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  Praise for previous novels in the Reed & Billie Series

  Stevens has ratcheted-up the suspense level in this 2nd in a series book to the point where I crave a 3rd book to be written by this fine author! – Amazon Reviewer

  A suspense thriller par excellence, and a must-read for fans of this genre. – Kindle Purchaser

  I've read both of the Reed and Billie series, and I loved them. The relationship between the two is developing. Enough twists and action to make this another great read from Mr. Stevens. I'm really looking forward to your next installment--I'm hooked on this dynamic duo. – Verified Reader

  Loved this second book in the series- who can resist watching the relationship evolve for this man and his canine partner (who are both mourning the loss of their partners). Terrific characters and suspense. More, More, More!!! – Kindle Reviewer

  Must love dogs. Great story and great characters. I hope there will be many more about Reed and Billie. It took a while for me to figure out the why, but I like a good mystery and this is one. Thanks again Mr. Stevens. I look forward to reading the next one. – Amazon Customer

  Thrillers are some of my favorite reads because I love to be pulled into a story and through intense situations, all in the safety of my own home. I've read some pretty good ones lately and can now add to that list author Dustin Stevens' "The Boat Man". The story of Detective Reed Mattox, who is attempting to lay low after the death of his partner, yet is pulled into a pretty intense serial murder investigation. The killer is called The Boat Man and is name after Charon from Greek mythology, who carries souls across the rivers Styx into the world of the dead. This is essentially a story of vigilante justice and the mystery involved is a very good one. I found the read to be both intense and very enjoyable. Would definitely recommend and I now plan on checking out some of this author's other novels. – Top 500 Amazon Reviewer

  One of the best books I have read since getting my Kindle. The book is very suspenseful while dealing with a subject that has generated a great deal of controversy through the years. While reading the book there is a definite struggle between your heart and your brain over how you should be reacting to the events in the book. I wish every book I read was close to the quality I found in this book. – Kindle Customer

  Best book I've read in a long time and I read for hours every night. It was so good to read a police thriller without the main character being "saved" from himself by some hot woman. Fantastic character development and being a dog lover, loved that he is K-9 cop. The book held my attention and I didn't figure out what was going on until the end. I read so much that I rarely leave reviews but I want the author to know how much I enjoyed his work. I highly recommend this book. – Amazon Customer

  It certainly was a Thriller. I was intrigued by the complexity of sub-plots, the difficulties experienced by Maddox just trying to do his job; trying to do the right thing. Because doing the right thing is all we have to define our character once the cards are dealt. And in what was left of The Boat Man's mind he believed in his cause, too. First exposure to this author's excellent, engrossing work of art. – Amazon Reviewer

  I had never put much thought into the work life of highly-trained military and police dogs, and found it quite fascinating. Billie, along with the human she has trained to supply her with food, was an interesting character. The most interesting character was the Boat Man himself, both because of what he was doing and why and how he was doing it. It was impossible not to feel empathy for him. There were several other interesting people who helped make this book very readable. – Kindle Reviewer

  Other works by Dustin Stevens:

  The Debt

  Going Viral

  Quarterback

  Scars and Stars

  Catastrophic

  21 Hours

  Ohana

  Twelve

  Liberation Day

  Just a Game

  Ink

  Four

  The Zoo Crew Novels:

  Moonblink

  The Glue Guy

  Tracer

  Dead Peasants

  The Zoo Crew

  The Hawk Tate Novels:

  Fire and Ice

  Cover Fire

  Cold Fire

  The Reed & Billie Novels:

  The Kid

  The Good Son

  The Boat Man

  The Partnership

  A Reed & Billie Novel

  Dustin Stevens

  The Partnership

  Copyright © 2017, Dustin Stevens

  Cover Art and Design: Anita B. Carroll at Race-Point.com

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Journalism can never be silent: that is its greatest virtue and its greatest fault. It must speak, and speak immediately, while the echoes of wonder, the claims of triumph, and the signs of horror are still in the air.

  --Henry Anatole Grunwald

  I can't think in terms of journalism without thinking in terms of political ends. Unless there's been a reaction, there's been no journalism. It is cause and effect.

  --Hunter S. Thompson

  Chapter One

  A steady and persistent plume of white rose from the rear tailpipe of the Chevy Caprice as the warm exhaust hit the cold night air, beginning in a concentrated clump and spreading outward before dissipating into nothing. The acrid smell of it bit at The Muscle’s nose as he stepped from the driver’s seat and walked toward the trunk, leaving the door open behind him, the faint sound of the radio just barely audible.

  Motown.

  The kind of music they used to make back before computers and synthesizers replaced musicians and instruments. The sort of thing The Businessman would never understand the significance of, would never lower himself to listen to.

