Rogue Alliance Page 4

  Brennan noticed that Victor used the word ‘person’ this time. He also took note that he was very direct in his speech and took his eyes from the road many times just to look him in the eye. He sensed that Victor spoke only the truth. He just had to decide if he really wanted to make an allegiance with someone like him when he had only just acquired his freedom.

  But then again, hadn’t he already?

  “You said freedom for loyalty. How does working for you equal freedom for me?” Brennan asked.

  “There’s no way you could be free without me, Brennan. Let’s face it, some very influential people are going to be angry that their project just fled their facility. They are going to be looking for you. If word gets out to the public - and it always does - there will be hordes of people wanting you caught. People who are afraid of you, people who want to experiment on you, and people who just want to kill you.

  “You would be on the run for the rest of your life. And with no one on your side, you would eventually be caught. You haven’t been out in the world for a long time. Things are brutal out here. With me, you have a friend, someone who has your back, too. Like I said, we’re a team. That’s freedom.

  “Now, my next question is, how long can you go before you need your next supplement?”

  SEVEN

  Shyla drove her Range Rover into the Redding city limits with a familiar lead weight in her gut. She drove straight to the apartment she’d already rented. She’d done her homework and knew it was closest to the Redding Police Department and that the names of the owners were not familiar.

  As she navigated her way through the streets of her old stomping grounds, she noticed that not a whole lot had changed. The outskirts of town seemed to extend further out into the hills. There were some newer businesses, some new paint. But there were also a few places that looked run-down and forgotten. Generally though, it was the same. She shivered and concentrated on her destination.

  When she checked in with the management office, she held her breath as she signed the final paperwork and received her keys. She kept anticipating that the woman would suddenly recognize her, but she didn’t.

  “There ya are, honey. Your parking spot is 19. There is visitor parking in each lot but only in the marked areas. Your unit is very clean and functional, as I’m sure you’ll see. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

  Shyla snagged her keys. Once inside the furnished apartment she let out a shaky breath.

  “Jesus, get it together already,” she scolded herself. She scanned the apartment. Clean and functional was accurate. Otherwise it was fairly plain; no fancy cabinetry or granite countertops, no fireplace or sunken tub, like her apartment back in L.A. It was exactly what someone on a secretary’s wage could afford.

  She was tired from the nine hour drive but she’d left early so it was only three in the afternoon. She decided to keep busy and dug into her boxes. She’d had her things mailed as soon as she shored up the deal with the apartment complex.

  Two hours later, she had made fairly significant progress with her bedroom. It was the most important area. She wouldn’t be home much. She just needed somewhere to crash out every night.

  Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten since she grabbed a sub sandwich around eleven that morning. As there was nothing in the apartment resembling food, she conceded that she would need to venture out and grab something quick. She didn’t have the energy yet for a shopping trip so she decided to check out the diner she’d passed just a few blocks down the road.

  She decided to walk. There were high clouds and it had been a fairly hot day. She inhaled deeply. The fresh mountain air was the only thing she’d missed since moving away. Being late August, she knew they still had at least another month before fall really hit.

  As she drew closer to the diner, she took note that it was the dinner hour and the parking lot was full. The lead weight returned to its residence in her gut. She suddenly imagined walking into the diner and all of the customers turning to stare at her. They would start pointing and shouting ‘That’s the girl who stabbed her own father to death! Remember that?’

  She feared it wouldn’t be possible to go anywhere and look anyone in the eyes, without knowing they were watching her through eyes which remembered. Those watchful, careful gazes were exactly why she’d left Redding in the first place.

  For a moment, she briefly considered turning around and going hungry for the night. The thought shamed her. She was tougher than that. She’s grown beyond those fears, right? Jamming her hands into her jeans pockets she trudged forward, determined to overcome her childhood insecurities.

  The bell above the door clanged when she entered. Expecting everyone to turn and stare, like an old movie when a stranger comes to town, her whole body stiffened. She badly wanted a drink.

  Only two people looked her way - an elderly gentleman waiting at the front register to pay his bill, and a tired looking waitress who was walking in his direction. They simply acknowledged her existence then turned away to focus on their task.

  She was being ridiculous, Shyla told herself. It had been a decade and a half. No one remembered her and no one cared.

  Once she was shown to her booth on the far back wall, she settled in and decided to try to enjoy her dinner.

  A waitress who looked to be in her late fifties approached. Her leather shoes squeaked.

  Shyla looked up and gave a careful smile. She watched as the woman slowly scanned her face. Her blank expression slowly shifted to awareness. Shyla fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “You look just like her. Well, not exactly, but around the eyes and mouth, you’re the spitting image,” she said.

  Oh, shit. Here it comes.

  “Um, excuse me?”

  “Sandra Strauss. Your mom. We were very good friends many years ago. Up until…well until she died. I’m Cheryl.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t remember,” Shyla said, swallowing hard.

  “It’s okay, Shyla, I wouldn’t expect you to. You had it rough. You’ve been gone an awfully long time. Not that I can blame you. What are you doing back in these parts?”

