Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5) Read online

  Each only adding to the clench of emotion enveloping Amber’s body. “What do you mean, found?!”

  Her voice was nothing less than a wail, echoing through the home. At the far end of the hall, she could hear toenails on the wooden floor, the dog coming to check on things.

  In the background, she could no longer hear her husband snoring.

  Not that she cared, every bit of focus she had levied on the phone in her hand, on the conversation taking place.

  “He was...” Lori began anew, her voice trailing away. “We called 911, they’re on their way. I’m sorry, I found this number in his wallet.”

  It was all Amber could do to hang onto the phone. Her knees began to flag, the room shifting around her. By her feet, their dog appeared, a charcoal grey schnauzer staring up at her, eyes filled with confusion.

  From down the hall, the sound of footsteps grew closer.

  Extending a hand, Amber managed to lean her body to the right. She took two staggered steps before letting gravity take over, going weightless before landing on the sofa. Soft cushions billowed around her as she sprawled across it, barely keeping the sound of the girl’s voice next to her ear.

  She didn’t even yet know what had transpired, but nothing that had just been mentioned was good. People didn’t call 911 or wait for ambulances if someone fell and sprained an ankle. They damned sure didn’t call their parents in the middle of the night.

  “Just, tell me what happened. Is he okay?”

  There was a brief rush of air, as if Lori was whirling around, turning to get a better look at things. In the background, the faint sound of a siren could be heard. Punctuating it was the harsh squeal of tires turning through the concrete structure.

  At the end of the couch, Amber’s husband Josh appeared. Donning only a pair of plaid pajama pants, he stood bare-chested, his hair askew. His eyes thick with sleep, he looked down at her, mouthing the question, “What happened?”

  Amber ignored it, focusing only on Lori’s response.

  “I...I don’t know,” Lori said. “My boyfriend says he’s breathing, but there’s just so much blood.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nervous energy thrummed through Ronell Brink’s body. It filled every fiber of his being, seeming to supercharge him from the core outward. Along his forearms and the backs of his hands, veins stood out beneath his skin. Moisture soaked the ski mask covering his face.

  Getting the car was a major score. Now sitting inside it, the vehicle looked to be even nicer than it had appeared from across the garage. Leather seats. Power everything. The faint smell of Armor All in the air.

  This was definitely a parent’s car, taken care of and loaned out for the night.

  A quick glance at the odometer showed it only had twenty-five thousand miles on it. That would help. There was little doubt the car would fetch a nice price, needing only a day to be flipped.

  The S-2 would be pleased. They would have no choice but to pull them in.

  The bigger score of the night was sitting behind the steering wheel. A steady torrent of tears streamed down her face, her cheeks red and blotchy. Every breath was audible, like a sniffle, punctuated by a sharp inhalation, attempting to keep snot in her head.

  Up close, the girl confirmed his first impression, which was that she couldn’t be any older than sixteen. If he had met her on the street, he wouldn’t have even thought her that old, the privilege of her middle-class upbringing allowing her to somehow age even slower than her years.

  No matter how much makeup she might have used to try and prove the opposite, most of it now streaked down her face.

  Staring at her, Ronell couldn’t help but feel the same pangs he’d felt when he first saw them step out of the elevator. Whereas people where he came from were forced to grow up well before their time, girls like this were coddled to the point they could hide behind youth and privilege for decades.

  The thought was enough to make his stomach roil.

  The S-2 would definitely be pleased.

  Snatching the girl hadn’t been on the original agenda, but it was an opportunity that was too good to pass up. Bringing her in with the BMW would be a huge boon. It would surely accelerate his ascent.

  Outside, the streets of Nashville were aglow. It must have rained while they were tucked away in the garage, everything wet and shiny. A menagerie of color from streetlights and storefronts glowed off the pavement, putting the world into vibrant technicolor.

  A perfect match for the way Ronell felt.

  “Where am I going?” the girl whispered, her first words since leaving the car. Laced with fear and anxiety, she didn’t bother to glance his way. Her shoulders slumped forward, she had the wheel just inches from her chest, staring out over it.

  With his attention already on the girl, Ronell merely sat and stared. Hidden behind the ski mask, he was aware of how he must look, the fear that had to be penetrating the young girl.

  Good. It was about time she felt what it was like to be in his position for a while.

  “Freeway,” he eventually muttered. “West.”

  He said nothing more, falling back to silence, letting it settle around them. Increasing the sound of his breathing, he tapped the tip of the .38 barrel against his thigh, making sure she saw it, obeying his every syllable without objection.

  Firing the round wasn’t something he’d planned, though he’d be lying if he claimed it wasn’t part of the exhilaration passing through him. The first time he had ever shot at another person, he almost wished he could have stayed longer to enjoy the view.

  The shot was nothing more than a shoulder wound, a simple round placed into the meat of the kid’s right side. Aimed for the crease between the joint and his collarbone, it would tear up some soft tissue, but it wouldn’t break any bones.

  In short, it had caused a lot of blood, would no doubt draw the attention of anybody that might be in their wake.

