In Search of Truth Page 4

  She nodded, paused as if to say something, then slipped into the cab.

  After shutting the door, he double-tapped the top, and the taxi drove away. As he watched Allison leave, he decided that if he ever wrote his memoir, it would be titled That Didn’t Go As Planned.

  Unfortunately, Horatio’s hit had knocked Zack out cold, and he knew he was lucky to have woken before Allison appeared. Although he had a vicious headache, he didn’t feel like he had a concussion.

  His buddy Nate had warned Zack that the Fianna appeared and disappeared at will. Their ghosting act usually happened when things got hot. What Zack hadn’t expected was Horatio’s insult. Coward.

  The same word Kells had used earlier that day, before Zack had gone AWOL from the gym.

  Now Zack had even more questions than he’d started with. But Allison’s demeanor, not to mention the sadness that swirled around her, told him waiting was the thing to do. The only problem with that plan was that Kells had stripped Zack of time.

  Rubbing his head to ease the ache, he headed for his motorcycle, which he’d parked near the river. When he passed the club, a couple emerged. A round man in a suit and a woman in a long red gown and a high ponytail stopped by the stairs. The limo, parked near the dumpster, turned on its headlights and the chauffeur got out to open the door.

  Zack tucked himself into an alcove with a “For Rent” sign on the boarded-up door. The woman seemed familiar, but Zack couldn’t place her.

  She spoke first. “Hezekiah, why did you give the Pirate’s Grille to Allison? Why sell the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain to the Prince?”

  “Isabel,” Hezekiah said, “I buy and sell documents for a living. Stuart paid for the Pirate’s Grille and I had to deliver it. Same with the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain—paid for and delivered.”

  “I need time to find what I’m looking for,” Isabel said. “By selling those documents—”

  Hezekiah tapped her arm. “Remind him that without the appendix to Mercy Chastain’s witch’s examination, the Pirate’s Grille is useless. Both are needed to find that treasure.”

  “He won’t be happy.”

  “He’ll never be happy. His unhappiness is not your responsibility. It’s time you understood that.” After Hezekiah got into the limo, the chauffeur shut the passenger door and walked to the driver’s side.

  Isabel headed toward the street. When she passed Zack, he held his breath as her red gown swept over his combat boot. Once at the corner, she hailed a cab and disappeared. A second later, the limo’s engine clicked twice.

  An explosion ripped through the night and Zack hit the ground. Flaming debris rained down and a wave of intense heat swept over him. He rolled until hitting the wall. Once he took in a few breaths, he struggled to his feet. The limo, and the two men inside, had been incinerated. While he wanted to help, there were no survivors. And there was no way he could be taken in as a witness. Kells would kill him.

  Zack ran toward the river. When he reached his motorcycle, his stomach reacted to the stench of smoking oil and he threw up in a storm drain. After the third dry heave, he wiped his mouth. His vision cleared and his training took over. He’d been in worse combat situations than this. But this wasn’t a battle. This was a message.

  No, this was their new reality. Zack and his men were in a war not of their own choosing, fighting an unseen enemy with an unknown goal. To add to the party, Kells’s unit was still on their knees, with no money, no tech, and no support. Hell, their armory, which held five guns and a few knives, was stored in an old filing cabinet with a ten-dollar lock.

  Smoke thickened around him and he coughed to relieve the burning in his chest. Sirens sounded closer. Soon the area would be sealed off.

  His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to read the text.

  The play’s the thing wherein you’ll catch the conscience of the king. ~ Marcellus

  Zack stared at Marcellus’s message and remembered Horatio’s earlier nod toward the limo. Had the Fianna set off the explosion? Or Remiel Marigny? When a cop car zoomed down the alley, Zack put away his phone, started his motorcycle, and roared away from the destroyed limousine, which was a hard reminder that when the Fianna told you to leave, sooner was best.

  Chapter 4

  Alex Mitchell tossed his apple core into the trash next to the front desk of Iron Rack’s gym. He’d been handling the phone for hours and he was done.

