Morgan Page 3

  Chapter Three

  Gage wanted to kick his own butt to Los Angeles and back—and keep right on doing it until his brain rebooted. He should’ve known by then that not giving a rat’s ass meant not taking one of McCabe’s assignments.“Fuck me,” he said softly over Elvis’s “Tiger Man.” Fuck, too, the situation—and the woman who’d been part of it for screwing him up inside.

  But he kept on driving until he reached a town called Diggerton, Tennessee, where broad banners proclaimed the start of a local pumpkin carving festival.

  Okay, not an uncool thing, but not his reason for going there, either. Fifteen years ago, a group of investors calling themselves the WEED Group—Willis, Earp, Elliot, and Deacon—had opted to build an amusement park two miles outside of town. No surprise, they’d run short of money. Then the economy had taken a hit and, well, sometimes it was wiser to cut and run than to go on pissing money down a rat hole.

  And on the subject of rats… Gage gave his ass a final mental kick before turning his full attention to the minefield of potholes that only loosely resembled a road.

  He swore because it made him feel better, and pictured McCabe’s face as he did so. What had McCabe said? Something about black hair and gold eyes. Gage knew only a handful of his counterparts would take on a job like this, as intriguing as it sounded.

  James Mockerie was a killer, a man without a soul. Word had it he’d murdered his wife a while back. Gage couldn’t remember the details of the story, or even his wife’s name. Something Welsh, he thought. Rowella, Rowena. Whatever the case, he could imagine Mockerie doing the deed himself. The man was reputed to be much more hands-on than Owen Fixx, though God knew Fixx had a hell of a nasty nature.

  Reaching down, Gage cut to the running lights and slowed his Ram 4x4 to a crawl. The rig could handle potholes just fine, but the mini landslides ahead presented more of a challenge.

  Cut and run, he reflected as he worked his way over the rubble. The amusement park investors had done it. If he were smart, he would, too, before any of this became something that mattered.

  The gates appeared in front of him, crooked and rusting, barely clinging to their concrete foundations. With the moon up and the stars out in full force, he could see the silhouette of a giant Ferris wheel alongside the skeletal remains of wooden roller coaster tracks. The WEED Group must have lost a bundle.

  Arming himself, he hopped out. He knew where to go. He only hoped she knew, as well, because he’d never been overly fond of amusement parks. The funhouse clowns had scared him shitless as a kid, and his asshole cousin had sealed the deal by locking him inside the reptile tent after hours.

  There were no tents here, reptile or otherwise—only derelict buildings, splintered booths, and dead carnival rides. What a waste.

  He headed for what appeared to be the carousel. Two horses remained. One of them was missing its head; the other had tipped forward onto its nose.

  Throughout the park, an eerie wind rustled the autumn leaves. Rodents scrabbled in the wreckage, and a couple of owls hooted high in the trees. But no human sounds reached him. Maybe she’d gotten her signals crossed when she’d talked to old Tom. Or maybe she believed he was her enemy, too.

  Keeping his weapon out of sight, Gage called her new name. “Amber? I have your mother’s jewelry box. The rings inside are brass.”

  Still no movement. No response.

  He raised his hands, palms out. “My name’s Gage Morgan. I’m here to help you.”

  Finally, he detected a whisper of sound—a quiet brush of fabric across metal. Turning toward it, he watched her emerge from full darkness to shadowed moonlight. She had a gun, a big one, pointed straight at him. What he could see of her expression didn’t look remotely friendly.

  “Tell me who sent you,” she said. “And don’t lower your hands until I’m satisfied.”

  He let his gaze slide over her body, then slowly back to her face. “I work for a man named McCabe. Tom Vigor contacted him when he got the message about your sister.” Since her mistrustful expression showed no sign of changing, he advanced, slowly and with his eyes locked on hers. “It’s dark, Amber. Whoever I am, you can count on the fact that I’m trained. If I move and you shoot, you’ll be shooting at air.”

  She didn’t alter her stance or look away. “How well do you know Tom?”

  “We met a few times, back when I was part of the LAPD.”

