Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) (8 page)

“Back off a little,” Ashley said. “Even Murphy will notice if we follow him down there this early in the morning. Take the outer road, I’m betting he’s going toward the southern end near the international containers. Security is light down there.”

Rock nodded his agreement and slowed down, letting the Audi turn off well ahead of them. Ashley watched for a moment then began undressing. She caught Rock’s eyes in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“I know, you’re wondering why I’m taking off my clothes. I won’t be doing much sneaking around the docks in a white suit, so I’m going to change while you drive. Try not to hit anything, huh?”

Rock blushed and guided the truck back onto the road, one finger scratching his ear.

Still smiling, Ashley dragged a pack from the rear of the truck and pulled out a pair of black BDU pants, a tank top and a pair of her favorite Bates combat boots. She was dressed by the time Rock parked the Tahoe at the far end of the dock behind a row of train cars waiting to be uncoupled and moved. Ashley slid a Sig-Sauer P239 nine-millimeter pistol into the holster on her right leg and climbed out of the truck into the warm early morning air. She tapped on Rock’s window and looked around at the storage containers and the distant guard-shack. They only had ten or fifteen minutes before someone came back asking dumb questions. Rock rolled the window down and raised an eyebrow.

“Stay here, keep the engine running and pretend you’re reading or something if the guard comes by,” she said. “Whatever you do, don’t let them make you move or I will never find you.”

“Yes, Miss. Should I let Miss Kamryn know where you are?” Rock asked.

Ashley shook her head. “Not unless I don’t come back. Then call her in.”

Rock didn’t look happy. “As you wish.”

“Relax, Rock. SK ain’t the only one who can kick a little ass.”

Ashley kissed his cheek and ran off toward the train cars. Beyond them was a chain link fence that separated the public area from the storage containers waiting to be loaded onto cargo ships bound for Europe. She vaulted the coupler between two cars and jogged to the fence, her eyes scanning back and forth for any hint of danger. It looked quiet, but she could feel the breeze on her face and sense the fence shaking under her fingertips.

She gripped the wire between her fingers and scurried up and over the top, dropping to her feet and rolling, letting the ground absorb the impact. She knelt in the long grass for a long moment, making sure she hadn’t been noticed. Seeing nothing, she jumped to her feet and ran toward the nearest set of storage containers, using the shadow of the four-high stack to hide her movement. When she reached the safety of the container, she moved along the side toward where they’d last seen Murphy’s Audi.

Ashley picked her way down the narrow space between the containers and the fence, alternating between trailing her fingers on the fence and along the cold steel of the cargo containers, using their vibration like a blind man uses a cane. When she reached the end of the row, she stopped. The Audi was sitting in the middle of the lot to her left, and Murphy was leaning against the side, playing with something shiny, rolling it around in his hands.

Ashley knelt in the shadow and waited, one hand on the metal next to her. It wasn’t long before a late model Mercedes-Maybach entered the lot and pulled up next to Murphy. Ashley couldn’t tell who was in the Mercedes through the privacy tint, but Murphy was speaking, waving his hands in the air and twice dropping the object he was holding to the ground. He was talking so fast, it was hard to read his lips, but she could tell he mentioned Rayne’s name as well as hers during his rant. He stopped suddenly during his tirade and held up his hands, showing there was a golden disk in his left palm. A coin.

He listened for a couple of heartbeats, nodded and stepped away from the Mercedes, which accelerated away, never slowing until it reached the end of the lot. Murphy watched it go before leaning back against his Audi and wiping sweat from his face with one hand.

They might be paying you
, Ashley thought,
but they scare the hell out of you. Is it the Russians or the boys from South Africa?

She shook her head and looked away, using a marker from her pocket to write the Mercedes’ license plate on the back of her hand. When she looked up, it was to see Murphy looking straight at her.

“Shit,” she muttered.

She began backing away into the shadows, hoping he hadn’t actually seen her. When she was around the corner, she turned and began to run, her fingers trailing on the metal container to her right. She had only gone a dozen steps when the steel vibrated beneath her fingers, a rhythmic pattern that told her someone was moving along the top of the container, getting closer.

She spun and dodged to the right, feeling a bullet tear through the side of her pants, the heat scorching her skin. Hissing in pain, she drew her pistol, danced back and fired two shots at the shadow above her. The first bullet missed by millimeters, but the second hit home, passing through the man’s jaw and out through the top of his head in a spray of crimson.

Ashley didn’t wait to see the body fall. The shots would surely attract attention, even at five a.m. on the Miami docks. She ran, again letting her fingers on the steel next to her be her ears. There was a sharp impact on the containers, and a shadow dropped to the ground in front of her, too close to shoot.

She tossed her pistol at his face and lashed out with a side kick Bruce Lee would have admired. The heel of her boot hit the man in the sternum, and she felt the cracking of his ribs all the way to her hip. She followed the attack with a palm strike to his throat that knocked him out of the way and ended with a boot to his groin ensuring he wasn’t going anywhere.

