  “And Roley,” Trent said as he ushered the other two out first, “be strong, man. The man I am, the life I have, I can’t try to sugarcoat all this. Those bastards who say it gets easier with time, they’re wrong. It never heals. Just . . . live,” he said. “Keep on living. For her. One day at a time.”

  The three men exited out the back in a strained silence and began circling around to their cars. Silk finally broke the silence. “Where to next?”

  Trent stopped in the shade of a leaning oak, dappled by the waning sunlight. “Go home. Take some time to assimilate. We need the CSI report, the coroner’s report and the police report. Maybe Collins can help with that if I approach her about it outside the office.”

  “Tell her it’s important to us,” Silk said automatically.

  “Of course I will.” Trent’s severe face turned on him. “Do not try any kind of finesse on your own. If it comes to it—we’ll all be there.”

  Silk nodded. “But tomorrow,” he said, “we find this bastard. And we kill him.”

  8

  Silk made it home as the last searing rays faded from the sky and thickening shadows began to fill the canyons. Jenny stood up and walked from the front room into the hallway as he pushed through the front door. The expression on her face showed that she was worried.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “On a case.” He pushed past her and entered the kitchen.

  “What kind of case? Something so important that you left the phone hanging and the doors wide open after you left?”

  “Yes,” Silk admitted, sitting down. “And . . . and thanks for calling the guys. It helped.”

  “Oh, Adam.” Jenny’s face softened considerably. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Silk stared into space. “If you don’t mind.”

  Jenny’s eyes flashed, just for a second, but then she sat next to him and draped an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe later.”

  “Maybe.”

  Silk stared at the wall, lost in memory, anger and bitterness, burning with regret, but still aware of the present and wondering hard as to the fire that had flashed across his wife’s gaze. They had always had secrets. The CIA demanded it. Was she pissed because that part of his life should be over now?

  Or is there a deeper problem?

  *

  Trent entered his little apartment and turned on the lights. The red message alert was blinking on his home phone and he tuned out all other thoughts for a moment to listen.

  Victoria’s voice. “Mikey won’t make it to football practice on Monday. The little shit’s brought home some kind of bug from school that took us all down. I’ll let you know about the weekend.”

  Trent bit his lip, trying not to react. She said those awful things about her son not because she meant it, but to needle Trent. She knew it worked. Victoria truly loved her son, but most of the time she allowed her hate for her ex-husband to control her. The outcome was never appealing.

  He deleted the message and fixed himself a cold supper. The fridge was bare, but then he led a meagre life at home, not prone to the excesses of a millionaire. For months now he’d been struggling with the idea of taking it up a notch, treating Mikey to some expensive things, taking him away, and buying a bigger, better home. Somewhere the young boy could run.

  But lately, life had thrown him a constant curveball. Since their last big mission for a client, Anna Borstein, where they’d helped to take down an underground MMA ring, the Edge had eased their way through two simple intimidation cases and were on call for two possible protection details, one an actual favor for Agent Collins—a woman named Kono Kinimaka had come under threat after the recent events in Washington DC and was now the possible target of some super-assassin. Coyote? Trent thought. He knew the name from long ago, but hadn’t been privy to any details. Maybe the Trout would know more.

  It appeared that Kono Kinimaka’s brother was even now part of some crazy tournament—assassin pitted against special forces solider pitted against cold-blooded maniac and so on—the world’s best all fighting to see who won. But no one could pinpoint a location. Not the NSA nor the CIA. Nobody except those involved knew where Coyote’s trial of strength, skill and death was being played out.

  Trent figured he knew several high-ranking underworld figures who would know. But it wasn’t his place. Not anymore. If the call came to help he’d be there, but for now Silk’s case took precedence.

  And as for their own disavowal . . . he flicked across that as he ate. The screws were turning, and turning hard. The big dogs were no longer jumping; they were running around crapping on the White House lawn. The time was near—the truth and its dangerous consequences were coming.

  Trent sat in the darkness, thinking. So many angles and cases, all about to go ballistic.

  Their lives were about to explode.

  *

  Radford, in contrast, paced back and forth across the blue carpet in his living room with all lights blazing. The track in the thick pile was noticeable. In his left hand he held a small tumbler one-quarter full of Jim Beam. In his right hand he held a black plastic telephone.

  Despite everything, Amanda was still first on his mind.

  The downtime they’d experienced since the demise of Oleg Roth and his underground MMA circuit had solidified at least one thing in his mind. He wanted his wife back. Officially. The realization, though at first uplifting and somewhat of a relief, carried with it some heavy responsibility and one tough bitch of a decision.