  “Well…I have new job. Yeah…I got a job working as the administrative assistant for the Chief of Police. You know, answering phones, filing, taking notes, keeping the office organized.”

  Cheryl cocked her head.

  “Is that right? I wouldn’t have figured you for the secretary type. Then again,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t have figured myself as the waitress type, neither.

  “Well, anyway, good for you. Hal Jorgenson’s good people. You’ll like working for him. Have you had a chance to look at our menu? The special is prime rib on a garlic sesame seed bun served with au jus and fresh cut home fries.”

  Shyla thought about asking where the nearest liquor store was.

  “That sounds good. I’ll take the special and an iced tea, please.”

  Cheryl gave a genuine smile.

  “No problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Welcome home, Shyla.”

  Shyla put her head in her hands after Cheryl sauntered off. For the love of god, she’d been in town for less than three hours and had already been recognized, but, despite her nerves, she had to admit the interaction had been fairly innocuous.

  Shyla tried to recall Cheryl and put her into context. Had she known her mom through work? Probably, which meant Shyla wouldn’t have seen her too often. She said they’d been friends until her mom died. Shyla pursed her lips and fought off a brisk wave of sadness. Her mom hadn’t just died, she’d killed herself a month after the incident. The guilt, the shame, the sickness within their home was all put in the spotlight, under a microscope, and it had pushed her over a thin edge.

  It was one more tragedy which Shyla took full responsibility for.

  Cheryl approached with a plate full of hot food.

  “Here ya are. Is there anything else I can get you, honey?”

  Suddenly, Shyla was no longer hungry.

>   “Uh, no,” she said, “would it be possible to get this to go? My first day is tomorrow and I have a lot to do tonight.”

  “Of course. That’s no problem at all. I’ll wrap this up for you and let you be on your way.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shyla walked out of the diner, feeling as if the lead weight in her gut had grown and now weighed down her whole body. She felt heavy. She wanted a stiff drink. Next stop: the liquor store.

  EIGHT

  Shyla wanted to take off her shoes and chuck them across the parking lot. They had only a one inch heel but still, they were pissing her off. She grumbled under her breath and swore a silent oath to wear flats the next day and all the days following. If she was going to play the secretary role she wasn’t going to break an ankle doing it.

  She smoothed her beige skirt and entered the Redding Police Department, prepared to report for duty.

  The pace of the building was slow compared to the hustle and bustle of LA. Men and women walked, rather than ran, from one point to another. And even the ones hunched over paperwork at their desks had a lackadaisical quality about them which made Shyla want to shout at them to sit up straight and get to work.

  She held her chin up and made a beeline straight for the office in the left corner which was labeled Chief of Police, Hal Jorgenson. A few looked up from what they were doing and watched her determined stride. She felt the weight of their stares.

  The door was open. As she raised her fist to give a knock on the door frame, the man sitting behind the desk glanced up.

  “Well, hey there.”

  He popped out of his chair and rounded his scuffed and worn desk. His hand was outstretched and his face was beaming with a welcoming expression.

  “You must be my new assistant,” he said, “it’s so nice to meet you, Shyla.”

  His enthusiasm was infectious and she returned his smile.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Sir.”

  When she shook his hand she couldn’t help but notice that their hands were about the same size. Hal Jorgenson’s personality filled the room but his stature was what she considered vertically challenged. He was a good inch shorter than her at maybe five-four. Instead of a uniform, he wore business casual attire; slacks and a polo shirt. Though small, his frame was compact and strong. She guessed that he may have been a wrestler once upon a time and worked out to keep up his athletic build.

  “Ah, to hell with this Sir nonsense, you call me Hal.”

  “Sure. Hal it is.”

  “Well, come on in. Sit down. We’ll go over some things,” he ushered her into his office and waited to speak until his door was closed and was behind his desk facing her, “Okay, Shyla. First, I just want to say that our department is pleased and grateful to have you. I will introduce you to everyone shortly. Shit, being as you’re from here, I wouldn’t be surprised if you went to school with a few of ‘em.”

  Shyla kept her expression bland but cringed on the inside.

  “Secondly,” he continued, “Jason and Shawn have been gathering as much info on Victor as possible over the last few weeks. They know his routine, his favorite hang-outs and hobbies. They can tell you where and when to find him and even what kind of wine he likes. They’ve been doing a good job of profiling without getting too close.”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “We’re pretty sure he gets who they are and what they’re up to, but we’re expecting him to know they’re game. It’s you who he doesn’t see coming. I’ve seen your file. I know you do good work. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  Shyla was relieved and amazed that he hadn’t brought up her past. Maybe they were all going to ignore it. Or maybe they really wouldn’t put two and two together. That worked just fine for her.

  “No, Sir…uh, sorry, Hal. I’m just eager to get to work. Obviously I’ll need to set up my desk and get to my secretarial responsibilities right away, but I was hoping to meet Jason and Shawn today if at all possible.”

  Hal crossed his legs casually.

  “You won’t have too much to worry about on that front, my dear,” he said, “I’ve been without a secretary for eight weeks now and do just fine. I’ll continue to do most of that work. I’ll offload just enough tasks and paperwork to keep up the appearance but mostly you’ll be able to focus on the case.