She stopped to pat him down, pull a wallet from his pants and scoop up her own pistol before jumping back to her feet and running. A moment later, she was climbing the fence, using one hand to pull herself up and over. Sparks erupted around her as unseen gun thugs opened up with their pistols, the bullets poking dents into the train cars like fingers in icing.

Ashley hit the ground and rolled, coming up on one knee, her pistol spitting flame in the predawn light. Two of the silhouettes atop the containers dropped as her pistol clicked empty. She could see more shadowy figures, but they were hiding amongst the containers, unwilling to risk being shot. She didn’t blame them. It hurt like hell.

She regained her feet and ran while she had a window, vaulting between two train cars and heading for the parked Tahoe. She could see Rock was outside the truck, an Mp5 in his hands. Ashley waved to him and kept running, feeling relief wash over her that the big man had her back.

Rock opened the back door of the Tahoe, and then climbed in the front, wedging the Mp5 between the door and jamb, so he could still cover her. Ashley ducked around him and into the back seat of the truck, her heart pounding.

Rock didn’t wait for her to close the door. He slammed his and the truck accelerated away under his smooth touch.

“I’m fine, Rock,” Ashley said. “I left four bodies behind, though. Murphy met with someone in a black Mercedes, and I’m guessing, whoever it was, had their own guards. Chandler will be pissed about the corpses, but it can’t be helped.”

She sat up and put a fresh magazine in her pistol before holstering it and pulling out the wallet she’d taken. Inside was two hundred dollars in small bills and a Maine driver’s license in the name of Ivan Ivane. She ran her fingers over the surface then tossed it aside in disgust.

“Fake Maine driver’s license. The odds are good that the guys I killed were Russian, but I can’t swear to it,” she said.

Rock nodded, but didn’t otherwise comment.

Ashley knew he was concentrating on his driving and needed both hands to sign.

“Take me back to the apartment, I need to get a shower, call SK and get Noah to come down and exchange my pistol.”

Rock nodded again and changed lanes, guiding the big truck south toward home.

The sun glowed above the horizon, yellow fingers spilling like syrup over the glistening towers of Miami. Smoak always loved mornings. They made everything look shiny and new. For the moment, Miami looked innocent and clean, even if she knew what was lurking beneath the gleaming surface.

She guided her bike through morning traffic and entered the parking garage, winding her way around until she reached the top floor where her parking space waited. She backed the bike into the spot and used her key card to pass through the security door into the apartment building. She entered her apartment a few minutes later to find Ashley treating a cut on her hip with hydrogen peroxide and cotton gauze. She knew what kind of wound it was by the shape.

She sat down next to Ashley and quickly signed,
How the hell did you get shot?

“Good morning to you too, SK,” Ashley said. “I was following up a lead on Rayne. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Smoak glared at the top of Ashley’s head and leaned back into the sofa, her arms folded over her chest.

Ashley dabbed at the wound with another pad. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m trained and I’m a better shot than you are. And ,if you raise one finger to say I can’t hear, I’m going to kick your ass. This feels like someone stuck a hot poker in my leg, and I’m not in the mood for any of that foolishness.”

Smoak leaned forward and used one finger to raise Ashley’s chin until she could see her friend’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. I know you can handle yourself, but I am never going to be happy about you taking chances or getting hurt. Can I help?”

“I’m not any happier when you do it, SK,” Ashley replied. “Could you put the bandage on? I can’t really see.”

Smoak picked up the square of bandage and set about taping it in place. “Tell me how you got shot and what our next move is.”

Ashley winced as Smoak’s less than gentle fingers worked on her leg. “Your bedside manner is crap. While you were out, I did some digging and found a possible connection to Rayne. She was arrested three times by Murphy back in Ormond Beach, twice for drugs. Guess who is now working in Miami?”

“The Detective Murphy Blaze spoke to is the same one from Ormond?”

“Yep…”

Ashley spent the next ten minutes giving Smoak the low-down on what had happened during the night with Smoak filling in her own details as she worked. When she was done, Ashley pulled on a clean pair of shorts and sat on the arm of the sofa.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Smoak stifled a yawn and leaned back against the cool leather of the sofa.

“I think I’m going to get a couple hours of sleep. Then I’m going to take great pleasure in rattling Murphy’s cage until he tells me what happened to Rayne,” she said. “You should get some sleep, too.”

“And then what?”

“Can you see if you can crack the GPS on Rayne’s phone? I doubt she still has it with her, but it might give us the general location where she was snatched,” Smoak said.

Ashley frowned. “How do you know she even has one?”

Smoak looked uncomfortable. “I sort of bumped into Blaze earlier, and she was texting on one, so I am guessing they both have one. I didn’t see a land line in their place.”

Ashley’s jaw dropped. When she could speak, it was with a giggle. “You let a client see you? That has to be a first. I’m guessing, from the look on your face, you don’t mean figuratively. Do you? You actually bumped into her?”

“It couldn’t be helped. She walked out of the stairwell and ran right into me. I couldn’t very well push her down the stairs and bolt, so I talked to her like a normal person would.”

“What did she say?” Ashley asked.

Smoak took great interest in an imaginary mark on the sofa. “Not much. She invited me to breakfast.”