  How the hell can I ever tell her? Dan Radford had been the playboy, the spy with a girlfriend in every city. He still was to all intents and purposes; only Trent knew the new truth. Amanda Radford had somehow learned to live with his liaisons by contriving a few of her own. After that, their relationship had been sealed. Soul mates with benefits, even to the point of introducing each other to new lovers.

  Now all that had changed. At least for Radford. But he couldn’t ask her to revert, just like that. Any kind of sudden revelation could destroy the close relationship that he still treasured even now.

  What to do?

/>   For a moment, he came to a standstill. Standing there, bathed in artificial light, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Still rugged and handsome, his thirty six years aging him not unfavorably, Radford knew it was only a matter of time before the years began to take their toll. With the things he had done and the pressure he’d been placed under by the CIA he was surprised and grateful that he wasn’t there already.

  When the phone rang he dropped it. Watched it bounce on the carpet. Amanda’s picture flashed at him from the ID screen. Quickly, he placed the tumbler on a squat coffee table and reached down.

  “Hi.”

  “Dan?” Amanda’s voice was muted. “You there?”

  “Are you okay? You sound—”

  “Muffled? Yeah, there’s a reason for that. You’re not gonna believe who I hooked up with tonight.”

  “Ah, well, there’s—”

  “That guy from the Expendables! He’s in the bathroom right now.”

  Radford thought about it despite himself. “Which guy? There’s at least a dozen of ‘em.”

  “Does it matter? Shit, he’s coming. I gotta go. I’ll try to take pics!” Amanda signed off with a little laugh and then there was silence.

  Radford closed his eyes and dropped the phone. His mind whirled. It rebuked and instructed and cautioned him. When he reopened his eyes and looked up he had the distinct impression that the man in the mirror was standing at the definitive crossroads of his life.

  9

  Silk rose with the dawn and set about brewing a large pot of coffee. He worked quickly. This day would be one of the most crucial to the effort of finding Tanya Jassman’s killer and he didn’t want to waste a second of it. The spectacular red, gold and yellow dawn suffused the skies, bringing with it the promise of a new day and new life, new dreams perhaps, maybe even the start of runaway dreams for the trapped city boy and the isolated small-town girl, but only for a few. For others, that chance, that thrilling feeling, would never come again.

  Silk downed the coffee quickly, barely tasting the strong, caramel-infused Arabica brew. He grabbed his keys and was turning toward the door when Jenny, wrapped in a snug white robe, appeared in the doorway.

  “Hot lead?”

  “Trying to keep it that way.” Silk juggled the keys in one hand.

  Jenny stared for a moment before stepping aside. “Well, don’t let me keep you. It’s funny—” she said as he walked by “—you know someone. All these years. And then they do something so out of character, so different, that it changes everything.”

  He stopped. “I can’t do this right now. I don’t have time.”

  When she didn’t answer he turned. Jenny’s eyes were on him, large and scared. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just a case.”

  “Come back to me soon,” she said and turned away.

  Silk stared after her, unsure if she meant physically or mentally. Or both. Probably the latter. Jenny knew him better than anyone, but even she had no real idea about the two women of his past life. One he never expected to see again, the other he had purposely avoided seeing for many years whilst still keeping tabs.

  He climbed into the Camaro, thinking about life and how it lulled you into that false sense of security so effortlessly. How it built you up to gleefully tear you apart. Life had given him Jenny Tremayne and allowed him years of hope, then taken away the love of his life just to bury that new hope in grief, hate and joylessness.

  All was ruined. Silk felt it deep inside. Could Jenny sense it too? Would he heal? For now it didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.

  He started the engine and gunned the car, screeching down the hills and along the canyons in flitting light and shadow. Most of the houses were in darkness at this time, but Silk saw a precious few sitting out on their decks and in their secluded gardens, prescient enough to take in the birth of the new day. Who knew when it might be your last?

  He arrived at the diner on Sunset early, a few minutes after they unlocked the doors. Trent’s text had specified the time and place, but not the reason. Silk wanted to know what Trent knew, to help keep his thinking straight, but if he was being totally honest with himself he didn’t think he needed or wanted the other guys along for this one. It was personal, way personal, and so much a part of him that whenever he saw Tanya’s face in his mind’s eye he imagined he was bleeding.

  Trent’s car was already there, and one other. Silk wasn’t surprised to see Trent and Radford step out into the brightening morning, but when Agent Collins emerged from her black fully-loaded Charger he found himself staring.

  “Whoa, nice car. I didn’t imagine you with a beast like that.”

  Collins walked by without turning her head. “Yeah, I’m full of surprises.”