  “Shawn and Jason are already out and about for the day, but I made arrangements for you to meet them off site later tonight. I figure my place is best. The wife is out of town with our girls at the State Fair. They show horses. Damn things eat up half my pay. Anyway, does that work for you?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Great. I’ll give you my address and directions later. Now let’s get you to your desk and start making introductions.”

  *

  Shyla knew very well what she was getting with Jason and Shawn. She’d requested all background information on the men who would be working with her as soon as she learned about the transfer.

  They were young, barely out of the academy, used to the typical day to day routine of being small town cops; traffic stops, domestics, theft. Neither of them had ever seen a dead body on scene. They were green. They were inexperienced in comparison to most partners she’d worked with. And they were her responsibility now.

  She arrived early and was sitting comfortably with Hal on his back porch sipping lemonade when Shawn and Jason joined them.

  Both were tall and lanky, mid-twenties. The one with blondish hair gave her a curt nod and she could see the skepticism in his eyes. The red-head unabashedly scanned her from head to toe and gave an obvious nod of approval.

  “Hey, boys,” Hal said, “glad to see you made it. Come on. Have a glass of lemonade with us. Or would you rather have a cold Hefewiezen?”

  “Lemonade’s fine, Hal,” answered the blond, his eye still on her. The other nodded in agreement but looked like he would have rather had the beer.

  Hal shook their hands.

  “Shawn,” he said to the blond, “this is Shyla.”

  Shyla stepped forward and gave a firm handshake.

  “Nice to meet you, Shawn,” she said, not waiting for the next introduction. She turned to the red-head, “and you must be Jason. Good to meet you, too.”

  Before Hal could speak again, she took the lead. She poured their lemonades as she spoke.

  “I’ve been following the Victor Champlain case from a distance for two years now so there’s no need to give me his history. What I’m interested in right now is his day to day life since he’s moved to Redding. Hal says you’ve got his routine down fairly well, so let’s start there. We’ll find little gaps and holes where I can intercept his routine and make his acquaintance. Under-cover means more than just hidden. It means getting up close and personal. I need to meet him and hopefully befriend him or else we just won’t get far. We’ll be reduced to simply following him around and sniffing his trail. That approach is past tense. We want to be in the present. We want to be were he is when he is.”

  Shawn clenched his jaw. Jason sipped his lemonade, his eyes wide and curious.

  “We can give you his full schedule,” Shawn said, “it doesn’t vary a whole lot except on days when he leaves town, which he does every few weeks or so. He always leaves for two to three days at a time.

  “The one thing he does without fail is skeet shooting. Every Saturday morning he meets three or four buddies at the range. They shoot and bullshit for about two hours. Then they call it a day and repeat the next Saturday. “

  “That’s perfect,” Shyla said, “I can’t think of a better way to meet a man. I play dumb girl trying to shoot and he comes to the rescue. I couldn’t have asked for a better ploy opportunity.”

  Once again, Shawn’s wary gaze met hers.

  “Any man? Or just us stupid hicks who don’t know any better?”

  There it was, Shyla thought, the defensiveness and insecurity she’d expected.

  “It’s not a hick thing, Shawn. It’s
basic human nature. It’s psychology 101. Don’t tell me you’ve never witnessed the basic damsel in distress scenario.”

  She was challenging him. Hal and Jason squirmed but kept quiet.

  Shawn narrowed his gaze but didn’t answer. She knew he was trying to grasp how he felt about her and their working situation. It would be awhile before he trusted her.

  “There’s one other thing you should know,” Shawn offered, changing the subject, “Victor’s got a new bodyguard.”

  “And?”

  Shawn and Jason shared a quick glance.

  “And,” Jason said, “it’s an odd development. All we’ve been able to find out about this guy is that his name is supposedly Brennan Miles. But we’ve yet to find any sort of background on him. And I don’t mean that he doesn’t have a record. I mean he flat out doesn’t exist according to our research. Nothing. No prints, no birth certificate, no social. Zilch.

  “He just shows up one day last month and he’s been inseparable from Victor’s side ever since. Doesn’t make sense.”

  Shyla sat back in the wicker chair and bit her thumbnail.

  “Hmm, that is a bit odd. He’s had his identity swiped somehow. He’s definitely got friends in high places, then. That’s very suspicious. We’ll have to keep trying and dig up whatever we can on him. It could prove useful. It could be nothing. Either way, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  NINE

  Shyla woke up in the dark of the night with a pounding headache. After her evening at Hal’s she’d driven straight home and taken three good slugs straight from the bottle. The musky contents had made her eyes water and her chest burn, but quieted the anxiety that had been building ever since the first moment she’d met Shawn and Jason.

  Though she’d handled the meeting well and Hal had given her a fatherly look of approval, she’d been a wreck on the inside. That feeling, a loathsome sensation of being out of control, had her angry at herself. She was always in control when it came to her job. It was one of the traits which made her such a good detective. But ever since she’d driven over the Redding City limits, she’d been a goddamn internal mess.