  Screw the job. Screw the ridiculous pirate-themed gym. Screw Kells.

  Since Kells had gotten Alex out of Leedsville prison two months ago, all Alex had done was sleep, eat, and answer the gym’s phones. He wasn’t deemed mature enough to attend staff meetings, carry a weapon, or be included in Kells’s unit’s lame-ass plan to take down that psycho arms dealer who’d set them up and caused their dishonorable discharges: Remiel Marigny.

  Alex had spent almost six years in Leedsville, the U.S. Army’s secret prison for troublesome soldiers, for a murder he didn’t commit. Now, Kells believed Alex had become antisocial and violent—more so than he’d been before his incarceration. While that might have been true, he was tired of being tossed like an unpinned grenade in Kells’s war-game version of hot potato.

  Nate Walker, the unit’s executive officer, came out of Kells’s office near the front of the gym. Tonight Nate wore gym shorts with a black Iron Rack’s Gym T-shirt. “Kells wants to see you.”

  Alex kicked back in the chair, boots on the desk, hands clasped behind his neck. “What the fuck for?”

  “Does it matter?” Nate picked up the clipboard with the day’s chore list.

  “You know the quiet isn’t good. It means Remiel is preparing his next move.”

  “I know.” Nate dropped the clipboard and answered the ringing phone, making sure to cover the handset as he said, “Kells is waiting.”

  Alex got up, stretched his arms over his head until his tight muscles eased, and headed to Kells’s closed office door. Alex thought about knocking but then pulled a screw it and walked in with a sharp “What.”

  “Sit.” Kells, in khaki combat pants and a white T-shirt, sat behind a desk covered in file folders and papers. On the far wall, hidden from the random observer, hung a giant map of Afghanistan. Various colored pins had been stuck in different areas, including the Pamir River Valley—the place where Remiel Marigny began this nightmare.

  The map was supposed to live in the gym’s storage room—aka command post. But considering the previous owner had been a hoarder and had used the storage room as ground zero for his garbage collection, their CP was currently being treated for mold. Again.

  Alex sat in a metal folding chair in front of the desk and crossed his booted ankles. He refused to start the convo he didn’t want to have in the first place.

  Kells wrote on a pad as he spoke. Legal documents lay nearby. He threw down his pen and sat back, clasping his hands behind his neck and staring at the ceiling. “Zack left the unit tonight without permission.”

  “Zack is a big boy.”

  “I think he’s…attached to Allison Pinckney.”

  Alex smirked. “Two points for the observant one.”

  “Zack’s obsession with Allison isn’t healthy.”

  Says the man still in love with the wife who left him years ago.

  Instead of stating the obvious, Alex leaned forward, jamming his elbows into his thighs. “Zack isn’t obsessed. He’s been in love with Allison since college. Now that her husband’s dead, what difference does it make if he gets more…attached?”

  Alex could’ve used cruder language, but out of all the men in the unit, he liked Zack the best—except for maybe Nate. Maybe because he, Zack, and Nate had gone to Ranger School together. They’d once been buddies.

  “You’re rooming with Zack. Has he said anything to you about—”

  “No. He never talks about her. At least not to
me. Why don’t you ask Nate? He’s closer to Zack than I am.”

  “I already have.” Kells stood and went toward the window overlooking the dark street. The lower half of the picture window used black Jolly Roger pirate flags for privacy. Someone a long time ago had thought that decorating the run-down gym in a sketchy part of the city with pirate-themed flags would be hip and cool. Now it just seemed kitschy and strange. “I want you to go to Charleston. Tonight. Make sure Zack returns to Savannah.”

  Uh, no. “The last thing Zack needs is a babysitter.”

  “The last thing Zack needs is to spend the night in Allison’s bed.”

  With Kells facing the street, Alex moved closer to the desk to see the legal papers. “Zack isn’t twelve. He’s just…hurt. You shouldn’t have said those things to him earlier.”

  “Maybe not. But Zack isn’t free to do whatever the hell he wants.” Kells faced Alex again. “We have a mission.”