  She lowered her gun a fraction. “You worked for the LAPD? Tom’s a very talkative man. He told me a lot about his family. Do you know his son, Tommy Jr.?”

  Gage nodded, continued his steady advance. “Thomas Vigor Jr., homicide detective. Loves playing the ponies. Like father, like son. Two kids. Wife’s name is Clare. I’ve been to four barbeques at their place. Their oldest graduated three years ago.”

  “Two years ago,” she corrected.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been out of the loop for five.”

  “And now you’re a US Marshal and work for a man named McCabe.”

  “From time to time. When the mood strikes,” he added with a shrug.She adjusted her grip on the gun. “Tell me about McCabe.”

  “His enemies call him the Reaper. The rest of us wait for him to call us. It’s complicated,” he said before she could press the point. “Look, we can toss this ball of suspicion around all night and hope Fixx’s people don’t show up, or you can decide to trust me and we’ll go from there. If it helps, I didn’t jump at the chance to take this job.”

  The gun dropped another notch. Her mistrust level didn’t budge. “Then why did you?”

  “Rent’s due, car needs work. Put the gun away, Amber, and we’ll find someplace safe to talk.”

  Her gaze slid sideways as an owl swooped down, probably to grab a mouse. “I thought I’d gotten it wrong—the location Tom was trying to tell me about in code.” Her eyes met his, and yes, they were amazing. “I’m not an agent or anything close to one. I managed a hotel in Las Vegas before this nightmare started. I can read faces and body language, pick up on subtle vocal changes. I considered psychiatry as a career, but I didn’t have the patience to go through the years of training.”

  He grinned. “We’re two of a kind in that regard.”

  “I despise men like Owen Fixx, more in some ways than I do the James Mockeries of the world, because the Fixxes settle for adopting other people’s nasty habits instead of delving into their own psyches to see what they can dig out.”

  Okay, that almost made sense, even if he wasn’t sure why she was telling him any of it. “You’re scared,” he said when she stopped talking.

  Her eyes closed briefly. “Yes. My world—the one I created for myself—is a lot more glamorous than this one. To say nothing of a lot less dangerous.”

  Gage half smiled. “Welcome to the realm of dark justice. McCabe believes in the people he sends to deal with impossible situations. Not many others do. Not anymore. Am I shaking your faith?”

  “You would be if I’d had any to begin with. As it is…” As the sentence trailed off, the gun dropped all the way. “I can shoot, but I’m not a marksman. I’m guessing you are. If you wanted me dead or captured, that’s what I’d be. You’re more attractive than I tend to like, but that’s a personal prejudice and not relevant to this situation. I’m not happy to be back so close to Black Creek when I was a fair distance away from it before. Either you, Tom, or McCabe, whoever he is, better have some kind of plan or Fixx’s men are going to be all over us. I’m terrified of him, and he’s terrified of James Mockerie. With reason, I get that, but still, dead’s dead and I’d rather not wind up in a grave just yet. Not me and not Rachel.”

  “Whose real name is?”

  “Georgia. She likes Rachel better. We both like our new names better.”

  Interesting. But Gage had too many other concerns right then to go into it. He nodded at the derelict arcade. “A couple of those booths are semi-intact. We can use them for shelter while we talk.”

  “Meaning we’re not done?”
<
br />   “If you’re asking can I take you to a safe location, the answer’s no.”

  “Because that would be too straightforward, and God forbid any part of this should make sense.” She waved him off before he could respond. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go in. I want to find Rachel. Tom thinks she’s alive, and I have to believe he’s right. In a way, I dragged her into this nightmare. I’m going to make sure she gets out of it alive.”

  “That could be a tall order.” He kept his eyes on the shifting shadows as they walked. “Why Snowbird?”

  “Our family lived in Wyoming. My parents took us south every winter when we were very young.”

  “Did Tom give your sister a code name?”

  She laughed a little. “He called her Grouse.”

  Gage grinned. “Enough said. Do you trust Tom?”