  At half past two in the morning nobody else was out, the bridge The Muscle was parked on completely deserted, the desolation to be expected on a Tuesday night. The only signs of life were the lights of Columbus reflecting up off the water below, their source equal parts office buildings and Christmas decorations, the Midwestern city in full regalia for the holiday less than a week away.

  The heavy soles of The Muscle’s boots thumped against the frozen asphalt of the street as he paused by the rear bumper, paying no heed to the exhaust as it moved up the length of him, using his body like a vine climbing a piece of lattice.

  On either end of the bridge arches hung out over the roadway, offering support for a pair of yellow sodium lights. Each threw down a harsh cone of illumination, the Caprice wedged into the gap between them, the rising exhaust and the silhouette of The Muscle the only signs that he was even there.

  Otherwise the world was silent, just as he knew it would be.

  Just as he needed it to be.

  Extracting a single brass key from deep in the pocket of his corduroy slacks, The Muscle slid it into the slot just above the rear license plate, the teeth of it letting out a low moan as it passed over the frozen metal. Feeling his pulse rise, The Muscle twisted it quickly to the side, hearing the latch release.

  Keeping his free hand cupped atop the trunk, he raised it just a co
uple of inches before stopping, taking one last glance in either direction.

  At this time of night, in this part of town, there was little chance of any law enforcement being around. He was more concerned with the occasional vagrant that was known to frequent the sidewalks and bridges along the Olentangy River, people with eyes and ears that could potentially be his undoing.

  This was all meant to set an example, to teach a lesson, but The Muscle had no interest in becoming a martyr in the process.

  Not with things going as well as they were, with so much still left to do.

  Definitely not with his partner sitting in his suite a few blocks away, shielded from the real heavy lifting of the operation.

  Content that nobody was nearby, the bitter December wind having driven everybody away, scattering them to find shelter in the more confined parts of the city, The Muscle released his grip on the hood of the trunk, allowing it to rise upward, the aging springs doing their job, pushing it up to full height.

  A swirl of cold air pushed into the trunk, replacing the scent of the exhaust in The Muscle’s nose, bringing with it the same smell he had spent most of the evening with, the very same aroma that now clung to his clothes, even saturated his hair.

  The bitter scent was so strong The Muscle could taste it on his tongue as he surveyed the contents of the trunk, in total only four items.

  In the front right corner was a bottle of radiator fluid, a vital necessity for a car with as many miles on it as the Caprice, especially in the face of a harsh Ohio winter.

  Opposite it was a tire jack, the black paint on it beginning to flake off, pockets of rust starting to pop up in their wake. Beside it was nestled a can of Fix-A-Flat, the item completely empty, something The Muscle had been meaning to toss out for months but had simply not cared enough to remember.

  In total those three things consumed his thoughts for less than a second, his entire focus aimed on the fourth object. Despite being curled into a ball it still demanded the lion’s share of the space, just barely fitting inside the empty interior of the compartment.

  The Muscle had found that it was easier to think of such things as mere objects, life having ended hours before, humanity months or even years before that. He had no idea who they were or where they came from, in most instances not even knowing their real name.

  Not that he really cared to. It wasn’t like it mattered.

  To him they were simply a means to an end, a product that could be pedaled and profited from, discarded once their usefulness had run its course, much like a greasy box after the pizza inside was consumed.

  The only difference between this one and many of the others was her brashness, a brazen disregard for general protocol that emboldened her to not only speak, but to even dare question how things were being done.

  Such actions could not be tolerated.

  Her death would be a lesson to all, his selection of the dump site deliberate, a joint decision between he and The Businessman, both wanting her remains to be found, needing the story of her demise to travel through the network.

  In their experience together it was always better to quash such things before they gained enough steam to even enter the discussion of becoming an insurrection.

  By that point, they had found, it was usually too late.

  Another burst of wind passed over him, whipping the icy chill up off the water below, causing The Muscle’s ears to burn. Muttering softly, he moved forward until his legs pressed against the rear of the car and bent forward at the waist, placing one hand beneath the girl’s knees, the other behind her neck.

  Using his back and biceps for leverage, The Muscle pulled her toward him a couple of inches before hefting the girl up, her diminutive stature feeling a bit heavier in death than he knew her slight frame to actually be. Rocking himself to full height, The Muscle allowed her to settle against his chest as he stepped up a few inches onto the curb outlining the bridge, feeling the wind get stronger as he got closer to the edge.

  A few stray fingers of white could be seen interrupting the surface of the river below, the surface breaks caused by the random felled tree or rocky outcropping. Framing them were the long streaks of orange and yellow from the nearby security lamps, the occasional splash of red or blue from garish decorations filling in the remaining space.