  And it had damned sure got the attention of the girl behind the wheel.

  The smell of gunpowder lingered on his hand, growing more faint with each passing moment. Resisting the urge to draw his hand up, to pull in the euphoric scent, Ronell shifted his gaze to the side mirror. Framed perfectly behind them were the low-slung beams of the Honda, just as they had discussed.

  It was all coming together. It was only a matter of time before they were back across town. By this time tomorrow, plans would be made to welcome the three of them into the S-2. The car would be stripped clean and loaded in a container, headed somewhere else.

  As for the girl, that didn’t concern him in the slightest.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Keys.”

  The word was the first that had been uttered in over twenty minutes. Aside from the sound of the highway passing beneath the tires, there had been no other sound inside the car. Nothing but silence, enough for Elyse Denman to run through everything that had happened already, all that the coming hours held in store.

  Her brother had been shot. The man beside her claimed he would live, but she couldn’t trust that he was right. That the bullet hadn’t ricocheted. That his aim hadn’t been off. That he hadn’t just been lying to make her do what he wanted.

  Right now, Eric could be lying in that same spot, bleeding out. He could be calling for help – for her – his voice growing weaker by the moment.

  Not that her situation was much better, the man that had so casually fired now sitting beside her, the gun in plain sight, the barrel of it tapping against his thigh in a steady rhythm, constantly reminding her of its presence. She was also stuck behind the wheel, serving as the driver for what could be her own demise.

  She’d never spent more than a couple of hours on this side of town. Definitely didn’t know her way around, where they might be headed.

  Or who might be waiting for her.

  Sitting behind the wheel, Elyse gripped it with both hands. Her shoulders were bunched beneath her ears, every muscle pulled so tight she could feel them cramping.

/>   The tears had finally stopped leaking, though they weren’t far beneath the surface. On her cheeks rested the dried salt from the last round, tugging each time she blinked.

  Sliding the keys from the ignition, Elyse dropped them into the man’s outstretched hand.

  “Out.”

  Elyse did as instructed. She opened the door and stepped out, chilly air swirling about her, flipping her hair around her face. With it came a plume of dust and a chemical smell, a liquid fuel of some sort. Gasoline, or butane.

  Taking just a single step, Elyse remained beside the car, her hands by her side. No more than ten feet away, the car that had followed them across town was parked facing them, high beams framing her in their light.

  Under their glare, she could see nothing else, the world around her blocked from view. Her eyes screwed shut against it, she turned her body away, waiting as her captor stepped out from the opposite side of the car.

  “Jesus Christ, Jamal, turn those damn lights off.”

  On command, the lights flipped off, everything seeming much darker than usual in their absence. Blinking rapidly, Elyse tried to get her bearings, her knees and hips locked, her body rigid.

  A pair of doors opened from the other car, the sound unmistakable.

  “Dammit, Ronell, don’t you use my name like that,” a second voice said. “Not in front of the girl.”

  “You mean like you just used mine?” Ronell replied. “Dumbass.”

  One at a time, the pair of doors shut. Footsteps grated over gravel, growing closer, as Elyse’s pupils dilated, adjusting to the absence of light. Around her, things came into focus bit by bit, one piece at a time.

  The place looked like an abandoned structure of some sort, a warehouse or airplane hangar that hadn’t been used in some time. Rising to either side were buildings made of plain gray concrete, windows painted over or busted out. Along the outside of the lot ran a chain link fence that was bent in various spots, missing entire sections in others.

  In short, it was the type of place Elyse had seen in movies, but never in person. A spot where she was certain nothing good ever happened, especially to the lone underaged girl staring up at three men older than her.

  “Man, why the hell did you shoot the kid?” the third one said, pulling to a stop by the BMW’s front bumper. Casting a glance his way, Elyse could see he was the shortest of the three. Dumpy, he looked out of place beside the other two, for his build as much as his skin tone.

  “Shut the hell up, Joey,” Ronell snapped. The tallest of the trio, he was clearly in charge, his body lean, muscles ridged beneath his skin.

  “Yeah, shut the hell up,” Jamal echoed. Turning to Ronell, he added, “What’s the plan?”

  If he was surprised at seeing her standing there, he didn’t show it at all.

  Keeping her gaze averted, Elyse remained rooted in place. Every possible scenario played out in her head, ranging from trying to make a run for it to diving back inside the car and locking the doors.

  Nothing seemed plausible. They would catch her in a matter of steps or they would break in the window and pull her out. She might buy herself a couple of seconds, but she would piss them off immensely in the process.

  “Got to run the car in,” Ronell said. “We don’t have much time left.”

  “Right,” Jamal agreed.

  “And the girl?” Joey asked.

  Elyse heard the sound of something hitting the pavement. Most likely her phone that had been snatched inside the parking garage, she cast a glance over, watching as Ronell stomped his heel repeatedly into it, the thin plastic no match for his concentrated angst.

  When he was done, he peeled the bottom of the ski mask up over his face, leaving it bunched along his brow. “Damn, this thing is hot.”