  “More than I trust you; however…options.” She squared her shoulders beneath her black, all-weather hoodie. “I don’t appear to be overburdened with them at the moment. There’s a turncoat agent in the FBI, maybe more than one and in places other than the FBI. Nothing I’ve been told or that I’m thinking inspires any real confidence in authority figures.” She slid him a sideways look. “Jury’s still out on the LAPD and the US Marshals.”

  “It shouldn’t be.” Gage shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Two of my former LAPD coworkers, guys I believed in, were on the take. Big time, big take.”

  “Did they take from Fixx?”

  “More likely Mockerie. A lot of his drugs and weapons are shipped out of Los Angeles. An exodus like that requires a substantial number of people to look the other way. It’s a problem, but not the immediate one. Not yours. Although Fixx will likely have access to Mockerie’s list of inside sources.”

  She studied him as they drew closer to the mostly upright booth. “How is it you entered the picture?”

  “I was in the vicinity. Tom called McCabe. McCabe contacted me.” Gage made a visual sweep of the tree line. “How tough is your sister?”

  “She hates pain. She’ll talk if she’s threatened with more than a small amount of it. Do you know her story?”

  “McCabe filled me in when I agreed to help him. Was your father in the military?”

  “What? Yes. For a while before he got married.” She frowned. “Why?”

  “What about your mother?”

  Her answering smile was false and tight. “Don’t ask. Her parents, my grandparents, were wonderful.” She tipped her head at a considering angle. “I sense you want to know my ancestry.”

  “You’re an astonishingly beautiful woman, Amber. And cops are curious by nature.”

  “So was I once. My mother was born in Iran. Her father was French, her mother came from India. My father’s much more of a cultural jumble, mostly on his mother’s side. Irish, Egyptian, Romanian, Aboriginal Australian, the list goes on… One of the shadows just moved.”

  “Yep. Noticed.” Gage had her on the ground before she could jerk away, though he doubted she would have. “Left wall of this booth is solid.” He rolled to his feet, weapon drawn. “Use your gun if you have to. Hesitate, home in a crate.”

  “Great positive reinforcement,” he heard her mutter in his wake, but his mind and eyes were already focused forward, to the spot between the trees and fence where he’d glimpsed the movement.

  Seconds later, a gun went off in the vicinity of a sad-looking octopus ride. Dangling cars creaked like coffin lids in the gusty October wind. Gage heard another shot and grinned. Show time.

  The chase was the best part. Got the adrenaline pumping and sharpened his instincts.

  He hoped Amber would have the good sense to stay put. He figured the odds on that were about sixty-forty.

  Overhead, a large tree branch creaked. He let a pair of shots go and waited through the unnatural silence that followed.

  “You know I’m here and on you,” he said softly. “You keep running, I’ll keep shooting. Chances are I’ll be luckier than you.”

  Squeezing through a gap in the fence, he listened. The sound of someone thrashing in the underbrush drew him farther to the right. He sent another shot into the neighboring trees, then stuffed his gun and headed for the sound.

  The target, a male, broke free as Gage approached. Firing backward, the man began to zig-zag. Gage caught him a split second before he slammed face-first into the trunk of a bent oak.

  Fists and feet flew. If he’d been in the mood to play dirty, Gage would have broken one of the guy’s arms. As it was, he didn’t want to leave Amber alone for any length of time. He flipped the prisoner onto his stomach, set a knee in the small of his back, and pressed until all resistance stopped.

  “Smart man.” He added more pressure. “Now, let’s see who you are.”

  Redrawing his weapon, he turned the man over and regarded the shadowy features that glared up at him.

  The guy was big, scarred, and sullen, his intentions unknown. Until Gage looked into his eyes.

  Chapter Four

  A leaf crunched behind her. Amber didn’t think. She simply surged out of her crouch, spun, and kicked. The approaching person let out a startled shriek and landed on the ground.

  “Oh, shit, crap.” When she swiped the hair from her eyes, Amber realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry.” She went to her knees beside a gasping female.

  The young woman had a frail build, and she whimpered as she struggled to catch her breath. “I can’t see.” She panted and whimpered louder. “I can’t see!”

  Amber winced. “I’m sorry, I really am. I thought you were a—” She hesitated, substituted, “—someone else.”