  The three men followed her into the diner, exchanging glances. Trent gave the universal ‘be careful’ signal, indicating that Collins was in fully fledged work mode. By the time Silk found a seat she had already ordered four coffees and a plate of pancakes.

  “Listen,” she said before they could even draw breath, “you guys had better lay this bitch out in front of me from the very beginning. No half-truths. No pansy-assed ex-lover secrets hidden away—” she inclined her head towards Silk. “I want it all. Now.”

  Silk sipped coffee. “Tanya Jassman.” He whispered the words as though they hurt on the way out. “Saved my life a dozen times. Literally and figuratively. I joined a street gang. She saved us, we saved her. I even fought for her once . . .” he stopped dead, knowing he’d said too much. That story—it would never be told.

  “Gang life,” Collins said. “Despite the moniker and the company, is usually a pretty lonely life for most.”

  “I know. We had our own little cell within the gang. Just five of us. Tanya Jazz—she was the nucleus.”

  “Jazz?”

  “That’s what we called her.” He smiled wistfully, remembering. “She loved the music. Used to make her own words up to it and sing through the night. Despite it all,” Silk swallowed hard, “they were good times.”

  “So you formed your own little cell?” Collins prompted.

  “We had each other’s backs. Walked around in a group. Slept in a group, you know? The only man who could ever bother us was the gang leader, but even he kept his distance because we always . . . filled our quota.”

  Collins raised her brows. “I guess at the expense of this cop—Reggie Rosenthal?”

  Silk shrugged. “I guess. But that bastard used to prey on the weakest of us. He never manned up and went for the older kids.”

  Collins sat back as the pancakes came, then set about smothering hers with blueberry syrup. When nine tenths of her plate was covered in the sweet, sticky stuff she slipped a knife and fork out of a folded napkin and started eating. As she bent her head, Silk saw the harsh white lines on her scalp that showed through because she tied her hair back so severely, yet he had seen that hair let down and the smiling baby-face that was revealed. He wondered how she managed to keep her two lives separate.

  “Any more?” She looked up at him, speaking around a mouthful of pancake.

  “We did the work, we ate. We had a place to sleep. We were safe, the five of us. Relatively. Things got easier.”

  “I get all that.” Collins bobbed aggressively. “What I’m saying is—what happened afterwards?”

  “Same thing that always happens,” Silk almost whispered. “Our group of friends gradually drifted apart. We split. I think Tanya and I were the only ones who actively knew that one day we would look back on those times and remember them with happiness. Maybe even wish they had never ended. You ever do that, Agent Collins?”

  The FBI agent remained closed off. They had never seen her resolve shaken at work. “We all have, Adam. It’s part of being human. You never know what ya got till it’s gone, right?”

  Silk’s head was in the past. “Eventually, the CIA got me. I made sure Tanya Jazz was alright. She was ‘out’, had her head in a job, a sublet. After that, life just happen
ed. We saw each other once or twice, found it hard to say what we wanted to say. It wasn’t like they do it in the movies, you know? Two old friends meeting and sharing and talking all night about the old times. It’s never like that. It’s awkward and different and sad. Somehow, full of regret.” Silk shrugged. “For me anyway.”

  “And that’s it?” Collins paused with a fully loaded fork at her mouth, syrup dripping. “Nothing else?”

  “I just want to find her killer.” Silk finished his coffee and poured another. This was turning out to be a caffeine heavy day. Anything to get him through. He signaled the waitress over and put in an order for a plate of French toast before the morning crowd got too thick.

  “Well, the report’s in,” Collins told them. “I’ve seen it and you three owe me big for simply telling you that.”

  Silk nodded. “Then—”

  “Wait,” Trent suddenly interjected. “The report’s in. That quickly? I thought they took longer.”

  “Cops are backed up,” Collins acknowledged. “But the FBI managed to get it run through super quick.”

  Again Silk tried to thank her, but Trent jumped in first. “Why? Why would the FBI do that? Not just for us, I’m sure.”

  Silk wised up at last to Trent’s strict way of thinking. He was right. Something else was going on here.

  Collins sat back and gently wiped her mouth with her napkin. She took a moment to stare each of the three men in the eyes, including them all.

  “Tanya Jassman,” she said softly, “is the fourth person to be killed this way. One in Nevada, two in California. We believe she’s the latest victim of a serial killer.”

  Silk’s stomach hit the floor. “No fucking way.”

  “Oh way. Very much way. You don’t know this but on Tanya’s body was discovered a particular mark on the forehead. An impression, as if an object had been pressed in there. The other three victims bore the same mark. And other . . . matches.”