  “A mission that’s going no-fucking-where fast.” Alex leaned his chair back until it balanced on the back legs. His hands shook, so he held on to his seat. Those legal papers from Kells’s wife’s lawyer just explained why Kells had been so distracted and cranky lately—well, more cranky than usual. “Why can’t Zack find some happy on the side?”

  “Because I can’t have him distracted. I need all of my men—”

  “Including me?”

  “Including you.” Kells sat at his desk again, picked up his pen, and started writing. “I need all of my men focused. We’ve no idea what Remiel’s plan is or when he’ll strike next.”

  Alex stared at the tomato soup can that Kells had been using for years as a pen holder. “Even if I was considering this plan, how am I supposed to get to Charleston?”

  Their unit had only two cars—an SUV and a minivan—and two Harleys. Zack had one of the bikes, and the other belonged to Pete White Horse, another man in the unit. There was no way Pete would hand over control of his bike to the antisocial ex-con.

  “Take Pete’s bike,” Kells said.

  “Pete will say no. Besides, this plan is horseshit. I’m not going.”

  Kells focused his intense gray, gold-flecked gaze on Alex. “Excuse me?”

  Oh, right. None of the men in their unit contradicted Kells. Ever. “There’s no reason for me to go to Charleston to get Zack. If you ordered him back to Savannah, he’ll come back to Savannah. An apology from you wouldn’t hurt either.”

  Kells turned away and didn’t respond.

  Alex moved his gaze to that damn map on the wall. “Unless you want me out of town for some reason?”

  Kells placed his palms on his desk and used the leverage to stand again. “Alex—”

  “It’s cool.” Alex rose. “ I get that I’m not part of your little group here. I’m extraneous.”

  “You’re not extraneous. We need you. There are only nine men, including you, in the unit. Every man counts.”

  “Is that why I’m not free?”

  The only sound in the room was Kells’s heavy breathing. “You understood the deal you agreed to.”

  “Sure. You got me out of prison because Remiel, who I supposedly killed six years ago, is still walking around. Now I work for you. No questions. No arguments. I have to do your bidding for as long as it takes to bring down Remiel again.” Alex waved his hand toward the map on the wall.

  “Yes,” Kells said. “Once we do that—”

  “Once I kill Remiel.” Because let’s be truthful here.

  “Then you’re a free man.”

  Alex tilted his head. “Yet if you tell people Remiel is alive, then I go free anyway.”

  “The fact that few people know Remiel is alive is the only advantage we have. I won’t give that up.”

  “Which means that I’m not free.”

  Kells ran his hand over his head. He’d let his hair grow to half an inch, which only emphasized the fact that he was a ginger. “I’m not just worried about Zack. I’m concerned about you.”

  “I’m fine.” Alex kept his tone flat enough to steady a level’s bubble.

  “You were in prison for almost six years for a murder you didn’t commit.”

  “A murder I failed to commit.” He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d tried to do, only that he hadn’t succeeded. “If I’d killed Remiel when I had the chance, none of us would be in this situation. The Wakhan Corridor Massacre wouldn’t have happened. Half of your men wouldn’t have been ambushed by local Afghan warlords in retribution. Those same ambushed men wouldn’t have spent years in an Afghan POW camp. Some higher-up in the U.S. government wouldn’t have accused those same POWs of the massacre after you and your unit rescued them and then sent them to Leedsville prison in the wilds of Minnesota. Finally, the men in your unit who did the rescuing wouldn’t have also been accused of war crimes and dishonorably discharged by some secret fucking congressional committee.”

  “None of that history changes what happened to you in solitary.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” No good came from rehashing random beatings by the guards or their lame attempt to break his will by starvation. “I don’t need me time in Charleston.”

  Kells sighed. “I want you at the unit’s next movie night.”

  Talk about a change in subject. “Why?”

  “It’s time you became a more integral part of this unit.” Kells picked up his cell phone and typed. “I’m letting Nate know that you’re taking over movie night. It’ll be your responsibility to pick the movie, order the pizzas, make the popcorn. If you have any issues—”

  “I can handle Operation Forced Fun on my own.”