  There was no pause as The Muscle walked forward as far as he could, the waist-high barrier along the roadway pressing into him, the cold of the metal passing through his clothes.

  Hefting the girl twice in his arms, The Muscle got just a bit of momentum going before tossing her body away from him. There was no ceremony to the action, no moment of reflection, nothing to commemorate her or the life she had led.

  For a brief moment her pale form seemed to hang suspended in air, a ghostly flash of white punctuating a dark night, before gravity won out. Just two seconds after leaving his grasp the girl landed with a small splash, the wind carrying away the sound of it, the flow of the water dispersing the cluster of bubbles that collected in her wake.

  Remaining in place against the side of the bridge, The Muscle raised his hands to his face. He steepled his fingers together and blew through them, the warm breath doing little to permeate the cold.

  Ignoring the stench that seemed ingrained in his fingertips, he stood and stared a moment, waiting for some flash of the girl’s body to surface.

  Only once he was certain that she was gone for good, that he would never have to look at her again, did he turn back toward the warmth of the car, the writhing path of the exhaust still rising behind it.

  As he went back, he couldn’t help but allow a hint of a smile to form on his face. The mirth he felt was not borne of any joy he felt in the girl’s demise, but rather in the knowledge that what he’d just done, The Businessman would never be able to do.

  For as long as that were the case, The Muscle knew there was a certain indispensability to his role in the organization, to his place within the arrangement.

  And more importantly, he was now armed with new evidence proving as much.

  Chapter Two

  Reed Mattox spotted them the moment they appeared at the far end of the terminal, well before they even passed through the exits on either side of security. Moving amidst a sea of drowsy travelers, nearly all of them clad in hues of grey or black, the duo both sported bright crimson and cream, oblivious to their surroundings.

  Rising from his spot on a bench against the wall, Reed walked slowly out across the light blue carpeting, his hands pressed into the front pockets of the leather coat overlaying his zip-up hooded sweatshirt. Extending one foot at a time in measured steps, he waited for them to grow closer, neither having looked his way yet, not seeing him standing just off to the side.

  Once they did, their reaction was exactly as to be expected, a mirror image of what happened every time his parents came to visit.

  The first sound came from his mother, a squeal that started low and gained strength, reminding Reed of a steam whistle on a train. In unison her arms rose straight out in front of her, extended parallel to the ground, a smile crossing her face.

  “Hey there,” she said, shuffle-stepping forward until her face was buried against his chest, her arms encircling his waist.

  “Hey, Mama,” Reed said, careful not let her hear the air as it was expelled from his lungs, his arms rising to return the gesture.

  Clamping tight, she held the pose for several moments before stepping back just slightly, her hands still on either side of his torso. “My God, you’ve gotten so skinny. Are you still not eating enough?”

  Just north of sixty, Cheryl Mattox could pass for more than a decade younger. Any grey hairs she might have were highlighted into shades of blonde, her face bearing the requisite expression lines around her mouth and eyes but nothing more.

  Ignoring the previous question entirely, Reed shifted to the side.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “Remind me why the hell we can’t just fly straight here from OKC?” R
hett Mattox replied, walking forward and giving his son a heavy slap on the back, the closest the two had been to an actual embrace in more than twenty years.

  A small laugh shot from Reed’s mouth at the comment, an involuntary reaction that seemed to happen with greater frequency whenever his parents were around.

  At three weeks younger than Cheryl, Rhett had accepted the effects of time without opposition, allowing his buzz cut to recede to the color of steel. An inch taller than Reed, he stood at six-foot-four, his shoulders several inches broader than his son.

  Per usual, he was adorned in an Oklahoma Sooners t-shirt and jeans, running shoes on his feet.

  “Because aside from the three of us, there aren’t many people traveling between Ohio and Oklahoma,” Reed said. “Let me guess...Chicago?”

  As he asked the question he slowly started to walk forward, moving the trio toward the baggage claim, his parents falling in on either side of him.

  The trip out to visit had been thrown together no more than a week before, a spur-of-the-moment affair his mother had conjured up and foisted on the other two.

  It was the second time in the past year they had made the journey, the first being to attend the funeral for Reed’s partner and best friend Riley almost a year earlier, both doing what he could not and actually making it inside the church for the services.

  As much as neither one would ever admit it, Reed had no doubt that their presence now had something to do with her passing, the combination of the holidays and the impending anniversary of the tragic event both fast approaching.

  “Chicago,” his father replied, letting his disdain for the city drip from the word. “That damn Midway, what a hole.”

  Another laugh passed from Reed as he stood to the side of the escalators leading down to baggage claim, allowing his parents each to descend first. Once they were onboard he joined them in order, the enormous Christmas tree and assorted decorations of the main floor fading from sight as they went down, depositing them on a lower level replete with plain grey carpeting and bare walls.