“What?” Ashley asked. “I can’t see your lips.”

Smoak rolled her eyes, but looked up and repeated herself.

“And you went, didn’t you? You had breakfast with the client!” Ashley said.

“It was just toast and coffee, don’t make such a big deal out of it,” Smoak groused.

“I think you broke your own first five rules,” Ashley said with a grin. “Admit it. You’re smitten by her legs. Just remember she can’t be Ms. Tonight, you’re supposed to be finding her sister.”

“Gimme a break, Ash! I was just trying not to blow my cover,” Smoak said. “I don’t even know if she likes women, she’s probably got some gigantic boyfriend and has forgotten me by now.”

“Uh huh…your instincts are infallible. I doubt she’s forgotten those purple eyes, that mane of blond hair or that you’re six feet tall. You’re an unforgettable woman, when you want to be. Just keep it in your pants, we have work to do.”

“Yeah… fine. I’m going to go get some sleep,” Smoak said, standing.

“Sweet dreams. But keep pinky in the nightstand, you’re tougher when you’re horny.”

Smoak threw a sofa pillow at Ashley’s head and left the room, trying not to smile at her friend’s muffled laughter.

Church bells were ringing out the noon hour when Smoak exited the apartment complex. Once again, she was dressed in black; black BDU pants tucked into combat boots, a black tank top and her old black motorcycle jacket. Her mirrored sunglasses covered her eyes, and her hair was pulled back into a leather thong to keep it out of her face for the ride to North Beach.

Her bike roared to life, and she sat on the back, staring at the sticky note with Blaze’s number written in very feminine script. She ran a thumb over the numbers then crumpled up the note and tossed it aside.

Don’t be stupid, Kamryn. You’ve got shit to do.

She’d said the same thing to John Chandler two years ago.

“I’m sick of it, John. ‘One shot, one kill’ isn’t fun anymore. When I was a rookie, I didn’t give a rat’s ass why you asked me to quietly kill someone. I liked the pay and the gig. Now I care. I don’t know why I do this, and I want out. I’ve got shit to do, and I’m taking Ash with me.”

“Like what, MacKenna?” General Chandler asked, lighting a cigar. “Where are you two going to go? This is what we do. I point, you kill.”

“Not anymore,” Smoak replied. “This is political bullshit. None of it means a damn thing. There has to be something else I can do, somewhere. Maybe I’ll go back home.”

Chandler’s secretary, a young man named Noah Mason who had been standing near the file cabinets, piped up.

“Smoak, you can’t break up a winning team, stick with what you’re best at…”

Smoak turned her head and glared at Mason.

“I’m still Sergeant MacKenna to you, Mason, and if I wanted your opinion, I’d have asked.”

Noah paled and went back to his filing. Smoak stared at his back a beat longer then turned her head back to Chandler.

“So how about it, John? Are you going to sign the paperwork for an honorable discharge, or am I going AWOL with Ash?”

Chandler puffed on his cigar.

“Let me get this straight, MacKenna. You don’t care that you’re killing people, you care that you don’t think it means anything?”

“You know I don’t care about killing, John,” Smoak replied. “Nobody who gets a visit from me is a saint. But their deaths don’t change anything, either. It’s the same shit, different day.”

Chandler nodded. “I knew someday that conscience of yours was going to be a bitch.”

“…John…” Smoak warned.

“I got it, MacKenna, and I have a counter proposal. I’ve been working on a pet project, and I could use you and Ashley on the team. I’ll sign your discharge papers and arrange for a fat bankroll for you to do whatever you want to, if you agree to continue working for me on the side,” Chandler said.

“In what capacity?” Smoak asked.

“Like Noah said, doing what you do best, taking out the trash,” Chandler replied, holding out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Smoak straightened, ignoring the hand. “Let me talk to Ash, I’m not making that call for her.”

Chandler waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. I want your answer by dawn, or I have another job for you in Afghanistan.”

Smoak turned away. “I’m not going back to Afghanistan, John. Not ever.”

She nodded at Mason and left Chandler’s office, leaving the door open.

“Is she really that important, General?” Mason asked when she was gone.

Chandler sucked on his cigar and blew a smoke ring at the door. “That girl is the Angel of Death. If you see her wings, you’re already a corpse. Yes, son, she’s that important. I can’t do this without her. Stop that and go do up their discharge orders, they’ll be leaving the service effective immediately.”

“You think they’ll say yes? It seems like a long shot.”

Chandler smiled. “I know they will.”

Smoak arrived in North Beach nearly half an hour after leaving the apartment. The lunch rush had been murder on Alton Road, and she’d been forced to wind her way through traffic, which did nothing to improve her mood.

Murphy lived in a large condominium complex with views of both the ocean and the not too distant skyscrapers of the city proper. Each of the condominiums within the complex were two stories tall with four apartments per building, two on the top and two on the bottom. Murphy’s residence was on the first floor, with a walk out to the harbor beyond the complex. Smoak parked her bike on the street in front of his building and walked toward his door, her hands in her jacket pockets.