  Kells put his phone down. “Have you heard from your brother?”

  “No. We both know Aidan doesn’t give a shit.”

  “We both know that’s not true. Remember the second part of our deal?”

  “Yeah, yeah. If Aidan contacts me, I tell you. But Aidan won’t. I’m a liability—one of his few failures—that he can’t face.”

  “Still, if Aidan or any of his Fianna warriors contact you, you tell me. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  Kells’s cell phone rang and he answered with a curt “Go.”

  Without waiting for permission, Alex left the room. Cain and Vane, two other men in Kells’s unit, were talking by the front desk while Nate held the gym’s phone to his ear. Like Nate, they both wore the gym’s uniform of shorts and logo T-shirt. But where Cain’s head was shaved, Vane kept his long blond hair tied back at the base of his neck.

  “Hey, Alex,” Vane said curtly. “Just heard you’re in charge of movie night. Think you can handle it?”

  “Yep.” Alex straightened his shoulders. Since he and Vane had a history that included a fistfight in a Moroccan brothel, they’d spent the last two months playing hide-and-seek. Well, mostly hide. This was, in fact, the first time since Alex arrived that Vane had initiated a conversation. “We had movie night at Leedsville. Escape from Alcatraz was always a fave with your imprisoned men.”

  Vane frowned and Nate gripped Vane’s shoulder. Nate hadn’t spoken, so he was either listening to elevator music or getting an earful.

  “Really?” Cain asked with a seriousness normally reserved for doctors and lawyers. “Did they watch—”

  “No, Cain.” Alex tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “We didn’t have movie night. And I’ve no idea what your men did—or still do—for entertainment. I spent most of my time in solitary.”

  “Oh.” Cain glanced at Nate. “I always wonder what they’re doing.”

  “So do I,” Nate whispered.

  Alex headed upstairs. He hated talking about the ten of Kells’s men who were in Leedsville prison—the same prison Alex had spent six years in—because he had little info. He’d rarely seen them. Those ten men were now serving twenty-year sentences.

  “Al
ex?”

  Alex glanced back to see Cain’s grin.

  “No horror movies. Vane gets freaked when things are too gross or scary.”

  “Fuck you, brother.” Vane stomped toward training room two.

  Nate slammed the receiver into the phone’s base. “Cain, was that necessary?”

  “No.” Cain picked up a laundry basket filled with dirty towels and headed for the locker room. When he passed Alex, he winked. “But it was fun.”

  When Cain disappeared, Nate came toward the stairs. “How was Kells?”

  “Pain in my ass.” Alex paused, not sure if he should admit what he’d just learned. But Nate, as the unit’s executive officer, had a right to know when their dear leader was about to implode. “I just learned Kells’s wife Kate served him divorce papers.”

  Nate’s mouth fell open, but since Alex had no interest in gossip, he went upstairs to the room he shared with Zack. Yeah, they all said Alex’s middle name was dick. But he didn’t want to talk about Leedsville prison or Kells’s men still there or Kells’s marriage. There was nothing Alex could do about those situations, and he had his own problems to worry about—like whether or not Saw IV was scary enough for Vane.

  He threw himself onto his twin-sized bed that was almost a foot too short and draped one arm over his eyes. His other rested on his stomach. The room barely held two twin beds, two grown men, and their duffels stuffed with clothes.

  He’d been out of prison for two months yet still felt the need to hide in the small space. Maybe it was too much time in solitary confinement, but he preferred being alone and able to see the exits. In this case, there was the door leading to the hallway and the window overlooking the back garden that consisted of a sad azalea and a lonely palmetto.

  Although he appreciated the fact that he was free, the strings attached made him restless. If his life had been his own, he would have stolen Pete’s bike and headed anywhere that wasn’t near the South Boston tenement where he grew up—or near Kells and his unit’s bullshit.

  Alex chewed his lower lip and played his favorite mental game. What would he do if he were free of his past? Where would he go? The beach? The mountains? Would he move out west and live off the grid? Become a farmer?