  “Buddy?” The whimper became a wail. “Are you here? I think we’re getting ripped off. Why can’t I see?”

  “Because it’s dark, and your eyes are closed,” Amber told her. She caught the woman’s flailing hand, shoved up the sleeve of her jacket, and glanced at her arm. “I’m guessing you and Buddy were meeting someone.” She sat back on her heels. “A guy with a gun, maybe? Or does Buddy carry a gun, and he’s the one who was shooting up the park?”

  The woman didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to pry her eyelids apart.

  “Okay, well, I’m still sorry I kicked you. When you’re ready to stand, I’ll help you.”

  Amber heard footsteps behind her, one set walking, the other stumbling. She swung her head around.

  “What’s going on?” Gage asked. “Who’s she?”

  “If the guy you’re with is Buddy, they’re together, waiting for someone who’s probably long gone should he happen to have witnessed any of what just went down here.”

  Gage gave the man in front of him a shove that sent him to his knees. “Looks like we screwed up a drug deal. My heart’s not broken. The girl can’t be more than seventeen, and her friend’s so twitchy he’d be more likely to shoot his supplier than pay him. Which also wouldn’t break my heart. And yes, I do have one somewhere. It murmured enough to worry the New Age hippies in the commune where my old lady dumped me.”

  Amber frowned. “Your mother dumped you in a commune?”

  “Don’t look so appalled, Snowbird. I’ve always been grateful for the favor.” He made a head motion. “Is she hurt?”

  “Not much.” Standing, Amber dusted off. She had no idea why, but this semi-normal conversation calmed her nerves to some degree. “Why were you grateful to be dumped in a commune?”

  “Because the alternative was a hell of a lot worse. A couple of the guys who were there way back when taught me a lot of useful stuff. Biker Joe—he died five years ago—got me up on my first motorcycle when I was seven. It didn’t suck.”

  Amber had no idea why she wanted to laugh. Maybe she was on the verge of hysteria.

  “Rather than explore that fascinating subject,” she said, “I’ll ask instead, what are we going to do with these two?”

  The girl was still using her fingers to work her eyes open. The man, twenty-three at most, with his hair hanging in greasy rat
tails, glowered at Gage like a snarly adolescent.

  Gage shrugged, drew Amber aside and out of earshot. “I’ve got his gun, and I’m not in the mood for a trip to the local cop shop.” He scanned the trees behind them. “We’ll tie him up and leave her to set him free. State she’s in, that could take the better part of two hours.”

  Contrition set in as Amber regarded the girl. She pitched her voice to the same low level as Gage’s. “I kicked her. In the sternum. I might have fractured one of her ribs.”

  “Yeah? Huh. Lucky shot or some kind of training?”

  “Mixed martial arts. It’s a fitness thing, but I like knowing I can defend myself.”

  “How’s Rachel in that regard?”

  “She’s into yoga.”

  “Your skill’s more useful. I need a couple pieces of rope.” Gage handed her his gun. “I’ve got supplies in my truck. Move closer, and go for a knee cap if he tries to get up. I don’t imagine he will. He’s in his own world right now, singing some song I don’t recognize and playing air guitar on his back.”

  “Why your gun?” she asked, examining it.

  “Makes less of a bang than yours.”

  Small favors, Amber supposed. Her life had come down to a series of those. Whatever could be done to attract the least amount of attention.

  “I’m not used to this running-in-the-shadows stuff,” she confided when Gage returned. Because her hands threatened to shake, she forced her mind to step sideways into her safe zone. “Numbers have always been my strength.” The man on the ground continued to sing, but now he was playing air drums. The girl had her hands over her ears now and was whimpering even louder than before. “I could keep track of three blackjack games at once in Las Vegas. Spotting cheaters was a piece of cake.”

  Gage gave the rope around the young man’s ankles a tug. Once again, he drew her away from the pair. “So, a hotel manager and a cardsharp rolled into one. Your boss got himself a bargain with you.”

  Amber’s temper sparked. It helped her shaking hands but did nothing to improve her mood. She controlled her annoyance long enough not to plant her foot in Gage’s sternum.