  Jamal cracked a smile. “I don’t know how you wore it clear across town.”

  Ronell matched the grin, flicking a gaze over to Elyse. “Or why. It’s not like it’s going to matter here before long.”

  Snapping her focus back to the ground before her, Elyse curled her hands into fists. She drew them before her stomach, her shoulders rolling inward. A natural defense posture, she made herself as small as possible, feeling her bottom lip quiver, willing herself not to begin crying again.

  Not here, not right now. That’s what they wanted. To see her break. To know she was under their control.

  “You guys hang onto her for now,” Ronell said. “I’ll take the car in, make sure we get checked off, then I’ll pull Big Man aside for a little discussion.”

  The grin on Jamal’s face grew larger. He leered over at Elyse, eyes growing wide. “Oh yeah, BM’s gonna love her.”

  “Ha,” Ronell added, “everybody’s gonna love her.”

  A shudder slid from Elyse’s throat. It wracked her entire upper body, a small sound just barely audible.

  But it was enough.

  All three burst into laughter, tossing their heads back, braying out into the night. It rolled up between the narrow confines of the buildings, echoing down over them, reverberating in Elyse’s ears.

  Lasting for what seemed minutes, by the time they had finished, all three were out of breath, the whites of their teeth flashing.

  And Elyse had managed to already break the promise she had just made herself, her cheeks once more wet with tears.

  Chapter Twelve

  The glance Sirr Asai gave to the corner of the room appeared harmless. Nothing more than a quick look, it was done with eyebrows raised, as if responding to a sound he might have heard.

  In reality, it was a check to make sure that Paco was ready. A signal that they had reached the point of the conversation where things moved from theoretical to factual. The spot where they would soon learn if they had incurred a pair of new business partners, or there would soon be two more people that needed to be disposed of.

  Without acknowledgment of the glance in any way, Paco unclasped his hands before him. At some point he had unbuttoned the front of his suit coat, allowing him to press the flaps behind his wrists, thrusting his hands down into his pockets.

  To a bystander, it would appear innocent, a mere shift in position by a man that had been standing for quite some time.

  To Asai, it displayed that his cohort was ready. That there was nothing inhibiting him from grabbing the Sig Sauer tucked into his waistband. That if Kuntzman or Russo either one offered the slightest bit of resistance, both would be mowed down without a second thought.

  Replacing the furniture would be a nuisance, as would ensuring that no blood spatter remained on the leather volumes lining the walls, but it would be a small price to ensure complete assurance from anybody they brought on board.

  And it wasn’t like it would be the first time a possible business partner had met such an end.

  Shifting his focus back to face forward, Asai kept the smile on his face. He made sure the veneer that he had spent years honing was completely in place, his true thoughts on the men before him and the situation he was now in hidden from view.

  In truth, it was bullshit that this meeting was even taking place. The original requests had been made more than a month ago. Painstaking effort had been made by him and his team to ensure every last one was met.

  But that was before a call that morning had shifted things. Had sent them scrambling for additional resources, calling on the two men sitting before them.

  “The party will be a gentlemen’s gathering,” Asai said. “The sort of thing that men of a certain ilk like to occasionally dabble in, free from the overseeing eyes of their wives and children.”

  The description was a gross understatement for what would most likely soon be taking place. Having witnessed such debacles on more than one occasion, the amount of drunken debauchery – both legal and not – that would soon descend on the mansion was almost incalculable by those that had never been present.

  There was a reason that a full cleaning service was scheduled to arrive first thing the next morning, told to scrub everything in
the home twice, not to leave for at least six hours after arriving.

  And even then, it wasn’t like he would be sleeping in any of the beds ever again.

  “The sort of thing I’m sure men like yourselves have been privy to on occasion.”

  Leaning forward, he gave them a half-smile. If either was close enough, he might have even reached out and rapped them across the knee, an unspoken camaraderie among men.

  Even if there was no chance either of one of these two had ever been close to something like what he was planning. A top fence for a city like Nashville was enough to be invited to some of the annual galas and hit by the local charities, but it wasn’t moving the needle enough to get invited to what he had on tap.

  To say nothing of a lowly law enforcement officer, no matter how dirty or how in love with his title he might be.

  Taking the bait, Kuntzman smiled, bobbing his head slightly.

  Russo was a bit of a tougher sell.

  “That’s not quite what we do,” he said, his tone clipped, the words delivered carefully.

  The smile slowly faded from Asai’s face as he leaned back. Since asking the two to visit, he’d known Russo would be the harder target.

  Kuntzman was just a rube, someone needing so badly to be included he would have sold off a family member or even a vital organ had they asked.

  “And what is it you think I’m asking for?” Asai asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Russo replied. Casting a glance to his associate, he paused, choosing his words, before saying, “Mr. Kuntzman and I deal mainly with goods. Items that come up missing in a burglary, things that might fall off the proverbial truck from time to time.

  “Drugs really isn’t our area of expertise.”

  It took everything Asai could do not to laugh. Drugs he had access to. As much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, and of a quality much higher than anything these two could get their hands on.